In the Lok Sabha, only 15 per cent of the members are women. (Express Photo)
Written by Aishani Menon
In the past year, there have been many days when I woke up to news of violence against women and young girls. Recently a girl, all of 14, died by suicide after a painful experience from her first period. Last year, a 12-year-old was murdered by her brother when he saw period blood stains on her and thought she had engaged in a sexual relationship. I often find myself wondering where it all went wrong. These instances might seem isolated, but in the larger scheme of things, they reflect the pulse of a nation. A pulse which can easily be influenced by those who come to power.
India is gearing up for a general election right now. In some states, the wait will last just a few days — in Delhi, where I live, there is a month to go. Eager to vote, one month seems like a long time, but it gives me enough time to think: “Why am I voting?”
At first, the answer does not seem complex; voting is my right. But, like everything else, there are many factors which influence this one decision. Here is one of them.
Discussion on menstruation did make it to the mainstream in 2023 but the conversation focussed on menstrual leaves in the workplace. And the debate was about whether menstrual leaves would be a threat to women’s professional growth. The concerns expressed force us to look deeper into the ideas we hold as a society today. I have been working on and off in different places through my graduation and my post-grad; but have seldom heard of the availability of menstrual leaves. But the problem is not a lack of provision. That is the symptom of a larger malaise: Professional spaces that are simply not designed for women.
I find that reproductive health is often discussed with some degree of discomfort. Who talks to us about our first period? Are we being taught about it in school? I was not. I look around me and realise that the onus of educating people about reproductive health is still largely with NGOs and other civil society groups. This limits the dissemination of accurate and timely information.
Also, it is often only women who are taught about reproductive health; the topic is seen to be too shameful to be brought up in front of men. Many educational reforms are being looked at, but somehow, programmes on sex education, reproductive health and the like do not make the cut.
Representation of women and their issues still do not figure in the mainstream. In the Lok Sabha, only 15 per cent of the members are women. According to an EY report, in 2022, women’s representation on the board of directors for companies was 18 per cent. They may be celebrated as milestones, but these numbers seem dispiriting to me. The Women’s Reservation Bill, geared towards ensuring one-third representation to women in the assembly, is still five years from implementation. By that time, it will be time for elections again.
I vote then for leaders who can accelerate the pace of our representation and prosperity.
We all have different reasons to vote — here is mine. Who we vote for will influence where our country stands even a few years from now. I wish to vote then because I believe it is how I can be involved in the process of decision-making in my country. I vote because according to me, casting a vote today is the most legitimate way of expressing dissent. It is a way to ensure my voice will be heard and not suppressed under the noise of what is deemed “better” for us to hear. One vote can make all the difference, we are told. Well, then, I vote to make all the difference I can in choosing who leads the way in the country in which I live.
Menon is a recent sociology post-graduate and a writer.
