BLANK: because Feminism is Running Rampant

I don’t get it. I’ve lost my muse. I'm facing a clichéd writer’s block. I have no idea what to write about and I must write for that is my identity. I've been behind on my reading and I came across something in a book by Ayn Rand in chapter 3 of The Romantic Manifesto and this got me thinking…the scene goes like this…if one were to see a beautiful woman with a slight blemish we would ignore it as a minor affliction but if one were to see a painting of a woman with a blemish it would be a corrupted piece of art derogatory to human experience, Is not the point of art and literature to make reality more bearable? Then why do we shrink at the sight of imperfection and shout out with indignation. 

And what if it were opposite, we see and read perfect and imperfect images only to realize they are but fiction, nonexistent in our lives. The Fountainhead, perfection in the form of Howard Roark and yet when we look around us we realize they don’t make men like him…this may seem typically feminist but its true. And for some weird reason it shouldn’t sound weird as no where in works of literature has such a perfect image of a woman been drawn up that a man is disappointed with the reality and in most cases an image that is real is presented and so what you see is what you get. 

The scriptures and texts which talk of dedication, bravery and chivalry in men succeed in objectifying women. Compared to alcohol which makes you sin, equated with clothes meant to be discarded and given a secondary position of helping run the household the so called imperfections in women have been highlighted to such an extent that we now take a sadistic pleasure in creating an image of men that don’t exist. And trust me when I say Ayn Rand is the best at it. 

No White Horses. No Knights in Shining Armour. No fairytales. No Bollywood or Hollywood heroes that come charging on a Harley Davidson or drive a Porsche and hold doors open or take you for long drives in the moonlight and expect nothing but a Thank You. My pessimism here shocks even me but I have been privy to secrets that have altered my belief not only in ‘boys’ and that’s what they are but also in humanity. 

19^th February 2014. A boy calls up his Ex-Girlfriend and insults her for no fault of hers.

20^th February 2014. A boy calls up his friend and insults her for being a friend of the Ex-Girlfriend.

21^st February 2014. A group of boys call up a group of girls and insult them simply because they can.

22^nd February 2014. The Ex-Boyfriend walks up to his Ex-Girlfriend and slaps her.

23^rd February 2014. A seventeen year old girl’s belief in humanity, love, infatuation and most importantly friendship is shattered.

24^th February 2014. She couldn’t care less!

You take us for granted. You take our dreams and aspirations to be figments of imagination. You take our silence for accord. You take our lowered heads for shame. You take our respect for servitude. You take our service for duty. You take our forbearance to be our weakness. You take our elegance to be fragility. You take our lives to be wax in your hands.You take our stories to be your words. You try to break us.You even try to make us.

You see, the image that you and I  create in our minds is shattered by us and our experiences, and at the end we (women) don’t care. We let it go, We move on and I think that is what creates the “imperfection” in us. We forgive and pretend so well that we have forgotten.  But it’s there, eating us from the inside.  The grudge grows and unlike you we deal with it, time passes while we get spent. We stop belief from crumbling, faith from dying and perception from changing because they, the supposedly superior sex can’t and won’t be able to deal with it and I wait for the day they see the real us and what we are and can be… for not knowing whether to acknowledge us, thank us, beg forgiveness or simply stare …they will be blank.