Hey You!

Hey you!

Yes, that's right. You! You, the one because of whom she lost her life.

Yes, yes, you.

You, the supercilious in trousers, kurta, dhoti, jeans, lungi.

You, the overbearing in cravat, tie, skull-cap, shikha.

You, the oh-so-smugly secure, brandishing your Y chromosome as passport to privilege.

You should know that she paid with her life because of you, the you who hides your precious honour in the space between our legs, turning the unimportant bit of blood & sinew filled emptiness into your bank vault. 

....and chains us forever as keepers of the crypt of your honour.

Since aeons thus we die for your honour: your fragile, brittle, labile, affected, sensitive, susceptible honour; burning on pyres, hurling into depthless abysses, shredding our innards with swords, feeding on poison..... strangled, stabbed, tongue ripped, and spine broken....

Father, brother, son, friend, lover: you've professed your love for us, have you not? Then why do you do it, turn us thus into repositories of your honour; and then watch us die for it, day after day after day?

Don't tsk tsk at the news of her dying. Don't hashtag meribhibeti. Don't expound on the need to teach gender-sensitivity to sons. Don't debate on the need for harsher laws, stricter enforcement. Don't announce crores to compensate.

Just muster up a little courage. Only a mite. 

And take back this your honour from between our legs.