A way out of the chaos of verbal warfare of our times
We must have been married for nearly a decade when my husband brought up a new topic during our morning tea ritual.
“You know,” he said, “you used to say that you are not a feminist.”
“What?” I said. I nearly spurted my chai as I brought down the cup from my lips. There was almost no context for this question.
“Why would I say that I’m not a feminist,” I said. “I don’t remember this at all.”
“You did. You also said that you’re not a Punjabi.”
I laughed out loud at this additional comment. “But you knew that I am a Punjabi. How can I say that I’m not one?” And same for feminist, I thought to myself.
“Remember, when we first knew each other, we had common friends who told us things about each other. When you heard about it, you had said to me — don’t believe what anyone says about me. Believe me.”
These words did jog my memory. They also reminded me of a younger me who toyed much more freely with multiple identities. Who responded to stereotypes and biases by choosing to be fluid in how I was defined. I was also inexperienced enough to not understand the origin of the bias. Growing up as a young adult in Delhi after our early childhood years were spent in Bihar and West Bengal, I didn’t understand why being a Punjabi meant being the butt of other people’s jokes. When comments about the loud, crass mannerisms of Delhi Punjabis were made in college canteens, I wouldn’t even notice that I might be the target of the remark. I’d look at others from Punjab in our group of friends and try to defend them. As far as I was concerned, my Punjabi relatives often referred to my brothers and me as Bihari. I saw no problem with that, nostalgic as I was for my childhood towns.
After college when I travelled repeatedly to Jhabua in Madhya Pradesh and lived there for a few months, I gave myself the gift of a new home. In Jhabua, when I was asked where I was from, I would answer, “Delhi.” In Delhi, when I was asked where I was from, I would say, “Madhya Pradesh.”
I had never lived in Punjab. It only seemed accurate to say, “My parents are from Punjab.” But it was often misunderstood as rude or evasive. Besides, why couldn’t I be from multiple places? That is certainly how I felt. It also helped to navigate unnecessary biases and distasteful parochialism. If anyone thought they could shame me for being a Punjabi, I would just avoid the conflict by claiming to be a Bihari. Or from the vast interiors of MP. It didn’t change who I was.
Spurred by my husband’s comment, I tried to remember when I might have claimed to not be a feminist. This sounded incredulous. I was intuitively a feminist even before I knew the word existed and began to read more about it. I was proud to be one. It was integral to who I was.
He reminded me that our mutual friends had warned him about me by using the word feminist as if it was a sign of danger in a person. He had reported it to me, inspiring me to say, “Don’t believe what anyone says about me. Believe me.”
“I must have been so desperate for you,” I said to husband, making him laugh. “I was waiting for a time when we had a common language between us. Your idea of etiquette and my understanding of tehzeeb could easily have clashed because we were using different words for the same thing.”
I could totally imagine myself defusing an early-stage conversation about labels by just ducking, instead of getting into an argument where we would only misunderstand each other. We had grown up in different contexts that were unfamiliar to the other. It was easy to accidentally confuse and misinterpret what the other meant.
“I always knew you are a feminist,” I said to him with a smile on my face. “I got my confidence from there.” It was something he could not deny. We had enough common experiences by now to base our opinion of each other on actions rather than mere words.
I am remembering this conversation today in the context of the chaos of verbal warfare unleashed in today’s times. How quick we are to hurl labels at each other based on what we consider to be the values or loyalties of the other. How swiftly we write off those who seem different from us — as if the goal of communication is to cause rifts rather than build a bridge between people. Did you recently have an argument with someone who you didn’t intend to alienate? Was it just words that became hurtful shards? We can reclaim peace in our environment; we just have to agree to defuse that which is designed to divide us. Connections and empathy — each of us will receive what we offer to others.
— The writer is a filmmaker & author natasha.badhwar@gmail.com
