A WOMAN’S PLACE IS IN THE REVOLUTION - Anusha Misra

NAYI DILLI

Going to a new city made me realize and reflect on spaces. This was the first time that I was going to

be all on my own. I had to start from scratch : get used to not only my emotions, but the physicality of my

location. Ramps are meant to be accessible, not rugged and uneven. This was a city where the roads

were too wide, the traffic lights were too bright and the cars zoomed in and out. As a physically disabled

woman, 5 ft in height and anxiety in her heart, I had to learn how to take up space and make the city my

own.

Making the city my own had an entirely different connotation for me as a disabled woman, than say,

my able-bodied counterpart.

At the movies, exploring a city to an able-bodied woman meant going on long walks, meeting a cute

person, falling in love, going to Sarojini Nagar and shopping. But for me, everything had always been

terrifyingly inaccessible. The crowded, inaccessible lanes of Sarojini Nagar, the long, winding, roads

filled with pebbles at Jugmug Thela, the concert which had no chairs at Saket mall, and oh, romantic

love. 

Romantic love, for me, was distant. I had convinced myself that it's unattainable, and hence

unnecessary. I always ended up choosing the first person who asked me out, who executed the bare

minimum and who frankly, never really met my standards. But, my mind would think, ‘’Oh yes, this

person accepts me DESPITE my disability, despite my flaws, despite my voice, despite my everything.

They’re the only person in the world who’ll accept me as I am, so I better hold on to them EVEN if

they’re abusive, manipulative and do not live up to their words.’’

My thought process was reiterating an ableist society - that applauds an able-bodied man for ‘’agreeing’’

to marry a disabled woman. Pay close attention to the words used in these two paragraphs -

‘’DESPITE’’ and ‘’AGREE’’, makes dating disabled folks seem like a favour, doesn’t it? You see, in my

experience, even when able-bodied folks do the bare minimum for disabled folks (ie. Carrying food from

a buffet, helping me cross the road, helping me climb the stairs), they always remember to point it out

to me that what a great, big favour they have carried out for me.

Well, I’m anything but a favour. I’m Fierce, I’m Radical, I’m Fabulous. To find power in my reality, however, took me many years.

                            I’m Fierce, I’m Radical, I’m Fabulous. (Dont fall for this easy breezy look)

‘’CHALEES RUPAYE KYA HOTA HAI, BHAIYA?’’

I would venture out into the city with caution - counting my steps, fearful, and weary. At 20 years of age,

I took my first auto ride on my own. I distinctly remember the vibrations on the bottom of the auto, as it

went through my shoes. It made me feel alive and independent, in an able-bodied world. Suddenly, I

had discovered an entire new feeling on my auto ride : a feeling that gave me power, a feeling that made

me feel radical, a feeling that made me joyous. Public transport, I discovered that day was actually fun!

Until, I reached my destination and the auto driver turned to me and said - ‘’Chalees rupaye’’. I panicked

, being from Calcutta I hadn’t bothered to learn my numbers in hindi. ‘’Chalees rupaye kya hota hai,

bhaiya?’’ I said, as I panicked. He chuckled - it seemed like I had made my first friend in a new city!

                              Learning something new about my new city everyday (and making notes)

MY FAVOURITE CHADDIS???!

My hostel room however, was my haven. It’s where I put on lipstick and slept in my favourite lingerie

(Um, yes alone!). As I look at myself in the mirror, and at my naked disabled body, I realized something -

I’m beautiful! Actually I realized one more thing : that able-bodied men have disempowered me my

entire life. I’m my own mother now and that I must look after myself in a new city - because no one else

will, not even a partner.

But to be a disabled woman in the world, one had to have courage, work harder than her able-bodied

counterparts, and be fearless.

                        Thats an accurate representation of me in my hostel room in Delhi Summers

Let's deconstruct these 3 terms : courageous, workaholic and fearless, shall we?

What does having courage and being fearless, mean to me, as a disabled woman?

Courage means being unafraid to dissent, to question the existing social structure, to be enraged. Even if it means dissenting in my mind, and not in real life, always remember : it is still valid. 

What does having courage and being fearless, mean to me, as a disabled woman?

Courage means being unafraid to dissent, to question the existing social structure, to be enraged. Even if it means dissenting in my mind, and not in real life, always remember : it is still valid. 

We have to redefine our definitions of activism and politics. No voice is unequal or not valuable. My

speech difficulty that is sidelined and ignored just because ableists fail to comprehend what I’m saying,

is political. When my speech and agency is ignored, and others speak over me–a tool of systemic

oppression–is also political. I speak a language of resistance and rebellion. 

I grew up with a speech difficulty, something that I’ve been ashamed of, for a long time. Sometimes, I

wouldn’t talk for an entire day, because I was so afraid of people hearing my “disabled” voice. I was

disgusted by how it sounded. So much so, that when the teacher would begin the role call I’d dread it

because then that meant having to yell back “Yes, I am present” to my name. When I say I was afraid

to Take Up Space, I also mean the space that the voice I have muffled for years would take up. But now

when I look back at every instance, I think to myself, “Should we really have a loud voice to take up

space?” Maybe my voice is not loud enough for everyone to sloganeer with at political rallies and

protest sites and give elaborate public speeches. But it is still enough, isn’t it?

Why don’t we make the definition of political spaces more accessible and disabled-friendly instead?

Just because I’m an activist who writes about disability makes me no less than an activist who speaks

about disability in front of a large audience. I feel that we really need to change our perspective and how

we view certain concepts, even within the disabled community itself, where women with speech

difficulties are discriminated against.

Now, what do I mean when I say that, as a disabled woman, I need to work harder than my able-bodied

counterparts?

