We fold our hands and bow before Goddess Durga, asking her to bless us. Yet, when the same goddess walks beside us in the form of a woman, what do we do?
We mock her.
We humiliate her.
We use her, abuse her, pass her over, ogle at her, disregard her, and disrespect her.

We call India a land of rich culture, traditions, and values. We proudly celebrate our festivals — Navratri, Dussehra, Durga Puja — and remind ourselves of how good always triumphs over evil. Yet, when I look through the “lens of a woman,” this celebration often feels hollow.

For nine nights, we worship the Goddess:

We narrate the story of Durga defeating Mahishasura.

We remember Lord Rama’s victory and his return with Sita.

We perform Ayudha Puja and bow to the tools that sustain us.

But do we bow to the women who sustain us?

Growing up, I saw how different boys and girls were treated. When a boy made a mistake, he was scolded. When a girl made a mistake, she was reminded: “Ladki ho tum. Behave properly.”
Why? At the end of the day, aren’t both children?

Even today, the birth of a girl in many families is looked down upon. A girl is still seen as a “liability.” Why? Because society demands more protection, more restrictions, more compromises for her. Because, one day, she will “leave” her parents’ home and enter her husband’s house. And so, her education becomes an “expense,” her dreams an afterthought. Ironically, the same people who reject the birth of a girl desperately want one as a bride for their sons.

Our customs reinforce this divide. Sons are considered heirs to the family. Daughters are not — because they “take another man’s name.” Children of sons are celebrated as “our children.” Children of daughters somehow “belong to another family.” When a child succeeds, it’s his father’s pride. When a child errs, it’s his mother’s failure.

And when it comes to behavior, the scale tilts again.

If a girl listens to everything she is told, she becomes the “obedient daughter” who has upheld the dignity of the house.

But if she dares to refuse, to question, or to choose her own path, the verdict is quick: “Naak katwa diya tumne. My prestige and name has been ruined.”

And what is expected of women? To run homes flawlessly, to compromise endlessly, to adjust without protest. To work in offices with peak performance, then return home to cook, clean, and care. She must understand everyone. But who truly understands her? Often, not even other women — who, shaped by generations of silence, say: “Yeh sab adjust karna padta hai. Isi tarah chalta hai.”

And yet, during these nine days, the same woman — ignored, burdened, disrespected all year round — is suddenly worshipped as a goddess. Is this devotion, or hypocrisy?

We forget that when everything fails, when every man falters, it is the woman he turns to for strength, comfort, and refuge. Durga herself reminds us — when loved, respected, and honored, she is Shakti, the life force. But when insulted, abused, and wronged, she is Kali — fierce, unstoppable, and terrifying.

As I end this reflection, I bow my head to all the Durgas and Kalis around us and also to my mother and sisters, who have been “My” “shakti“. Thank you for carrying the weight of this world on your shoulders, even when it goes unseen. Without you, there is no life.

May the day come when women are not just worshipped for nine nights, but respected for all their days. Because women are not “equal” to men — they are far more than men can ever be.