Markers of marriage

Meena Kandasamy

RECENTLY, I PARTICIPATED in the launch function of a documentary film Pottu about the hardships and social humiliation faced by widows and deserted women in Tamil Nadu. Produced by the Kalangarai Trust which works among the widows in the southern district of Nagappattinam (particularly in Vedaranyam, Sirkaali and Poompuhaar), the 50-minute documentary attempts to describe the torture that widows are forced to undergo in the name of tradition. The documentary started off with a young girl’s story: the gaudy ceremony surrounding puberty, her early marriage (to prevent the chance of the family name getting “spoiled” if she were to be left “free”), the dowry that her parents are forced to pay, the hard work that she is forced to do in her husband’s home, his alcoholism and domestic violence, his death and finally, her enforced widowhood. Although Pottu seemed to make of every cinematic cliché, some issues highlighted by the documentary deserve to be taken up for debate.

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Parsi by Patriarchy

I CAN SAFELY—and with some amount of pride— say that I belong to one of India’s most emancipated and socio-economically advanced communities. As a Parsi, especially one born and bred in South Bombay (most Indian Parsis live in Bombay, and most Bombay Parsis live in its southern areas), it is near guaranteed that I will receive at least a college education, be expected to have a career, marry if and when I wish, and choose whether or not to have children. These, and the many other liberties the women of my community take as a matter of course, are but a distant dream for millions of our countrywomen. We have the advantages of a vast network of philanthropic wealth and prime property holdings via a historical edge in the city of Bombay. Usually free to choose their destinies, plenty of Parsi women stay single or divorce their spouses without having to bear the brunt of crippling social stigma. But you knew there was a ‘but’ coming up somewhere, didn’t you?

If JRD Tata, Zubin Mehta or the boy who lives down my lane chooses to enter into matrimony with a woman not Zoroastrian* by birth, a Parsi priest will bless his wedding, his children will be accepted as members of the faith, and he can continue to stroll into fire temples and partake of every ceremony he has witnessed since birth. If Mehr Jesia, Pheroza Godrej or I choose to enter into matrimony with a man not Zoroastrian by birth (and there is no other kind, as far as the community’s beliefs are concerned), Parsi priests are debarred from performing our nuptial ceremonies, our children aren’t considered part of the community or religion, and we can never visit a fire temple or participate in religious rituals again. [Read More]

Menstruating Goddesses

Meena KandasamyWHEN IT WAS announced recently that the first batch of non-Brahmin students were being ordained for priesthood in Tamil Nadu, there was great reason to cheer and celebrate that priesthood has been “officially” thrown open to all the castes and that Brahmin exclusivity was set to break (at least theoretically). But what is disappointing is that all women are denied this right and there is no talk in Tamil Nadu of any legislation, anywhere in the near future, to grant them the right to officiate as priests. [Read More]

The God of Male Things

WESTERN FEMINIST movements in the early 1970s confronted an uncomfortable truth: the notion that God was male dominated every aspect of religion. As feminist philosopher Mary Daly summed up, “If God is male, then the male is God.” The question of gender, religion and faith has been a very contentious one. Feminists have looked into histories of ancient civilizations and various religious traditions to understand different notions of power, and they have despaired that religion and tradition are so entangled with patriarchy that they can never be a source of liberation. [Read More]

Dangerous Dalit Women and Witch-Hunters

Meena KandasamyON MARCH 28, Lalpari Devi, a 45-year-old Dalit woman was accused of being a witch by caste-Hindu, feudal villagers in Bihar who mercilessly beat her up, paraded her through the streets, tied her to a palm tree, cut her hair and smeared her face with limestone paste. She was saved from certain death by the timely arrival of the police. Lalpari somehow managed to survive the ordeal of social censure and hysteric, mob-driven humiliation. Many of her sisters have not been that lucky.

According to conservative (official, and outdated) estimates, 2,556 women were branded as witches and killed in India between 1987 and 2003. From 1991 to 2000, over 522 cases of witch-hunting have been registered in Bihar alone. [Read More]

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