“Dear Doctor, is it a boy?”
Two anecdotes on how time and again, our society has tried to define the indefinable.
The mother mustered up all the courage that was left in her after a grueling six hours and asked, "What is it, doctor? A boy?" As she sensed the reality hidden in the doctor’s rebuke, "Why does it worry you so much? It’s a healthy baby... You can already hear it crying", she pretended to fall asleep while the doctor was busy suturing her Rectus Abdominis muscle.
The doctor went back home and remembered she had a phone call to make. "What is it, Uncle?", she asked with all her vivacity. "It’s a girl", she heard from the other end. The lukewarm voice clearly told her why it was she who had to place a call, having to squeeze out time from her busy schedule. And something inside her died, bit by bit that day. The fact that the fact is still so grim. The fact that a stethoscope around her neck and a round-body catgut in her hand are still not exemplary enough to evoke happiness over the birth of a baby girl. The fact that a girl who can grow up to be a guy’s silent smile fails to bring a smile to her mother’s lips when she articulates her first cry! The fact that a girl who can hold the Universe together fails to be a world to her father as she takes her first breath. The fact that the fact is still so grim.
“Two daughters?!!”, sighed the Aunt who had traveled all the way to the city to finally see her long-lost daughter-in-law. She had missed the much-talked-about wedding a decade ago and the guilt had never left her. So here she was — watching the bride with her two little princesses. The elder one was seen meticulously opening each peapod and collecting all the peas in a dish. The younger one made sure her own skills didn’t go unappreciated and therefore she was seen peeling the onions off only to return teary-eyed to her mother. The curious Aunt could no longer hold back, “O Dear! When are you planning for a third… ?” “As if these two aren’t enough… ”, their Momma replied in good humor. “… to drive me mad!”, She continued in her head. Jokes apart, deep down she knew what she kind of a world she had welcomed her little daughters in. It wasn’t a very kind world. The Aunt’s question was a true reflection of it. So Momma decided to leave a note for them in her diary before switching off the bedroom lights,
“They’ll be at it all the time. Absorbing everything. How you tug at your neckline in those moments of troubleshooting. How you roll your eyes in disagreement. How you flip your hair back while focussing. How you smack your lips out of boredom. How you engage people. The loudness of your laughter. The softness of your smile. The unseen crevices lurking beneath your intact aura. What unsettles you. What makes your palms sweat. How you tremble and how you fret. How you hold back your tears. How you gulp down the knot in your throat. How you cross and uncross your legs. The angles of your eyebrows when you frown. Your sheepish demeanor. Your assertiveness. They’ll judge anyways, to see where you lie on the spectrum of their definition of a 'good' woman.
They perhaps forget the very essence of existence. They forget you are 'life' itself. They forget you can’t be unearthed. Because you are the womb. You are the grave. You are enough without being what this twisted society, decides what beautiful is.
You are the entire cosmos in motion.”
"A woman’s artistry starts in her mind. Spills into her heart. Blossoms all over her body, And carries over into her soul."