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Be the Universe

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Be the Universe

I see her in traffic lights, dust smeared all over her lovely innocent face selling flowers, magazines, home- made sweetmeats, in a printed cotton frock torn at the hem. I see her in paddy fields under the hot summer sun, her baby strapped to her back arching over the crops. I see her in beer bars being sold, scorched under the lewd gaze of vultures drowned in a mock pride, savaged by the influence of power or alcohol or both. I see her in dark alleys, abused, helpless seeking protection of her body, soul and dignity whilst animals tear her down.

I see her lying in pools of blood, unattended, slaughtered at child birth or strangled for being born as a girl.

I see her shamed in open fields, disgraced in public transports and vandalized in social and print media. I see her wrinkled, wheel chair bound, unable to walk, talk or remember, waiting endlessly for the last call.

I see her everywhere ... In all layers of the social fabric in every geography; in denials, in oppression, under shadows, a ghost of her own existence, as an unclaimed corpse that humanity has killed a long time ago and conveniently forgotten.

And every time, I see her, I tell myself in the most remorseful confession that I could have been in her place and she could have been in mine. I shudder at the thought of being explored, exposed or exhumed as nothing but a weak oppressed community. The stereotypical analogy devastates me. I have spent long sleepless nights wondering if a woman was the creator of the world, what could have gone so wrong in the making that the world turned its ugliest fangs against her and slit her apart. I have written long prose raising my toast to the wonderful identities of a woman many times before. I love the scientists, the warriors, the teachers, the professionals, the mothers, the role models within us. I love the stories that have a woman protagonist challenging and taking the world in her stride. I love the anecdotes of women climbing the Mt Everest, sky-diving, braving the snow and swimming the seas. We have done enough to prove our caliber as an equal if not a superior race, as a woman and a human.

But it is time to evoke the goddess. And even the goddess picks up a weapon to vanquish diabolic forces. The most beautiful woman, in my opinion is not Barbie. Never was. She is the fearless warrior princess who protects the weak and encourages the strong to be their best. She is the one in whose presence the universe disappears. Be the Shakti, be the woman that you are meant to be. Be the universe.


Image Courtesy :The image used here belongs to the respective copywright holder :  and is used entirely for non commercial puropse.

About the Author : Ananya Mukherjee, former editor of HRM Asia, is an acclaimed writer and journalist with more than 1000 publications to her credit. Her journalistic acumen in print and television covers a whole gamut of subjects including politics, lifestyle and business. She is a passionate short story writer, columnist, avid reader, keen traveller, blogger, theatre artiste and a trained dancer. Ananya currently lives in Singapore and spearheads Internal Communications in a Multi-national Company.

This column is copyrighted by the author. Any reproduction, reprint or publication in whole or parts thereof in any other form without permission is a violation of the intellectual property right and could lead to potential legal actions by the author.
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