India. We’ve come to associate the place with the gang rape of young girls, acid attacks on women’s faces, abused wives who immolate themselves.
We do not need to accept this.
Aranya Johar does not acccept it. She stood up and recited an uppercut of a poem. She’s reaching out to men to stop this. It’s a minority of men who assault women, if the good guys don’t turn a blind eye, it can stop.
On her Twitter account and Instagram account she talks about how much she likes pizza.
Can we do we all can so she can eat her pizza in peace, and not have to worry about guys trying to rape her, because with her skirt cut above the knee, she must have been ‘asking for it’?
You can follow her on Twitter.
Here’s the full text of her poem:
‘The first boy who held my hand told me boys didn’t want to hear about vaginas bleeding. Younger me could smell the misogyny. Vaginas only meant to be fucked, breasts only meant to be sucked, mouths only meant to blow. It’s true, I know. My waist meant to be compared to an hour glass. My voice only meant to quiver, ‘Ugh, please, fast.’ Yet, I am silenced. For all we boil down to is sexual interaction. Not just me, my mother, sisters, friends, all quicken their pace post 8.30 in the evening. My mom telling me to wear skirts out less often. Nirbhaya and more, left forgotten. We don’t want to be another of India’s daughters, do we? So I wear my jeans long and wear my tops high. Don’t show my cleavage or a hint of my thighs. Don’t want to be mistaken for wanting it. Cause if I wear less, I’m more than just flaunting it, I’m risking it. Risking not my virginity, but my life. My hymen seems to be sacred, told to keep it till I’m a wife. If not, I’m a whore, a slut, a skank and more. Not as pure as I was before. 15 year old Laxmi didn’t like 32 year old Guddu back and Guddu dealt with it real maturely, he made her the victim of an acid attack. Laxmi could be your sister, your girlfriend, your cousin. We’re girls, women, human, not a burden. I ask my male friend to drop me home because his privilege will protect mine. I’m sorry dad, for I was catcalled in my uniform at the age of 9. This isn’t an all men thing I know. Trust me, I do. But the men I can trust are only a few. At the age of 12 my bra straps were sexualized. At the same time, we don’t get damn sexual rights. My aunt raped by her husband, but marital rape is fine. Pucker up, it’s a mad design, get in line. So what I’m trying to say here tonight is, I’m sorry I was brought up in a family where my brother taught me wrong from right. Where my mother believes in our generation to better the world. Make it slightly easier for each and every girl. Thank you. For I see men in this room. Reaching out for help, realizing the bane of the womb. Being saved by the sane of a few. We’re all collectively reaching out for you. Thank you.’