It's not an ism it's who I am

Somtimes, the strangest discussions come out of everyday chats. 

it was my first, nay second social gathering after news broke about the single status that was invisibly hitched to my name. Although the evening was organised by two young people I love dearly, it was awkward entering a room inhabited by the same people we used to meet regularly as a family of four. Although I haven't asked anyone to take sides, people do, I suppose. Thereby, some people, common friends of co-parent and me, have just slipped off the face of the Earth and their hugs and hellos seemed fake and quite unnecessary. 

A few pakoras and fish sticks later, I was engaged in a rich discussion with two gentlemen who'd taken college courses in women's studies, two decades ago in their undergrad and who've actively read Spivak. There's hope. 

I was asked if I was introduced to feminist thought when I came West. That was the underlying thread of unspoken assumptions that I have often been faced with. I have never been asked this directly.  With great pleasure I told them about my Teeamma, my paternal grandmother, who'd told me at 3 that I was the daughter of Shakti and how I have never been broken or bent by the blows of societal oppression or the push back from patriarchy.

I was also asked: "Has it been difficult or a struggle for you to stand true to your ideals of equity and feminism"? I thought about that for a quick moment and replied: it's not an "ism" for me. It's who I am.

I stand up for my son the way I stand up for my daughter. I stood up for men as I stood up for me. My voice for self does not ever come at the cost of your voice. We can live side by side and both be. Just be. No need to become. Being is enough. But all people don't get that.  Some get it, others don't.

Feminism is not an ism. It's a mindset of women or men with voice for those marginalized.  Gender, race and social class all play a part. Yet, abuse and neglect cross colour lines. 

A day later, I had this thought. I did not say it then to the men who were talking to me
About the struggles I face,  Brother. Where do you want me to start? I've paid some hefty tabs. No regrets though as I'm not responsible for the ignorance and insecurities of others. 

Short hair, Kolhapuri chappal, oxidized silver bangles are all symbols. Women who work hard to keep their children fed and out of danger, away from the fists and blows of the men in their lives, are feminists too.  So is my son who makes his sister's lunch and tucks in a note for her to read far away at work. About others, I don't know. I just am, and my ism is not an ism at all. That's all I know. Knowing that I matter as do you was not learned at Pearson Airport when my passport was stamped as a landed immigrant. It was learned at my grandmother's side, over four decades ago. Long ago in a cool floored house in Naigaum. 

And Teeamma smiles through the dappled sunshine in my beautiful backyard.