Grrrl… Here’s a (Late) Thought.
Some thoughts around an internationally celebrated day
I am reminded of the significance of the day.
I am reminded of my identity and its importance.
I think back to a couple of years ago when I was waiting to get home. It was pretty late that night, and I had taken one of the last few trains to the station closest to my home. The train was sparsely crowded; only a few dozen tired faces making their way to wherever they lived. I could feel the dirt and grime on my face as I stepped out, my skin dry and my eyes drawn. I waited by the entrance to the station for an auto to take me home. As I waited, I sat down on the sidewalk, weighed down by the bags, aware of how it might seem to the milieu of people streaming out. As I breathed heavy from a hard day’s work, a little girl approached me, dressed in a small pink tulle dress and matching hairband around her pixie-cut hair. She could not have been more than three years old. I remember the distinct pop of pink lipstick on her little powdered face and the cheeky laugh she shared with her brother when they noticed they’d gotten my attention. I looked at her, one unmade-up face to her made-up one, watching as she obediently followed her brother when her family called out to them — “Aaja, aaja,” — and she smiled and said, “Bye!” to me before she left.
I think of her often as I see another little girl around me now, who goes about her day chattering excitedly, interspersing her rapid Tamil with certain phrases in English that she finds fascinating. I watch as she puts her arms around the dogs’ heads, holding them close in a tight, loving embrace.
Something about how obliviously blissful she looked as she lay cradled on a pair of adult legs, treating them as a hammock, made me blurt out how it’s sad that this blissfulness will be short-lived until forced to face life beyond these walls.
I thought of the significance of having that thought on that day. “A day for all women.”
I thought of the little women my mother and her sisters were, supporting each other physically and mentally, now separated by distance but bound tighter than ever by text messages and phone calls. I think of us — their daughters — and the rivalries and common grounds binding us together. The women we were, and the women we are becoming.
For it is through them that I understand, and continue to understand, what that elusive concept of womanhood and femininity means.
That, I celebrate. And for that, I am ever grateful.
Dated 14/3/21
