On Being A Woman And Womanhood

Collected in The Smudged Hyphen (2026).

I sit next to my mother. She is laughing as she tells me that my sister says things very similar to the things I say. I laugh with her, commiserating on the joys of being a mother, wife, daughter and donning all of these womanly roles in our lives. It is just one of the many things that happened this week.

One morning I woke with a dull ache in my head. I was irritable. I yelled at my children who were slow to wake, slow to get ready for school, forgot to charge their school iPads and yelled back at me when I urged them to not miss the bus.

Another day, I tuck them into bed, my back hurting from the work, mental and physical I do all day. My body is bleeding, my hormones are amuck. All I want is for them to quietly brush their teeth, snuggle into the bed that I have already cozied up by adding a fleece blanket under their thick comforters and go to sleep. They dally, they poke each other in the ribs, they are having a good time and I am irritated, upset and guilty.

Today, I am up before the alarm goes. I sip on my coffee at 5:40 am and scroll through my Twitter feed. International woman’s day topics are trending. There are jokes about discounts and vouchers from retailers in India. There are new articles talking about empowerment and disenfranchment in the same breath. I shrug and move on or at least try to.

My mind is stuck on this idea of womanhood and personhood.

I was in seventh grade, in a new school, a place where I did not fit in. It must have been late evening. We had visitors over, uncles from my extended family, with connections. They were talking about how they could secure an admission in a renowned school near by. The caveat was there was only one seat they could get. I remember my heart beating loudly in my chest. I was sure that by way of being the eldest, it would have to be me. I remember the sinking feeling, the crushing disappointment when my brother got that coveted seat. It seared into my head that I would always be lesser, always the second option, the fall back, the plan B.

I was in middle school when I got my first pair of diamond earrings, the large sparkling traditional pattern worn by women post marriage. I heard my Amma and paati talk about how they were Karaikudi diamonds renowned for their cut and clarity. I listened and absorbed as they bandied notes on how they were sourced, who got them made and how much it cost. I understood, even back then, that my role in this world was go be a wife, a mother and then the ubiquitous Maami.

I got my first silk saree in high school. I could have gone to study engineering. Instead I turned to Science, arguing to myself that the money spent on me would be a waste when I had a brother who was just two years behind me. He would be a bread winner. Not I. I had internalized the misogyny by then, making it seem like I was martyring myself at the altar of womanhood.

This is where the story gets a twist.

As much as I absorbed all of those messages, I also saw women in my family go to work. I saw women in positions of power in the Government. The books I read convinced me that there was a world far beyond the confines of my home that was far more welcoming of my ideas on what it mean to be an equal person. It lit a fire in my belly. So what if I did not go to a fancy school? So what if I did not study engineering? I would work. I would earn. I would be independent the best I could. At the very least, I would try. I did.

Today, I raise three children, all girls. I am proud of my financial independence. All my children ever know are women around them who work, raise families, make films and, run businesses. They still see me and their aunts and grandmothers nurture and cook and clean and take on the grunt work. They see the whole bunch of us walk around like zombies, irritated, irritable and unhappy being the primary caregiver.

My children grow up in a world where menstrual practices are a far cry from the oppressive things I dealt with growing up. They know and see a world where there is possibility. They know they are equal whether or not the world around them offers them that right. May be they will fight. May be they will be happy with status quo. May be they will blaze a path for others in our family to follow.

So, this Monday when there is much ado about International Women’s Day, all I can think of is that the girl in Chennai who was crushed when she was sidelined now knows she can chart a path the way she sees fit. It has always been about her and what she believes in, not what the world around her thinks she should be.

If this moved you, send a tip.