As a child, I hated ‘bad words’ and often had a look of disgust on my face when such words were used around me. I hated bad language to such an extent that I replaced all such words with diluted versions, as per my understanding of ‘acceptable speech’.
But why did I do that? As I sit back and reflect, I feel that it was an impact of my social and cultural conditioning and a manifestation of the space I inhabited, a gendered space – I was either surrounded by my own family members or my female classmates of my all-girls school.
I never actually had a chance where I could cuss vociferously until I reached puberty and was hushed down. Gradually, the moral policing along with the religious dogma clouded my teenage past. But this constant surveillance only helped me learn the art of sneaking out. And the very art of sneaking out germinated the strength of speaking out within me.
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During a recent visit to Hajipur, a city in Bihar, I was expected to curb my mobility and speech until the end of my stay. One fine morning, our neighbour Naghma came to our house abusing her grandson at the top of her voice because he had thrown a pickle jar in the narrow alley beside our house. She attracted an audience, who peeked out of their windows while sharing smirks with one other. Regardless, Naghma continued ridiculing her grandson until she cleaned the remains of the pickle jar.
Naghma is considered to be one of the loudest women in my colony. Some of the other ‘sophisticated’ mothers beat their children whenever they are caught playing with her grandsons. Naghma also smokes beedi in the confines of her house, a trait that doesn’t make her a pious woman. A pious woman, according to the society, should always be mindful of her language and speak in a low-pitched voice.
During my stay, I spent some time with a 12-year-old girl who immediately shut me down when she found my language inappropriate. She said, “Appi, aise nahin boliye, you are a girl (Didi, don’t speak like this, you are a girl).”
While I was not proud of my foul speech, I was surprised by her reaction. The term ‘inappropriate’ has been prevalent like an umbrella term for activities, behaviour or language deemed unfit for a woman by society. The nascent brain of this adolescent girl had already adjusted to this fact, much like I had during my own childhood days.
One reason why there are more restrictions on language for women is because women are the ones who are expected to preserve religious rituals and ethics. They are made to practice religious morality multiple times a day so that the men of their house don’t go astray. This ends up adding devotional words in the everyday language in which women use, and they further pass it on to the next female generation.
Also read: How Gendered Language Enforces Patriarchy
At my Hajipur home, I was talking to a cousin about her MA college days. As I was eating the scrumptious biryani she had made, she said, “Hum log fry karte the do baje tak, exam se ek din pehle (We would study till 2 in the night the day before the exam)”. She corrected the word ‘fry’ with ‘padhai’ after mispronouncing it thrice.
I left her house with a question on my mind – was that a mere slip of tongue or the result of being away from her studies for a long time? She completed her MA almost six years ago, but wasn’t allowed to live as a financially independent woman. And this is how the cycle of ‘control’ at the hands of the patriarchs who rule our society continues till date.
It didn’t happen overnight though, it never does.
The patriarchal household starts with restricting a woman’s mobility by setting a curfew in the name of security. After successfully instilling in her a fear of the outside world, it puts an end to her critical thinking by rebuking (or ridiculing) her in front of everyone and ultimately snatching away her right to education. It doesn’t stop here – it further tries to control her by forcing her to get married, often at a young age.
The language of women with respect to marriage is even more restricted. It is even worse in case of a financially weak family. In yet another experience of my seeing Hajipur’s irreverent women was Gulshan, a 30-year-old woman, the youngest and most vociferous among the members of her family. Everyone in the colony talk about her in hushed voices and keep asking her parents about the delay in her marriage. I was teaching some kids when I was startled by Gulshan’s voice. I heard her shout, “Ladka ladki ka shaadi nahin hota, rupya aur makaan ka hota hai, sun lo sab log ab mat bolna ki Gulshan ka shaadi kyun nahin hota (Marriage doesn’t happen between a man and woman but happens between money and property)”.
Unfortunately, Gulshan’s language, and that of other supposedly impious women, gets curtailed – often in a subtle manner. But for Gulshan to abuse someone or use foul language is not something that should put her outside the realm of human rights. If it did, then why should Gulshan alone practice the civics of becoming an ideal human being, and not the men who surround her?
Such answers can be sought only if they are even asked in the first place.
As I left Hajipur, I met two women on the train to Delhi – one was a vivacious 20-year-old girl who was accompanied by her mother. It appeared that she had cleared some entrance exam to get admission in Delhi and she behaved in a manner as though she owned that little space of the train compartment. Then there was another woman travelling with her husband who laughed when someone called her ‘ekdam pati-vrata‘ (faithful wife), as she laid out a bedsheet on the berth for her husband.
In that moment, I witnessed both the odd and even language coexisting together in the same frame.
Maimuna Shafique is a digital media producer and a film enthusiast.
Featured image credit: Pixabay