what does it mean to be a girl?

to me, it means being silent.  to be seen and not heard.

so call me Icarus, because, when I try to stoop down to your views, the toxic salt of your outdated thoughts and institutionalised bias erodes the fragile wings that I’d painstakingly crafted with golden feathers of hope and promises, but your over-expectant “sun” 

burns too.  

just let me be! But I already know that you won’t. 

not when marital rape is still legal in our country, because our  leaders say that once married, a womans perpetual consent is implied.

not when you say that she should have fought back against 

her abusers 

and her silencers 

and her murderers, 

because, believe me, she tried.

not when 2 in 5 Indian women are victims 

of sexual, emotional or domestic violence, 

and 2 in 3 women have been raped worldwide.

not when that could’ve been me.

you expect our hips to be wider than our pay gap 

but our waists 

narrower than your mindset.

you expect us to sweep the violence, the honour killings, the harassment and the misogyny under the carpet;

along with the dirt that you make the wives of your home clean up 

while the husbands prop their feet up on the table as a threat.

don’t tell me where I belong, because I already know.

i belong in a classroom.  or a conference room.  or a courtroom.  

or wherever else I want to be, and you cannot tell me otherwise 

because you think that I am nothing more than a sum of my body parts.

you say that we women cannot shut up when you won’t let us speak up.

equality shouldn’t feel like a privilege, 

it shouldn’t be up for debate, 

it should not come with a price tag 

or a terms & conditions asterisk attached. 

whose rights are you protecting, 

the men hurting or the women being hurt?  

answering that question is what it means to be 

a girl.

a woman.

a mother.

a sister.

a daughter.

in this world.