Durga Pujo, to me, had always been about family, dance recitals and poem recitations. It was also about new clothes, new shoes and a new kind of yearning for Uma every year.
I call her Uma. To the world, she is Durga, but to me, she is Uma. She is just a girl visiting her parents, getting adorned, fed and dressed up.
However, things felt very different this year. I wondered if the city welcoming her was even safe for her. After all, she is just a girl. And so are millions of us.
This country is normalising rape with every passing day. We keep finding ways to blame the victim, the neighbourhood, or anything else that allows us to look away from the real problem.
A posh neighbourhood in Delhi should have been safe. A playground should have been safe. A school facility should have been safe. And her home should have been a safe place.
The question that follows is this: are we safe anywhere, or with anyone?
The answer? We don’t have one. All we have are new excuses to blame the Umas of this country.
Uma is you. Uma is me. We are hiding, running away, trying to learn martial arts and finding clothes that cover every inch of our bodies, even when the sun shows no mercy.
The irony is that we aren’t spared even then.
That makes me wonder: if a country finds it so difficult to punish the criminal and so easy to blame the victim, is it a country that should be allowed to welcome Uma?
A goddess is welcomed into our homes with the beats of the dhak, dhunuchi dances, flowers and fruits, while women in this country don’t feel safe enough to even breathe freely.
The tyranny. The irony.
HAPPY PUJO, UMA.
I hope we do better next time.