Yoni Ki Baat (YKB) - 2014, Seattle

Returning back from Yoni Ki Baat -2014 tonight (a loose adaptation of the Vagina Monologues), I am wondering what was it in my mind that led me to make up my own stories of YKB being a vulgar, filthy and hi-society women centric show, who had nothing better to do to pass their extra time or money.

In the society I live, just merely bringing up the Y word is bound to raise a ton of eyebrows. Those who bring up this word - even in just close female-only settings are bound to be labelled with words such as shameless or lajja-heen. In the tabooed Indian society where I grew up, it was okay (and sadly is still) to stare or even comment and wink at girls passing by, or position at nukkars strategically where men can get a good view of it, mostly not 'it', but just the garment alone. Say when the girl stoops to pump air in her bicycle tires. But and yes BUT! - it is  totally unethical by women to even utter the word.

Coming back to the Y ordeal. The way I was raised, girls coming from decent homes never brought up words of this category - and never never ever in such a public forum. For if they did, what would happen to the respect of errr, depending on 'whom-were-they-being-taken-care-of-by' - say parents: applicable prior to marriage...., that of husband and in laws: applicable post marriage..... or even the respect of their kids ... applicable at later stages of life. So important is the responsibility of ensuring no body's respect is hurt by the women's senseless remarks, and so heavy that burden - that between the daughter, wife/daughter-in-law and mom, there is no space left for the women herself.

Was this a male dominating society the reason that led me to think - what would women form YKB know about true love and relationships; about giving your 200% to your home, husband and kids and still constantly being showered with complaints; about natural child birth, nursing and raising kids, about the frustrations of wearing multiple hats - as you leave workplace and enter home - and each hat having no correlation with any other worn since that morning! And boy I was wrong!

There are women no different than you and me, and in many ways suffered more than you and I ever did. Rape victims - victims having their trust betrayed by their own near and dear ones; abortion victims - forceful abortions are no less victimizing to a would-be-mother; divorce victims after 2+ decades of happy marriage life - what other than a 'victim' do you expect me call such women - having given up her best years, and most productive time and energy to that one man, who leaves her at an age when she needs his emotional and moral support the most. And then there are those, just like you and me - having gone through those immeasurable moments of shame and confusion during our puberty ages and others who have gone through pain and suffering of nursing added with loneliness and depression in attempts to give the best to their child comprising their own sleep, health and well being. Its one thing to read about Nirbhaya in the media, have your guts churn and your fists clinch with anger - and it's a total different thing to actually have a person standing in front of you as she unfolds her darkest moments.

When I attended YKB - 2013, I was left speechless short of words to express myself. I relived my dark moments - when as a teenager I walked through the narrow roads of Turab Nagar wearing a thick khadi kurta with a even thicker duppata unfolded to make layers over layers of fabric, and with perhaps enough oil dripping from my hair  to boil a cup of tea. My head bent down starting at the potholed road, afraid lest my eyes accidentally met someone else's. Reciting Hanuman Chalisa in my head as I would see from the corner of my eyes - the stare from five shopkeepers on either side, scanning my entire being from top to bottom. I relived my first travel in a Delhi bus when I was standing and had a man double my age deliberately touchied my leg with his. Finally I developed some form of courage during college years, especially on those bus journeys between Bareilly and Ghaziabad - which on rare occasions were even all by myself. I relieved those times - when on countless occasions I had punched the guy next to me with my elbow, who pretending to dose off would have inch by inch expanded his four limbs in directions mysteriously all leading in my direction. After all these years the pain has finally gone, but the memories are all still fresh. A huge chunk of India, especially Northern India and even more specifically my hometown Ghaziabad - is a city full of such 'high quality' b*, that even today being a mom of two myself and well into my 30's - my own mom has my blind dad accompany me as my 'protector', if I ever have to step out of the home after dusk in an emergency situation!  

This year, as I sit down reflecting, I do not have enough words to thank Rita ji and other founding members of Tasveer and Aaina, who started YKB eight years ago and have given the women of Seattle and of Asian origin a platform to share their life's darkest secrets, to re-live their saddened pasts and emerge stronger - to not succumb to cowardice or become suicidal, but rebound, march forward choosing courage over fear and life over misery. All these women - every single one of them are more courageous than the rest of us, to have united together to help us unlearn, and teach anew that our pasts are not meant to be hidden, closeted and forgotten. But rather our pasts are to help us become even stronger as women, as caregivers and as parents. As we remind ourselves to believe in our daughters, we also teach them to be bold, stand up for themselves, for their rights and for all the things that matter to the women the most!