Shifa Khatoon
A few months ago, I was presented with the task of writing a research paper. After constant mental fatigue and emotional breakdowns, I thought of writing about women in Kashmir. But at the same time, I was hesitant, for the same reasons I am hesitant to talk about women at all: the fear of being termed a biased writer, someone who writes only in favour of one gender and disregards the other. I was afraid of being labelled a “feminist” in the negative sense of the word that some men, and even some women, have associated with it.
Then it dawned upon me: what is wrong with being a feminist? Why should I ever stop talking about how society, people, and even nature have treated us because of our gender? It is not going to heal our wounds. It is not going to give us the same status it gives to a ‘man’. But at least talking about these things makes them less destructive.
So, I decided to write about women who have no rights beyond the rights over what is made for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Women who only have authority over their kids, and by kids, I mean daughters, who become the carriers of the trauma they had to endure, and who pass that trauma on to their daughters, who then pass it on to theirs. And this chain never breaks, because as humans we need to find a source to release our pent-up emotions, and for women, that source often becomes other women.
In households, we have seen women fight over trivial things while men take on the “major” issues. Women fight over who will wash clothes, who will cook, and who will get to be the in-laws’ favourite. For men, it is about who gets the land, who gets the road, who gets to live. Even when women assert authority, men tell them where to assert it, society tells them where to assert it, and then they laugh at them because they are “silly women”.
My research, however, focused on a particular figure, someone who is a woman but not quite a woman. I researched Rantus, the Kashmiri mythical creature who has historically been demonised and termed an outsider. While studying her, I came to understand how society name-calls women “Rantus” when they are not conforming enough, when they do not follow rules, when they want to do things on their own. I realised that Rantus is nothing but a normal Kashmiri woman, one who knows what she wants in life, who has certain rights over her sexuality, who owns something of her own (a cave, for that matter), and who is not apologetic about her Rantus-ness.
I was once part of those discourses where I labelled other women as Rantus because of their messy hair, ugly makeup, or exotic dressing. Now, I feel it is a compliment to be labelled as her, because being her is rare. In a society where you are always expected to be an angel, you cannot speak your thoughts out loud, you cannot exist fully, you cannot assert authority, you have no home of your own; being a demon is far better. Now, when I see a woman spreading her wings, trying to fly, I call her a Rantus, not as a taunt, but as a compliment. Because it takes courage to be what society has always told you not to be.
My topic of discussion, however, is not Rantus. It is simply a woman. A woman who is born and people’s smiles fade; who is never wanted but merely accepted as fate. I have seen people consoling parents in hospitals because they just had a daughter. I have seen parents pretend to be happy and say out loud that “a daughter is a blessing” and that they will go straight to “Jannat”. If a daughter cannot be anything, at least she will be a ticket to eternal ecstasy.
A son’s birth does not need any such declaration; his birth is a declaration enough. A daughter’s birth is an apology. You have to apologise because you could not do better. I have seen mothers and grandmothers kiss their sons’ genitals because they are proud of the man he is going to become, proud of his manliness. And a daughter is hidden beneath a hundred sheets. I cannot help but wonder, what is so terrible and shameful?
The main reason this happens is that she is always treated as a burden. In fact, she is made into a burden by society. She has to be looked after, educated, and all that money is considered wasted because in the end, she will get married to another man and take care of his family. If she is working, her money becomes her husband’s money, and she cannot decide how to spend it. I understand this reality, but who has made these rules? If society allowed her to be in charge of her own capital, maybe she would not be seen as such a burden. If she earns money, she should have the right to send it to her parents. Yet when one among hundreds does so, society talks behind her back and taunts the parents for receiving money from their daughter.
Simone de Beauvoir wrote in The Second Sex, “One is not born a woman, one becomes a woman.” This is one of the truest things I have ever read, because the qualities associated with being a woman are not inherent; they are taught. I would add: one is not born a burden; one is made into a burden by society. Investing in her education is considered a waste, but investing in her marriage is an achievement. The suits, the gold, the dowry, it all has to be perfect, otherwise people will talk. And who are these people? Mostly women.
Men have turned women into vehicles for passing judgments. Women become enemies of other women while men sit on the side, enjoying the fruits. Once she is married, she has to have a child, come to her parents’ house to heal from postpartum difficulties, and then return to her in-laws’ house to serve them. How hypocritical is that? Under these circumstances, she inevitably becomes a burden to her parents, because her burdens belong to them, while her benefits belong to her husband and in-laws.
I know I sound like a typical feminist, but I am a typical feminist, and I am proud to sound like one. No force on earth will convince me that women in Kashmir are living their best lives simply because they do not have to work, by which I mean money-making work. The household labour they perform for 24 hours a day is not considered work at all.
I see influencers on Instagram, both men and women, from Kashmir. Men receive comments like “brother”, “zoov”, “inspiration”. Women receive comments like “Lanat chee”, “Ghari beh zeh he”, “Naav mandchovu tuhi”. This is only because men can not see women flourish and do better than them in the world. They want women to apologize for their existence eow and then, when they don’t, it offends them. But I love women who choose to shine anyway. I see women growing their businesses, entering male-dominated fields, and doing better than men. I see them choosing marriage when they feel ready, not when society tells them to. I see them owning their womanhood and being proud of it. I see them having a kid when they want and if they want. I see them embracing their daughters, and I think to myself, maybe the chain of trauma is breaking, slowly.
So when I see women who are trying to break norms and assert their rights, who are not bothered by so-called male chauvinists, I am secretly and openly proud of them.
(The author is currently pursuing Masters degree in English Literature at Jamia Millia Islamia University, New Delhi. She can be reached at khatoonshafiya@gmail.com)
