I am a Human!
At sixteen, I might have smiled with pride at being called a goddess. But at twenty-four, I felt nothing divine—just weary. I touched his feet anyway, reluctantly.
Conversely, I’m not Lakshmi. I’m a human. Neither Saraswati nor Kāli. I am living in a society that first deifies women and then subjects them to prejudice every single day.Be it domestic violence, verbal violence, clipping her feathers, and such like.
It’s strange how easily we have been accepting this contradiction. A girl is raped at midnight, and instead of defending her, an “honourable” leader remarks that girls shouldn’t be roaming at such hours. But isn’t Goddess Kāli worshipped at midnight?
Lakshmi—the word itself has become synonymous with dowry. A girl is called Lakshmi because she carries gold and jewellery(and much more) to her in-laws’ house. Yet when a baby girl is born, her father, grandfather, and the entire clan wear long faces. Believe you me, they aren't happy with her birth(don't fill my comments with your exceptions).
If women are truly Lakshmi, why is their birth met with disappointment? Why can’t our so-called devout society accept a Lakshmi with imperfections? Why must Lakshmi be fair to be worshipped? Why not dark-skinned, flawed, real?
If I am Lakshmi, then men must be Narayan—yet it is always the goddess who bears the burden of proving her worth. In the name of a deity, we sacrifice our self-worth, our dignity and identity. Have you ever asked your mothers who are they? They shall not even have an answer. Isn't it strange?
Women are Laxmii, but ironically, they have'nt the financial literacy to manage their accounts! (Forget their title deeds).
Looking at the face of my relative feeling pity on him, I sat there, silent, burning inside. Not just at my relative’s words, but at the centuries of perceptions I’ve quietly endured without question.
But today, I do want to question them.
Because I am not Lakshmi.
I am simply—human.
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