Poem: Who Am I?

Creator, destroyer, mother, goddess, woman. Some versions are celebrated, some are shunned. Why is that?  

Who am I?
I wonder…

They say I am Janani, I am the creator of them.
But why then do they kill me – in the womb, at my birth?
They are born of me; their birth is celebrated with glee.
But, why are no robust celebrations held at my birth?
Where will they come from, if there were to be no me?
Do they ever wonder?

They say I am  Ma, the mother goddess, the protector.
But why then do they only pay obeisance to my idols in temples?
Can they not see that their idol is a representation of me?
They seek protection from my idol yet I am offered no protection?
I am subjugated, oppressed, abused and dishonored.
Do they ever question their actions?

Who am I?
I wonder…

They say I am the Devi, the granter of boons.
But then, why do they shun me when I menstruate?
Is the sign of procreation not the greatest boon of all?
Why do they shame me, isolate me when I bleed for them?
Why am I removed from society and family?
What is this hypocrisy?

Who am I?
I wonder…

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They say, I am the gruhalaxmi, the Goddess of fortune.
They clothe me in red; apply vermillion and a red tika.
They apply red dye to my hands and feet, save the impressions.
They say that my steps into my new home will bring prosperity.
And yet, my daughter, born of my womb is bemoaned?
Are these the same people?

Who am I?
I wonder…

Is the colour of my blood different from the colour of my suhag?
Is scarlet not red? Is scarlet not vermillion?
Why is there such distinction in the colours?
Or, is the distinction in the black hearts of the people?
Are they unable to see that we all bleed the same?
When will they see that we are all equal?

I wonder…

Image by Maike und Björn Bröskamp from Pixabay 

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