In my extended family, there is a little girl, seven years old, who is known for being shaitaan and muhfat. Her mother — my cousin — does not get tired of telling me how out of ‘control’ she is. Every time I hear that, it brings a big stupid smile to my face. A smile that’s not a nod or a reassurance for anyone because the conversation happens on the phone and no one is watching me. But my face still instantly lights up, emanating joy, because an out-of-control, muhfat, seven-year-old girl who doesn’t listen to anyone growing up somewhere in my family feels like a dream.

Sounds hilarious, I know, but think about it. Look at the boys and girls growing up around you and notice how many times young girls’ parents take pride in the fact that their female child is obedient (not decisive), well-behaved (not honest), and polite (not expressive).

I recently stumbled upon a poem by Megan Fernandes that’s been doing the rounds on the internet, and rightfully so. Reading it gave me a euphoric, joyful high, only to bring me crashing back down.

I couldn’t help but wonder how many girls are ever allowed to have a ruthless response to anything in life. We like our women timid and soft-spoken and unnecessarily sweet. We begin to tame them so early that by the time they are grown up, many of them do not even possess the ability to express basic human emotions like anger or even ecstasy. We strip them away of layers and facets of personhood that don’t fit into our idea of what a ‘healthy’ (read: patriarchal) family and society look like.

When I was younger — probably nineteen or twenty — I would do this thing of holding people’s gaze in the metro and smiling at them. There was no big reason, if you are looking for one. It was a sheer act of mischief that gave me joy and sometimes to the other person too, and also added a tinge of drama to my usual mundane commute. A kind friend, after hearing about this, told me that it’s Delhi, and it could be really unsafe if I do something like this with men. I stopped. Immediately.

Maybe that is why I (and you?) love unhinged women in books and on screen. Because they get to say and do things that you would have loved to if there were no consequences. The other day, I was randomly watching a Women’s Day panel on YouTube where Rasika Dugal spoke about (timestamp 1:25:00) the catharsis of playing a character who owns her sexuality because she, as a person, finds it difficult to do so in her real life. And that was a revelation because it means that women in the audience are vicariously living through these characters, but so are the actors who are playing them.

The thought that in another (better) world, I could have been a completely different version of myself makes me curious and sad at the same time. As a young girl, I was appreciated for not focusing too much on vanity because that somehow made me fit into the definition of a ‘simple,’ sincere girl. I loved to dance, but that was also too flamboyant a hobby for someone who came from a supposedly ‘good’ family. At school, girls with short skirts, nail paints, and untied hair were regularly reprimanded while the ones like me were made examples of. So today, as a 30-year-old, when I don’t like makeup or am not comfortable being a certain way, how do I know that it’s an inherent dislike or discomfort and not something I was made to learn early on?

Here’s another quote (courtesy: internet) that’s been stuck in my head for weeks now and is playing on loop like an earworm:

In the past two years, I have read enough reports and articles about how the gendered role of women, their niceness, people-pleasing behaviour, and internalised rage is making them physically sick. These articles only confirmed what I already knew because I am very close to two such women who suffer from chronic pain and illnesses that completely stem from the kind of life they had to lead in their respective married homes. This is like an open (dark) secret that we have gotten so used to that it’s not alarming for anyone, and why would it be if it’s helping uphold the status quo, right? Gendered norms affect both men and women, but men losing their shit evokes sympathy, but somehow women losing their shit only evokes ridicule.

The existence of that muhfat, out-of-control little girl gives me hope. The fact that till now she’s managed to stand in the way of the tide makes me want to go give her a big hug. There’s also a strong urge to protect her from all the forceful hands that are constantly at work trying to mould her into someone she is not. I wish she grows up to be an unladylike, audacious young woman who laughs loudly and does not think twice before speaking her mind. I hope she is able to feel and express the full spectrum of human emotions. And as Mary Oliver says, I hope she is never afraid of ‘plenty.’

If you’ve read till here, I am so grateful. Thank you! This is the seventh essay in a series of 40 essays that I am going to publish this year, on Sundays. I hope you like them; if you do, share it with a friend?

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