I note the date at the bottom corner of my laptop and realize tomorrow is International Women’s Day. I am already dreading the deluge of “wishes” from corporates and people alike. Just this week, my news feeds on every social media app I am on is filled with horrors against women and children. Sexual assault, rape, sodomy, murder. The list is endless.
In my adopted home of America, all the talk leading into the election is about people in power scheming to take away whatever vestiges of bodily autonomy I have as a woman. In my home country of India, conversation is more about protecting India’s image rather than discuss why the country is unsafe for women.
This is also the week in which my debut adult fiction about sexual assault in India came out. The themes in the book are being played out on social media and in real life and I feel so triggered.
I send my girls off to school and often feel hopeless about their collective future. It has come to a point where even what little outrage I feel seems pointless.
So, no, it is not a Happy Women’s Day. It never has been.
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