Long before I figured out the fitting excuses to get me out of playing cricket and soccer, I knew I would need to.

I remember being in Seventh Grade (Std. 5) and helping two girl-friends through the footwork choreography of their indoor mace duet routine. It was late on a Friday afternoon when the school’s grounds are mostly quiet and the dust glistens along diagonal shards of light toward that middle-point on the hall floor.

That’s where we were.

Our principal was the successor to the benevolent, brilliant Mr. Landau, and that new unwelcome blood vessel-burst face had come upon us, as it did too often, via a bearing-down billboard for his lead-with-fear campaign.

Big man.

To an army of, at oldest, thirteen year olds?

“What’s going on in here,” he sequestered, rhetorically.

And while Wendy and Mandy’s attempted reasonings weren’t undue recognition, his scoff-back was alcoholic-confident, seething “…you should be playing soccer…” before he steeled away.

Skulking off.

There are three kinds of loves: self love, romantic love, and community love.

What Wendy and Mandy were doing when they put themselves between he and I while explaining, from the formative minds of twelve year olds to the grown, shifting adult that stammered there, is both the first and the third in that list.

At least.

That was 1991.

And the world has seen some years come and gone between us, then.

A lack of awareness, and, awareness with indifference, are so desperately different.

In the year 2017, with every nuance of noise about the need-to-know — from both the social and/or media experience — means that awareness-lacking is simply because the one lacking it is simple.

So… is it off-base to have something to say about Women’s Day, if you ‘throw like a girl’? 

And if, even then, you’re completely okay with that?

I am.

And that’s because of the self love, romantic love and community loves that I have learnt about because of all the women I do — and have been blessed to know.

Still… There’s only so much one can include in one proposal/arousal, for something of such general consumption… But, it is my blog… so it has to represent my gumption. Ergo, not without wishing I could have gone on forever, these here are the forty-one minutes I deliver… something like a summary for the spaces between the she-and-me, to stirrup round-up the fill ‘em up, for:

Happy Women’s Day. 


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