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Hearing loud echoes of dribbling balls and watching scuff marks on the hardwood floor, my team and I sat on the rusty metal bleachers watching the boys' match, patiently waiting to go up and play next.
It had been past 40 minutes, and our match still hadn't begun. As captain, I approached the referee about this.
"This match is more important so we extended it, and delayed and shortened yours by 10 minutes," He said
These words made me freeze. I simply stared at him for a solid minute, my heart pounding and my face red. I wanted to scream and fight with him but couldn't gather the courage to, so he turned around to continue refereeing. On my way back to the bleachers, I felt guilty. Not because I had them wait long, but because I'd given up what was rightfully ours without a fight.
Growing up, I always enjoyed doing things that were stereotypically 'boyish'. In a traditional Indian household, this meant disapproval. My grandmother, especially, would wound my sense of self with constant iterations of "You're too tall for a girl!" or "Play with dolls instead of Lego!" She even bought me one of those huge Barbie Dreamhouses that I was forced into using. This displaced my sense of belonging, making me feel like a checker's piece on a chessboard.
Nevertheless, I never challenged her attitude. I learned to disregard and tolerate it, while doing what I liked, and the Dreamhouse sat desolate in the corner of my room with only cobwebs as friends.
However, this event made me realise the cost of my silence.
As I walked up the bleachers to explain this I njustice to my teammates, I wished I'd escalated the problem. Every time I tolerated an injustice before this, I was only responsible for myself. But as captain, I was responsible for eleven of us, and I felt ashamed for letting them down.
When the sting cooled, I saw that the only way to compensate was empowerment - I couldn't undo past injustices, but I could resolve to gather the courage to prevent future ones. I began volunteering with Kriya wherein I helped younger girls in rural villages learn, practice, and compete in sports. Watching other girls, especially those who didn't have the opportunity otherwise, playing on a levelled field, brought me joy. I felt like I took the first step towards building back a broken wall.
This event also triggered a consciousness and acceptance of my own identity. As a young teenage girl, being judged and derided for things I couldn't control made me feel misunderstood and alone, leading to deep-rooted feelings of shame. This motivated me to launch IdentiTEEN, a publication about teenage identity development to empower teens and avoid the feeling of collective exclusiveness I'd grappled with. I also spearheaded a year-long project to empower destitute women through financial awareness and interned at LXME, India's leading financial inclusion platform, as a marketing intern to promote the ideology.
These efforts have taught me to gather my courage, and stand my ground while advocating my beliefs and convictions. I no longer stand in the face of injustice. While continuing to promote women's empowerment, I have learned to embrace myself and persevere courageously. I ensure I am not "tolerant" or "submissive" anymore in the face of injustice or mockery, but take up space fearlessly and unapologetically.
Confronted by that callous referee now, I would have uttered a polite but firm "excuse me" and gone ahead to point out the unfairness in his actions. It probably wouldn't affect his decision - but I would have demanded an escalation of the matter and a rescheduled 40-minute match, without backing down. Because if there's one thing my grandmother was right in saying, it was: "You only get what you want from life when you ask loudly, with courage"
the cost of my silence
Hearing loud echoes of dribbling balls and watching scuff marks on the hardwood floor, my team and I sat on the rusty metal bleachers watching the boys' match, patiently waiting to go up and play next.
It had been past 40 minutes, and our match still hadn't begun. As captain, I approached the referee about this.
"This match is more important so we extended it, and delayed and shortened yours by 10 minutes," He said
These words made me freeze. I simply stared at him for a solid minute, my heart pounding and my face red. I wanted to scream and fight with him but couldn't gather the courage to, so he turned around to continue refereeing. On my way back to the bleachers, I felt guilty. Not because I had them wait long, but because I'd given up what was rightfully ours without a fight.
Growing up, I always enjoyed doing things that were stereotypically 'boyish'. In a traditional Indian household, this meant disapproval. My grandmother, especially, would wound my sense of self with constant iterations of "You're too tall for a girl!" or "Play with dolls instead of Lego!" She even bought me one of those huge Barbie Dreamhouses that I was forced into using. This displaced my sense of belonging, making me feel like a checker's piece on a chessboard.
Nevertheless, I never challenged her attitude. I learned to disregard and tolerate it, while doing what I liked, and the Dreamhouse sat desolate in the corner of my room with only cobwebs as friends.
However, this event made me realise the cost of my silence.
As I walked up the bleachers to explain this I njustice to my teammates, I wished I'd escalated the problem. Every time I tolerated an injustice before this, I was only responsible for myself. But as captain, I was responsible for eleven of us, and I felt ashamed for letting them down.
When the sting cooled, I saw that the only way to compensate was empowerment - I couldn't undo past injustices, but I could resolve to gather the courage to prevent future ones. I began volunteering with Kriya wherein I helped younger girls in rural villages learn, practice, and compete in sports. Watching other girls, especially those who didn't have the opportunity otherwise, playing on a levelled field, brought me joy. I felt like I took the first step towards building back a broken wall.
This event also triggered a consciousness and acceptance of my own identity. As a young teenage girl, being judged and derided for things I couldn't control made me feel misunderstood and alone, leading to deep-rooted feelings of shame. This motivated me to launch IdentiTEEN, a publication about teenage identity development to empower teens and avoid the feeling of collective exclusiveness I'd grappled with. I also spearheaded a year-long project to empower destitute women through financial awareness and interned at LXME, India's leading financial inclusion platform, as a marketing intern to promote the ideology.
These efforts have taught me to gather my courage, and stand my ground while advocating my beliefs and convictions. I no longer stand in the face of injustice. While continuing to promote women's empowerment, I have learned to embrace myself and persevere courageously. I ensure I am not "tolerant" or "submissive" anymore in the face of injustice or mockery, but take up space fearlessly and unapologetically.
Confronted by that callous referee now, I would have uttered a polite but firm "excuse me" and gone ahead to point out the unfairness in his actions. It probably wouldn't affect his decision - but I would have demanded an escalation of the matter and a rescheduled 40-minute match, without backing down. Because if there's one thing my grandmother was right in saying, it was: "You only get what you want from life when you ask loudly, with courage"