{"id":1320,"date":"2021-03-17T16:24:24","date_gmt":"2021-03-17T16:24:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ijpsl.in\/?page_id=1320"},"modified":"2021-03-17T16:41:52","modified_gmt":"2021-03-17T16:41:52","slug":"elementor-1320","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/ijpsl.in\/index.php\/elementor-1320\/","title":{"rendered":"Elementor #1320"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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The Paper Crane<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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Taints of Tyranny <\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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by Pranjali Tripathi
Student, Seth Anadram Jaipuria School, Kanpur<\/h2>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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This country has watched with closed eyes,
<\/span>As wombs became graves
Of those forbidden to rise,
As women became slaves
Of your tyrannical ties,
As vermilion became the stamp of ownership
And bangles became handcuffs with iron grip.
As patrilocal bedrooms became personal prisons
And our lives became outcomes of unequal liaisons,
As dowry deaths became nothing more than mismanaged marriages
And red veils became the masks of scarred visages,
As wives were forced onto dead husbands’ pyre,
And what you called the sacred yellow fire,
Became the crematorium of the dreams of your daughter
Which you raised like pigs for slaughter.
This country has watched with closed eyes,
How you snatched away books and pencils
And thrust brooms and utensils,
Into the hands that yearned to shape their lives
And then donned the proverbial cape,
Of protecting and sustaining “vulnerable” wives.
How protesting voices were crushed,
And pained cries were shushed.
Some of this country still watches and wails,
How criminalising marital rape
Is the greatest threat to the shape
Of some sacred institution
Even if it’s a license of bodily violation.
But I watch with eyes unblinking and unforgiving, 
While this wistful wrath in me is bubbling and brimming,
And this rage in me remains unbent
At how your “sacrament” is our harassment,
And what you call obedience is us suffering in silence.
At how your valour is your virulence
At how your glory is our oppression
And your honour is our regression,
How you call women undeserving of equal pay
Merely hours after smothering their very say
In decisions of their own future,
Which you pretend to doctor with your “safe” suture.
Well, you cannot rob someone and call them poor
Cripple someone and call them crippled
Devour someone and call them dead
But you did all of that,
And brushed your sins under the mat.
Aghast as I live the present and learn the past,
You must know that the die has been cast.
For I am not a maiden to be “gifted” away
And what you call customs are your feet of clay.
For I am not a chattel to be passed
From one household to another,
Freed from one fetter to be chained in another.
A tangible property in the name of changing nominees,
My worth measured by prejudiced scales of self proclaimed juries.
My name will not change to attach me with another man’s fame,
This is not a game and I am no prize to claim.
I will not dissolve my individuality,
In the name of another unfair piety.
I belong to no one, I am only mine,
And I am enough to worship my own shrine.
I will not be the “honour” of my house and its dignity,
At the expense of my free choice and identity.
And every time, you tell me to speak less,
Stilling my opinions to go into recess,
I will give ten more and
Raise my voice, higher and shriller
So that my clamour is the sure shatter
Of your biased notions and discriminatory chatter.
Every time, you tell me to lower my eyes and cover,
I will walk with my head held one inch higher.
I will attack you with stinging satire,
And this battle will not see a ceasefire
Until you learn that
You are not a ruler and I am not a subject,
That you are not an owner and I am not an object,
That I am not a building and you are not an architect.
Every time my conformist relatives
Glorify fickle traditions and misogynist motives,
Speaking of how they are “tough” to follow,
I will tell them that they are not “tough”
And that they are just wrong and hollow.
And like all ruthless regimes must stumble and crumble and fall and fumble,
kneeling at the altar of revolution,
Seeing fights for freedom win fruition,
So must your sense of superiority reach a dead end,
So must you know that women do not come second.
So when you say obedience, we will scream resistance.
When you say culture, we will scream restructure.
When you say adjust, we will scream unjust.
Because there is no glory in gore,
And the number of hearts you tore.
Because there is no honour in killing,
And bright futures going missing.
So come and take a seat,
And listen to the story of your defeat.
No, this is not a long list of complaints,
This is the truth of your timeless taints,
Inflicted on your fellow humans,
Whom you labelled as non-persons,
Only to uphold bigoted assertions.
This is not a long list of complaints,
This is the dismantling of your constraints.
This is the retelling of your unholy scripture,
This is the repainting of your desolate picture.
And when this wrath becomes too much to bear,
And fury replaces every ounce of fear,
It will flood your segregatory sins,
And drown all your disablist dins.
Some of this country does not give a dime,
But for you, there is still time,
To repent for this systematic crime.
For injustice must serve its term,
And the iron bars must remain firm,
Just like they were
When you manackled a gender for being that gender,
And treated it like a weak contender,
Fearing it, yet expecting surrender.
However, we are not contenders
And there is nothing to contend for,
There is no crown and there is no war.
There is only humanity
Which cries to be saved,
So that it does not have a tombstone
With the word “man” engraved.
There is humanity which cries to be saved.<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Paper Crane Taints of Tyranny by Pranjali TripathiStudent, Seth Anadram Jaipuria School, Kanpur This country has watched with closed eyes,As wombs became gravesOf those forbidden to rise,As women became slavesOf your tyrannical ties,As vermilion became the stamp of ownershipAnd bangles became handcuffs with iron grip.As patrilocal bedrooms became personal prisonsAnd our lives became outcomes… Read More »Elementor #1320<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"page-templates\/template-pagebuilder-full-width.php","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"neve_meta_sidebar":"full-width","neve_meta_container":"","neve_meta_enable_content_width":"on","neve_meta_content_width":100,"neve_meta_title_alignment":"","neve_meta_author_avatar":"","neve_post_elements_order":"","neve_meta_disable_header":"","neve_meta_disable_footer":"","neve_meta_disable_title":""},"yoast_head":"\nElementor #1320 - IJPSL<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"International Journal of Policy Sciences and Law (IJPSL) is an international, open-accessed, online quarterly peer-reviewed journal under the aegis of Project uP is an inclusive platform for all scholars and academicians across the globe. 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