For Most Of History Anonymous Was Woman- Virginia Woolf

For Most Of History, Anonymous Was A Woman- Virginia Woolf

As the title suggests, throughout history, women were treated as an object, a stepping stone for a man to fulfill his ambitions and desires. With the changing society, there are some things that are yet to evolve. Particularly, when it comes to women- their inner most desires is yet to be understood. Here are some beautiful poems written by well known Indian poets who talk about the different stages of a woman’s life.

..abhī raushan huā jaatā hai rasta
vo dekho ek aurat aa rahī hai
                                                                   – Shakeel Jamali

Dear Father,

When she was born, you told yourself that there will be a next time, when a boy shall ‘further’ your clan and take your ‘name’ ahead, when you shall not have to stay up nights worrying where your daughter is, when you shall not have to save every penny for a hefty dowry, when you shall not have to spend on an education that shall not ‘benefit’ you.

For Most Of History, Anonymous Was A Woman- Virginia Woolf


But you will know that she is the one who shall sit beside you when you’re unwell, she is the one who shall fold her hands in prayer for you, she is the one who shall fill your house with laughter and cheer, she is the one whose face shall light up when you come back home, she is the one who shall know when you’re feeling low.

She is the one who shall leave you soon, but will keep you in your heart forever.

aurat ko samajhtā thā jo mardoñ kā khilaunā
us shaḳhs ko dāmād bhī vaisā hī milā hai
                                                                           – Tanveer Sipra

Dear Son,

You were born as a part of her body, and gradually became a part of her soul. Her world went upside down since the moment you ‘came’ into her life. She walked, ate and slept with you inside her. She has her innermost being latched to you, and irrespective of how you treat her, she will smile and cry with you till she is on the face of this earth. She has invested herself and she knows that she is at a loss, because you will never be able to love her the way she loves you.

For Most Of History, Anonymous Was A Woman- Virginia Woolf

She slogs to satisfy your whims, all she thinks about is what you’ve eaten or where you’ve been all day. Your slightest pain rips her apart and your happiness is what she feeds off. She knows she will be wounded, and told what she did not do, but she continues to give herself away.

chaltī phirtī huī ā.ankhoñ se azaañ dekhī hai
maiñ ne jannat to nahīñ dekhī hai maañ dekhī hai
                                                                                       – Munawwar Rana

Dear Husband,

She left the house she grew up in, to make your stingy bathroom her own. She left her parents who had made a princess out of her, to cook for you and to run after your shoes, socks, handkerchief and clothes. She knew that life would never be the same again; she married you, to make a home out of your empty house and a life out of your meaningless existence.

She has made you the cynosure of her life, for the large part living with unmet expectations and constant bickering about how and where you are failing as a wife, mother sister in law and daughter in law. She will continue however, without appreciation or acknowledgement, to “serve” you and the people in your life.

Her parents shall always be submissive before yours; they shall always take care of the food being served and the gifts being given; they shall always have to keep smiling and make sure everyone else is smiling too. For some strange reason, she will convince herself that she means to you, exactly what you mean to her.

aurat ho tum to tum pe munāsib hai chup raho
ye bol ḳhāndān kī izzat pe harf hai
                                                                                        – Sayyada Arshiya Haq

Dear World,

So when she cries, you term her weak; when she worries you term her pessimistic; when she cares you term her clingy, and when she loves you term her crazy. Her emotions are a havoc most of the times, and she behaves like a kid on occasions. But that is how she is made.  .

You will never fail to comment on how she is dressed or how she behaves in public, but you will never be able to see through her smiles, and know the battles she is secretly but bravely fighting.

dekh kar shā.ir ne us ko nukta-e-hikmat kahā
aur be-soche zamāne ne use ”aurat” kahā
                                                                        – Shaad Aarfi

Dear Woman,

You have laughed looking insane, cried looking awful, danced looking crazy and sung sounding gross. You have been outrightly silly, said weird things, fallen off the stairs, broken the delicate vase and spread secrets to far off countries. But, you have looked gorgeous when you were dilapidated, you have lit up the house when you were put off, you have given birth when you were exhausted, you have made a home when you forgot yourself, you have cooked when you were tired, and you have loved when you were loved little.

For Most Of History, Anonymous Was A Woman- Virginia Woolf

You are a beautiful manifestation of excess. Thank you for a world that’s not dull, and doesn’t reel under silence.

ek ke ghar kī ḳhidmat kī aur ek ke dil se mohabbat kī
donoñ farz nibhā kar us ne saarī umr ibādat
                                                                           – Zehra Nigaah


I adorn a woman’s intriguing being,
I am bewildered as she finds innocence in all that she sees.
I am the twinkle in her cathartic eyes,
That winks when she blushes, looks down or smiles.

I am the soot of the luscious night,
That lives in her hair in all its might.
I am the sound of the melodious anklet,
That makes the wind inebriated.

I am the warmth of her enticing arms,
I am the shimmering sweat of her worked up palms.
I live in the colors that frame her presence,
I live in the flowers that bear her fragrance.

I belong to the cascade of truant clanks,
That unfurls from her colored glass bangles.
I play with the wind that resides in her veil,
And the guileless charm of her tresses and tangles.

I snuggle up to her caressing ways,
Of remembering anniversaries and birthdays.
I salute her forbearance and stoicism,
That harden her to criticism

 Oblivious to my ailing cries
This wide World of Man
Yet to find a body of Joy
I am the Soul of a Woman