BY: ANUSHA
My heart ached when I was sitting at the dining table, having my food warm, with laughter echoing across the kitchen walls—loud, happy, and lively. Amidst all that happiness, why did my heart ache? Well, it did because the one who made the food and lit the dining mood didn’t get the chance to live the moment she herself served.
My heart sank at the thought that someday I will be the mother. And the sacrifices the woman is making today, in the name of happiness or maybe acceptance of her fate-I, in her sandals, frankly speaking, cannot do it.
And that’s where the conflict began.
When women started asking for equal opportunities, did they unknowingly add more burden onto their own shoulders?They left the house which was once called “home,” stepped out to earn, to build something of their own. But they returned and cooked. And then added a new life into their life, raised it, shaped its childhood, and lived a life they were supposed to live… more like they played a role they were meant to,with an extra burden of work they never truly put down.
In between all the work work and family work, where are the so-called warriors of society?
Working.
And… just working.
Women fought for equality, but maybe what they truly needed was basic mutual understanding from society. They asked for opportunities but somewhere along the way, the conversation about sharing responsibilities got lost.
Or maybe it was never loud enough.
I fear something, and it’s not just about not knowing how to cook. Yes, cooking is a basic life skill. To be able to feed yourself is survival. But the fear I feel is not the same fear I would have if I were in a body with more testosterone than estrogen and progesterone.
Strange, isn’t it? A basic life skill… yet it feels gendered.
The kitchen carries a feminine aura.
Food; especially the kind served at home has a “master,” and that master is called mother. Nothing beats a mother’s taste. Maybe because the father was never expected to add his flavor to it.
This is not an accusation. It’s a dissatisfaction.
One that disturbs my peace and makes me question—Why? Why does this bother me so much?
If I ever sit at that table again, I don’t want my presence to come at the cost of my own absence. I don’t want to create moments I cannot live in.
Those who already share equal household responsibilities were never the ones to be fought with. Nor are the individuals who were simply raised in homes where mothers went to the kitchen and fathers stayed in the living room, part of discussions. They didn’t create the system.They inherited it.
And that’s exactly the point. The system is to blame. Society is to be questioned. To gaslight this truth and normalize it may have been bold once—back when patriarchy was something people worshiped. But not today. Not in a time where women are also the breadwinners of the family.
Just because they don’t object doesn’t mean they don’t feel. They do. But they were never taught how to express it.
So maybe this is just a small whisper for change.
Let us try to put ourselves in each other’s shoes.
Let us count our privileges- not to compete, but to understand. And instead of constantly arguing about who is right or wrong, let us try—genuinely try—to do better, to share better, to be better. Both genders have their own battles—biological, social, political. But to share some of the burden? That might be the greatest tribute to humanity.
Because to truly live is to ensure those beside you can breathe just as freely.