Gender Blender!
You’re not like other girls.”
“What do you mean by THAT? Is there something wrong with me?”
“Nothing. Just that you’re not like other girls. You’re a good driver and you talk about things beyond fashion. It’s a compliment.”
As my date walked me from the restaurant to my car, he gave me this compliment. I was not like other girls. That is to say, I did not confine to the ‘ideals’ of ‘being a girl’, created by mankind. It was supposed to be a good thing. So why did it make me feel so bad?
I racked my brains for reasons to bolt for the car, without having to face the awkward conversation of “let us do this again some time”. There was no way I was seeing HIM again.
But why? I didn’t understand immediately. In fact, I didn’t understand what it was about him that set me off, for a long time. Until the day I saw myself as a part of something bigger- a gender.
I was 21, and lived alone. I had a work profile that entailed a lot of travel. Obviously, I travelled alone as well. That fine evening, I was taking a flight out of Andamans. As luck would have it, I got stuck next to two chatty men who considered it prudent to read their sexist text messages out loud.
There was only so much I could tolerate. I called the flight attendant and asked her to find me a different seat.I gave up my window seat for a cramped middle seat, next to a girl reading Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s paper on Social Contract. I was immediately interested in this fellow philosophy lover.
I waited for her to keep the book aside, and my patience was rewarded with the announcement of refreshments to be served. She kept the book aside, and looked right at me. “I could hear the sexist joke, you know?”. Since my former seat was just two rows behind, I caught her drift. I laughed.
“So what do you think of women who laugh at such jokes?” This was a rather strange question. But it made me think. I had seen women laughing at most sexist jokes, and I had disliked it very much. I meant to tell this strange girl who read philosophy books in her spare time, that I disliked them.
But halfway through, I blurted out that I ‘pitied’ them. I PITIED THEM? What a revelation that was! I realised that I actual pitied women who put down their own gender. It was a four hour flight, and it is anybody’s guess that I had an engaging conversation on feminism with this stranger. Nevertheless, it was my answer to her first question that actually hit me hard.
While in the cab, on my way to my hotel, I had time to think. I thought. Why did I PITY such women? That is when it came to me! That is when I suddenly realised that I had been taking myself to be a part of something bigger. I saw myself as a woman, before seeing myself as an individual. I saw myself to be a part of something beyond the conforms of individuality. I was a part of a gender- a bigger social construct.
I realised that I had subconsciously favoured female artists, authors, actors and musicians. I realised that I had never thought ill of women, and I had easily forgiven them too.
I realised that I had always carried the slights by men in my heart, while I had quickly forgiven women for the same errors. Was I biased? Maybe. But is it biased to stand by your own gender? No. But society will tell you otherwise.
It is considered ‘cool’ to not be ‘like other girls’. Society even has a word for it- ‘Tomboy’. If a woman has a sense of individuality, a strong personality, a knack for driving or video games or sports… or in essence, if a woman does anything beyond the confines of sandwich -making, she is considered masculine.
Her achievements and talents are immediately labelled away from her gender, and given to the male counterparts.
She is labelled with a name that dissociates her from her gender, and THAT is supposed to make her feel good. Women fall for this genius-but-sly sexism, day after day. They truly believe that if they got approval from other men, and dissociated themselves from their gender, they would have arrived in life.
Why? Because being a woman in this Man’s World is considered second-rate. A ‘tomboy’ is closer to the first-gender, than a girl. And THAT, my friends, is why I decided to never called Abeer that night. That, perhaps, is also why I subconsciously chose a freelance profession that made me my own boss.
I despised a man telling me that my talents belonged to his gender, and not my own. More importantly, I pitied watching fellow-women run after male approval by crushing their own gender.
Out of a pure instinctual fancy, I pulled out my phone and texted Abeer.
“I am a part of my gender. I am a girl, and there are other girls in this world . We are all different , simply because no two human being are the same. But we belong together. We belong to the same greater construct- our gender. And you’re too full of shit to realise the insult in your ‘compliment ‘, homey.”
