Why is it so hard for women in this country to simply exist in peace? Why do we have to fight for basic dignity? Why do we have to beg to be heard?
Every single day, we wake up knowing that no matter what we do, no matter how much we try, we will still be second to men. We will be told to adjust, to tolerate, to be silent. We are taught from childhood that sacrifice is our birthright. Be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, but don’t you dare ask for anything in return.
We do not exist for men. We are not just wives, daughters, or mothers. We are human. And we are done waiting for the world to see that.
A woman in India is a housekeeper, a cook, a caretaker, a punching bag—and yet, she is nothing. The moment she gets married, she ceases to be a daughter and becomes a servant to another family. She is expected to cook, clean, serve, and listen, always listen, to her in-laws, to her husband. Never to herself. Her worth is measured in how well she serves others, and how much she can endure without breaking.
It’s not that we don’t want to cook for our families. We want to care for them. But is it too much to ask for a little appreciation? A simple ‘thank you’ instead of constant criticism? Instead, we hear, ‘This needs more salt,’ ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ ‘You’re putting on weight,’ ‘You’re ageing too fast.’ No matter how much we give, it never seems to be enough.
And then, there is the silence around the ugliest truth—marital rape. A wife’s consent doesn’t matter in this country. Her body is considered her husband’s right. The law refuses to call it rape. The courts say a husband cannot rape his wife. But tell me, when did a marriage certificate become a license to violate? When a woman says ‘no,’ why does it become void the moment she gets married?
Most sexual violence in India happens within marriage, yet barely 10% of women report it. Because who do we report it to? The same system that protects men? The same judges who believe it’s a husband’s ‘conjugal right’? Women who suffer this don’t just endure physical pain. They bear emotional wounds, psychological scars that never heal. One in three women has faced domestic abuse in India. Every day, around a hundred women are raped. The numbers should make you sick, should make you want to scream, but tell me, why does no one care?
Where do we go? Where do women run when their abuser lives within their own home? Where do we seek justice when the system itself fails us?
And yet, when men cry about their struggles, the whole world stops to listen. ‘Men’s mental health matters.’ ‘Men are lonely.’ ‘Men need support.’ Yes, they do. But what about us? What about the hundred women raped daily? What about the thousands of women battered behind closed doors? What about the millions of women who suffer in silence? Why is their pain not treated as a crisis? Why does their suffering go unnoticed, dismissed like background noise?
And when a woman finally gathers the courage to divorce, another nightmare begins. Alimony becomes a battlefield, and suddenly, men who never cared about financial justice start screaming about how unfair it is. Why does it become the only thing people talk about? As if a few cases of unfair settlements outweigh decades of abuse. Why is it that the mere thought of financial compensation for women is met with resistance? As if a woman getting financial support after years of unpaid labour is worse than the hell she endured in her marriage.
Men say they are victims too. That they are hated, that they suffer. But do they fear walking home at night? Do they clench their fists when a stranger stares too long? Do they carry keys between their fingers, just in case? Do they get blamed when someone violates them? Do they get told they ‘asked for it’?
Why is our pain always dismissed? Why are we told we exaggerate, that we are being dramatic? That our oppression is somehow just a ‘women’s issue’? Our struggles are real. Our pain is real. Our voices are real. And we are tired of being ignored.
Men’s loneliness gets a full-blown social movement. Women’s suffering gets a footnote. The moment a man cries, society rushes to wipe his tears. When a woman screams for help, they tell her to lower her voice.
We are tired. Tired of fighting for basic respect. Tired of proving our worth. Tired of being seen as disposable.
We do not exist for men. We are not just wives, daughters, or mothers. We are human. And we are done waiting for the world to see that.
Where do we go? Where do women run when their abuser lives within their own home? Where do we seek justice when the system itself fails us?
Who solves women’s problems? Why are they still ignored? And most heartbreakingly—when will we finally be free?
The burden on Indian women is immense. We are expected to be caregivers, emotional supporters, unpaid labourers, and silent sufferers. From a young age, society conditions girls to serve, to put others first, to sacrifice their own happiness. Meanwhile, boys are taught to prioritize personal achievement, with the unspoken assumption that women will always be there to support them emotionally and practically.
This cannot continue. The solution is not simple, but it begins with recognition. It begins with teaching boys that women are not their caretakers by default. It begins with normalizing conversations about women’s struggles as societal problems, not just ‘women’s issues.’ It requires workplaces to step up and recognise the unique burdens that women carry, from equal pay to maternity and menstrual leave.
And most importantly, it requires men to step up. To take on their fair share of emotional labour, to acknowledge their privilege, to stop seeing women as objects of service and to start recognising them as equals.
The question remains: Who solves women’s problems? Why are they still ignored? And most heartbreakingly—when will we finally be free?
This is not just a voice. This is a fight for justice.
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