Spectator by Seema Goswami: Seeing red (not pink)

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Every year, when International Women’s Day begins to near, my inbox fills up with pink-hued spam, offering me everything from discounts at the neighbourhood spa to a special deal on mammograms at the local medical center. To say that I find this spam annoying would be the understatement of the century. But that is nothing compared to the annoyance I feel when Women’s Day greetings start flooding my WhatsApp and inundating my Twitter timeline.

I don’t intend to embarrass anyone in particular by singling out their greeting, because all of them are, frankly, just as irritating. The general theme is how women are such good wives, mothers, sisters, daughters, friends. How women selflessly put themselves out for the people in their life no matter what the cost. How a woman’s work is never done (and honestly, how do they do it?!) How the men in their lives cannot imagine how they would manage without them. And how women must be celebrated for these sacrificing, self-effacing qualities, which allow their men to pass through life without the slightest inconvenience.

By the end of the day, I am usually in a towering rage, having read hundreds of such saccharine messages. And with every new one that pops up on my phone, I wonder anew: why is it so impossible for people to see women as individuals, with fully-realized lives and ambitions of their own? Why must a woman still be seen through the prism of a man—to whom she is a daughter, a wife, a sister, a mother, or even a friend or colleague? Why must her achievements be listed in the context of how she makes other people’s lives better? Then, there is the endless romanticising of the hard, unrelenting, thankless work that all women do every single day. Getting the kids ready for school, looking after ageing parents and in-laws, cooking dinner after a hard day at the office, keeping the home in order, women are expected to do it all. No matter how ‘enlightened’ the husband, it is the wife who ends up picking up the slack at home. None of this is fun, and none of it is particularly fulfilling. And yet, we are fed the myth that women—those caring creatures—find a deep and abiding pleasure in it all.

I don’t know about you, but I think it is time that we put this particular lie to rest.

So, how would I like to see International Women’s Day celebrated, you ask.

Well, for starters, I would like companies, who invest so much on pink-hued advertising at this time of year, to put their money where their mouth is. Instead of releasing cutesy pictures of their women workforce, I would like them to ensure that every woman on their rolls is paid the same amount of money for the same kind of work as a man does. The gender pay gap in companies is anything from 25 to 30 per cent, which means that women end up making 75 rupees to every 100 rupees that their male counterparts make. As long as that disparity is not addressed, it is meaningless to post pictures of smiling young women lining up for a promotional ad. In fact, it is highly hypocritical, if not downright insulting.

That is a long-term goal, of course, which calls for systemic change. And I am willing to wait a couple of years, even five, for that.

But more immediately, it should be possible to change the messaging around International Women’s Day. Instead of hailing women as devoted mothers, great wives, dedicated mothers, or obedient sisters and daughters, let’s address women as individuals in their own right. Admire them for their resilience in making their way in a man’s world. Praise them for carving out careers for themselves and for their professional excellence. Celebrate them for living their best lives. And whatever you do, don’t reduce them to their relationships with the men in their life.

It’s not asking for a lot. And you have another year to work towards it.

Spectator fans, listen up! Seema Goswami’s new book Madam Prime Minister is now on stands.

The views expressed by the columnist are personal

From HT Brunch, March 20, 2022

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