I devoured feminist literature during my college days and believed my economic, emotional independence was a right I couldn’t be denied. But it gets tiring, this fighting every minute to be what you want to be. It would be so easy to give up, but it isn’t. There are days when I want to let slip this whole idea of being an emancipated, thinking woman and wallow in nothingness. Be vain. Let people ride roughshod over me without minding it.
But there’s a voice inside me that won’t allow me to do any of that, spurring me on to shun all vestiges of dependence, holding me up when I would rather slump down and rest. It isn’t easy to carry on at all times, but it’s so difficult to stop or turn back now.
Sometimes I feel sad for women around me who haven’t come into their own yet. Sometimes, I feel jealous: wouldn’t it be easy to let others’ decide the course of your life, to go with the flow instead of walking against the tide? And here I am, struggling everyday with the small and big decisions of my life – from managing daily chores at work to thinking about when I can give it all up to have children, from trying to make a husband unlearn all that this patriarchal society has taught him to making small mental notes about how I would bring up a son, if I had one. I look at the big city women who won’t consider marriage at even 30 and then I look at my friends who have children at 25, and I wish I wasn’t stuck somewhere in-between!
It’s all too easy to say ‘Go with your heart.’ But opposites tug at my heart till I feel like a Faustus who has sold his soul to the Devil!
Think’st thou that I, who saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
In being deprived of everlasting bliss?”