It’s not just one day, Every Day is Her Day

It’s Women’s Day and I can’t keep calm.

Well. Almost, but not quite.

Because my day started with no less than ten “Happy Women’s Day” quotes forwarded blindly (possibly) to me. It progressed with more flaky drama on Facebook, with people lifting quotes off the internet and using done-to-death descriptions of women’s strength, resilience, beauty and more to applaud our kind. There were selfies clicked, and our gender exhorted to climb the proverbial peak, never mind the very next day at least fifty of us would be trolled in the nastiest way possible for demanding men respect our space and our beings and not use their authority to harass us, sexually or otherwise.

I am tired of the one-day ritual that “Women’s Day” has come to be. Of celebrities and politicians who will milk this no end, till it’s back to business and the hard grind of life for millions of ordinary women in this country.

So here’s my rant, in the form of a poem. I hope it speaks to you the way it spoke to me when I finished writing it:

“It’s Her Day”

She is limitless, how can a “day” be enough to define her?
Source: Pexels

It’s that day of the year again
When noises will crawl
Through the air,
Calling her names,
And wrapping her with tags
She is too tired to wear!
Empowered, strong,
Beautiful, and bold
Are the only hand-picked cherries,
She is allowed to hold.

Free cocktails, glittery make-up,
and apparel discounts,
Internet quotes parroted
And tucked in a gold mount,
Stories of moms and sisters
And friends who beat the odds,
Are fed to her year after year
Because,
This is the day,they say
She can rub shoulders with the gods.

Forgotten are her cracked soles,
Playing even dad’s innings 
Day after day,
That’s a mother’s job, they whisper
“So suck it up and play anyway.”

Suppressed, lay her dreams
Her wings tethered to a world
Of their design,
She just topped her school, alright,
But it’s her brother touring
greener pastures, and she is “fine.”

Cubicles, hospitals, schools
Boardrooms and more
Her cries of equal pay
Burn incessantly, till they are cast
Aside on the shore.

She asks for a little rest,
They give her none,
She wants to stop sharpening
Her claws everyday,
And have one less battle hard-won.
She is tired and grumpy
Angry and moody,
Hardly glossy and perfect 
As they forever paint her,
She simply exists as in
Many shades as they do,
But branding her bossy, stubborn
Loud and slutty
is all they can do to taint her.

And so, when This Day rolls
Over to the next morn,
She will don her armour, as always
And prepare to be reborn.
The flowers they sent her
Will wilt away in patriarchy’s din
As she drapes herself for the day,
Over toughened bones and skin.
Readying herself for the next climb,
Yet,
Cool enough to pat herself
For the last one conquered.
She will shrug her shoulders
And sip some wine,
And prop her feet up 
Over the imaginary “line”

Any day of the year she chooses
Because everyday is Her Day.

Happy EVERYDAY to us ladies!

Author: Shravani

Content-cum-Copywriter by the day. Dreamer and an idea juggler by the night. Foodie, Movie buff, Bookworm, Chai-holic, - in that order. A truckload of money to throw into that mix, and that's all I'll ever need.

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