When I say work harder, I don't mean in an able-bodied sense. You see, I can work hard from anywhere

- from my bed, from my table, after having a good night's sleep, after waking up at 12pm - one doesn't

have to have a certain able-bodied standard to work hard : one doesn't have to wake up at 5am, they

can work hard even after 12pm, one doesn't have to sit up straight at the table, they can even work

hard from their bed. For many of us who are chronically ill, the bed is our safe haven. Sometimes we

can't get out of bed due to our aching bones. But don't worry, that doesn't deter us from working hard

akin to your able-bodied employee. As disabled folk, we can start an entire social movement from our

beds, make routines, get sh*t done. You get the point. 

   My all time favourite look!  Resistance is so sexy!

How the meaning of survival has changed for me -

In my childhood, as I looked down at my crooked, bent fingers begging for my love, begging to be

accepted, I quickly hid it under my coats because my environment told me that it is unattractive and

hideous to be disabled. I grew up with fairytales where only witches had crooked teeth, crooked fingers,

crooked legs. Meanwhile, Cinderella was able-bodied, tall and white.

When I approached the end of my teenage years, the only thing that was on my mind was that I wanted

to go to the supermarket alone for the first time in 10 years. It’s all that I could think of. All I wanted to

do was travel in public transport and go for a walk alone. I had never gone for a walk alone or gone to

my local bazaar alone. Being independent in my own way, I felt was essential for my survival and

well-being.

Survival for me now, means an entirely different thing. Survival to me means acceptance : To be able to

dance in my room however I want - not the able-bodied way, but my disabled way. To be able to move

my curved fingers in the form of a dance step without a care in the world - At this point I don’t care if I’m

attractive to anyone - I should be attractive to myself. At 14, survival to me meant catching up to able-

bodied standards of living, dancing, affection and dating. But, at 23, survival to me means creating an

affirmative space for fellow disabled women where we carve out our own disabled histories. It means

not waiting for anyone’s approval but making an impulsive decision anyway. Learning, un-learning and

re-learning from impulsive decisions and looking out for yourself. As disabled women we need to speak

up, speak out and take up space in our neighbourhood, on roads, in grocery stores, at the dining table,

in conversations, in panel discussions. We need to so the seeds of intersectionality with our disabled

fingers and watch them bloom for future disabled women. 

Speaking up is easier said than done because for me personally, as a woman with a speech disability,

speaking up doesn’t only serve an auditory function. It becomes a tool of political resistance - whenever

I speak up, I speak up with immense courage. I speak up carrying a history of oppression, of ableism,

of misogyny, of harassment. I speak up carrying centuries of disabled anger, angst, dissent and

resistance. What is the use of being at the table if I’m not heard and acknowledged? So, whenever I

speak up, it takes effort. It takes acceptance - for me to accept my disabled voice and to get over my

fear that others might not understand me. When I was 14, able-bodiedness was something I looked up

to - like something I had to achieve, something that would finally make me happy and satisfied, just like

a before and after picture of someone who had lost weight. 

GASP! YOU’RE DISABLED!

Women with disabilities suffer from misinformation regarding their sexuality, far too often because most

doctors would consider us to be devoid of any desires or in other words, asexual. Disabled Sex-ed is

non-existent. Imagine a world where discussing accessibility or logistical requirements during sexual

intercourse isn't awkward, or weird. Imagine a world where I wouldn’t have to tell men I just met on

tinder that, ‘’I walk with a crutch’’ and that I hoped that that wouldn’t be an ‘’inconvenience’’ for them.

Imagine a world where we taught disabled girl’s to love themselves and normalized asking all those

questions that were at the back of our minds but we couldn’t ask because our parents had never

educated us about sexualities or identities. Imagine a world where we didn’t tell disabled girls that they

were too ‘’weak’’ to have sex. Imagine a world where some able-bodied men learn what ‘’no!’’ means 

 

As soon as I entered college, I remember my peers would run to ask my friend, "oh but she's disabled

and has a boyfriend? How?". There was this unsaid and invisible clause that a college student who's a

disabled woman should behave in a certain way : she shouldn't live life according to her own choices :

this would entail her not being able to go out with friends at night but instead, staying in and studying

because of course, disabled women cannot party. Since childhood, my disability had prevented me

from behaving in a certain way, that meant standing up for what I believed in. I had to be nice and

polite because I depended on my classmate for their help even if they were mean to me. I couldn't be

hostile to those who were rude to me because who would help me go to the canteen or who would help

me with notes when I was absent due to the untimely flare up of my chronic illness?

                                               Getting around on my own (and shopping of course!)

DISABLED DISSENT

Why do I have to fit into the various othered boxes constructed by my able-bodied classmates? Why do I have to be "the ideal disabled woman" and not someone who lives life on her own terms? You know what, I don't want to be an inspiration. In fact, I'm far from that. I'm flawed. I'm flawed and sad and depressed and angry. I have no motivation nowadays. Why is there a certain standard that disabled women must live up to, a certain standard that paints us as relevant only when we become TedX motivational speakers, or we "inspire" others with our struggle and make them feel better about their ablebodieness?

Until next time, 

Your fav disabled girl in a new city.

A little bit about the writer-

Growing up in a bookstore, books taught Anusha ways of dissent and how to take the road less travelled by. She is a psychology graduate from Lady Shriram College, a writer and the Editor-in-Chief of Revival Disability Magazine, a magazine on Disability, sexuality and intersectional Ableism. She writes a column about Taking Up Space as a disabled woman on Feminism In India.

She describes herself as "queer, chaotic and disabled" and strongly believes that intersectionality gives marginalized women the emotional skin to survive in the world.