“I dropped out of a college, changed my stream, started over and worked in a bar.”
-Words I need to say in order to repel people or to get them to judge me. The aunty in the bus with her kid on her side becomes the cat on high alert. Her ears perk up and her hands cover her daughter’s ears. But she can’t contain herself. She has to go on and ask me; or atleast try to figure out why a girl from a ‘good family’ worked in a bar or dropped two years.
“Umm…but beta why?”
None of the explanations I give satisfy her. In her mind, I have already failed in more exams than I can count, got rusticated for rowdy behaviour and conducted myself in a shameful manner (slutty too).
“But all those men in the bar…was it safe?”
She might as well have asked me how many times I was raped or did something that would elicit the response ‘shame shame’ from her friend group.
The uncle I tell these words to looks at me like I am a piece of meat. Suddenly the wisdom in his eyes is replaced by lust. He is licking his lips mentally. Yum!
What I am doing now doesn’t matter. What matters is what I did. And what I did defines who I am right?
The girls my age run away from me. They have their morality to protect. Their mothers would disapprove. The guy I give my resume to is confused. A 8.0 gpa and then a dropout. Why?
Choice is not something I am allowed to have.
A girl from a good family cannot work in a bar because ‘those places are dangerous for women…’ As if only men drink. And a woman doesn’t have a voice, lest hands and legs.
Our girls should be kept in parda at home; should not have relationships of any kind before marriage; should not go out of home after 5 pm; should not have opinions; should not disobey- says the regime.
Marriage is the only solution for women. Once married, they are the property of their husbands and the slaves to their children. Marital rape is normal. There is consent of course- hey lady, you signed a social contract. Remember always,- the regime continues.
Why blame the regime. My gynecologist told me to not have premarital sex. ‘It can lead to all sorts of problems,’ she said with a wink.
Let’s not come to sexuality. I don’t have one. I can’t have one. The only desire I am permitted to have is that of wanting a kid. Where do kids come from? The angel plants it in my belly. In my case, the angel is my husband offcourse.
I am not allowed to be a single mother. “Shame shame,” Pammy aunty says.
Now our union minister has said surrogacy is not an option for homosexuls, single mothers and partners in a live in.
There goes my chances. After all, who will marry me? I am the girl who worked in a bar remember?
Damn I am doomed. And I am so bloody happy being doomed!