Before leaving for the office, Mum points me to a pink bag propped up on the table. I look inside and see a large, framed picture of her, wearing a Safa Pagdi (Rajasthani Turban) on her head. As the head of the health services in her region, my mother regularly gets photographed in power poses these days. However, this particular photo of her struck me. Every official function she attends as a chief guest, she’s gifted a Safa to symbolize her importance, something that is typically tied to men’s traditional clothing in Rajasthan. Isn’t it funny that the only way to emphasize her authority is through male symbology? It is as if the best of a woman pales in comparison to that of a man. 

Surprising.

Maybe I am noticing this especially strongly now because I have chosen to go through something where I grapple with labels every day. Unlike ever before, I feel acutely conscious of how I present. In the beginning, I believed that letting my work speak for itself is the best way forward. It partially still is, but it needs to be marketed too. Unless it is wrapped in pleasant packaging and tied with a pretty bow, it is like that tree in the forest that no one heard falling. You must be able to talk and do it well. You must be engaging, and be just the right kind of convincing, or else you could be eccentric. And you don’t want to be eccentric. Especially not an eccentric woman.

The next question is what makes the packaging and the bow pretty? My options are even more limited than my male counterparts. Be a woman of few words, and you’re reticent or underconfident. Be vociferous and you’re noisy. I am constantly teetering on the fine line between them. 

I envy my female friends who have figured themselves out or at least appear to have. They don’t sweat the minor details of others’ opinions and if they don’t agree with someone, they aren’t shy about calling it out. Some carry being loud as a badge of honour (as it should be!). They have figured out the games they need to play and how much they are willing to compromise. 

I wonder if men go through the same convoluted reckoning to find their voice. Do they second-guess themselves before confidently stating things — even when they’re wrong?