Dear Penguin,
Navaratri is coming.
And every year, as the pandals begin to appear and the familiar sounds of Durga Puja start filling the air, I find myself going back to being a little girl in Odisha. Back then, I didn’t know the word feminism or anything about patriarchy. Gender politics was unheard of, just like those many complicated conversations we have today about men and women.
I only knew that Puja meant excitement, new clothes, going to mamu ghara (Nana-Nani ka ghar) and at times late nuakhai. There was pandal hopping with family. It meant lights everywhere, flowers, the smell of jhuna, crowds, food and those evenings when nobody seemed to want to go home.
And, of course, Ravan Podi. I remember watching Ravan burn and feeling that familiar childhood certainty that good had defeated evil once again.
It was simple then. Good vs evil. Rama vs Ravan. Right vs wrong.
I wish the world were always that simple.
As I grew older, I began noticing another part of Navaratri. For nine days, we celebrated the feminine. Durga came into our homes and pandals. We spoke about her different forms. Navadurga, Nine forms of Shakti. Heard sat sangha about nine ways of understanding strength. Sat through discussion where many quoted how a woman could be a mother, a warrior, a protector, a creator and a destroyer of evil. We folded our hands before Goddess Durga. We offered flowers. We seek her blessings. We called her Maa.
But I sometimes wonder now, Penguin, what happened to all those lessons when we stepped outside the pandal? Because the Goddess was worshipped for nine days. Women had to live through all the other 365.
I don’t remember having the words for this contradiction when I was a girl. Because I remember seeing it. I remember newspapers. So many newspapers, prime time news. And the stories were often frightening. A woman killed, a girl assaulted. a wife beaten, a young woman harassed. And woman blamed for what happened to her. There was always another story. Another name. Another place.
And perhaps the most frightening part was how quickly we learned to turn the page. Because life goes on, shit happens. School, exams had to happen.
And somewhere between all of that, women were expected to remain careful. Always careful. Don’t go there. Don’t come home late. Don’t trust him. Don’t walk alone. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t wear this. Don’t do that. Don’t run. Don’t smile.
We taught girls how not to become victims. Sadly, we didn’t teach boys enough about not becoming perpetrators.
I don’t want you to hate men. I know the word feminism carries a lot of anger today. And honestly, Penguin, I understand where some of that anger comes from. How can you not be angry when women have been asked for centuries to adjust, tolerate, forgive and remain silent? Shh, chup raho!
How can you not be angry when violence against women is still so common? How can you not be angry when, in wars and conflicts, women’s bodies and lives are deliberately used as instruments of violence? How can you not be angry when a woman has to think twice before walking alone in a park?
And then something happens in our own capital. Women are unsafe. And instead of asking, Why are these men doing this? Instead of asking, How do we identify the perpetrators? How do we punish them? How do we make public spaces safer?
We close the parks. The women lose the park. The men who created the danger remain a problem somewhere else. That stayed with me.
Because how many times can we make a woman’s world smaller and still call her free?
But Penguin, there is something else I want to tell you.
I don’t want you to grow up hating men either. I don’t want the anger of one generation to become the prejudice of the next.
Feminism, at least the feminism I want you to understand, is not about women being better than men. It is about women being treated as fully human. And I want the same for you. I want you to become a good man, not a perfect man. Just a good one.
I want you to grow up knowing that your strength isn’t measured by how much fear you can create.I don’t want you to become the angry young man who thinks shouting is strength (Skip Bollywood). Or the man who cannot apologise or the man who thinks tears are weakness or the man who believes that being vulnerable makes him less of a man.
I want you to learn something harder. Know yourself. Master your anger. Understand your jealousy. Question your ego. Sit with your fear.
Learn to say, I was wrong, I am sorry, I don’t know.
Learn to listen without immediately trying to win the argument. And when someone tells you that they are hurting, don’t rush to explain why they shouldn’t be. Just listen. (Remember the book we read in loop for months, The Rabbit Listened). There is enormous strength in that.
Shakti is not just about fighting. Perhaps this is why I keep returning to Navadurga.
We often think of strength as something loud. Something that fights and wins. But strength has many forms. Sometimes strength is standing up. Sometimes it is walking away. Sometimes it is speaking. Sometimes it is listening. Sometimes it is protecting someone. Sometimes it is admitting that you need help.
And sometimes it is fighting the battle nobody else can see, the one inside your own head. That may be the greatest battle you will ever fight. Conquering yourself. That anger, insecurity, need to prove yourself, desire to dominate.
If you can learn to conquer those things, Penguin, you will have achieved something far greater than simply being powerful. Use your strength carefully.
You will probably grow up with privileges that many others may not have. Education, a voice, opportunities, your parents and family that supports you and of course loves you. The freedom to move through the world in ways that many women may not always experience.
Don’t take these things for granted. And don’t feel guilty for having them either. Use them.
Real strength is using your privilege, your voice and your capability to stand up for someone who is being targeted or treated as weaker.
If a friend makes a sexist joke, you don’t have to laugh. If someone is being bullied, you don’t have to become part of the crowd. If a girl says no, respect it. If a woman disagrees with you, don’t turn disagreement into disrespect. If you see someone being humiliated, don’t look away. You don’t have to be a hero.Just don’t be a bystander when you have the power to help.
Perhaps this is what I want from Navaratri
When I was little, I thought Navaratri was about celebrating Durga. Now, I think perhaps it is also about asking ourselves what Shakti means in our own lives.
What kind of strength do we admire? What kind of strength do we teach our children? What kind of people are we raising?
Because I don’t want you to grow up believing that women are goddesses only when they are mothers, wives or daughters.
I want you to see women as people. Messy. Ambitious. Angry. Funny. Brilliant. Difficult. Kind. Imperfect. Yet, human. Just like men. Just like you and me.
And perhaps that is the real lesson I want you to carry from all those years of Puja. Not that women must be worshipped. Not even that women must be protected. But that women must be respected. And so must men.
Because perhaps the world doesn’t need more people divided into us and them. It needs human beings who can see one another as human beings first.
So, this Navaratri 2026, while we celebrate Maa Durga, I will think of the little girl I once was. Watching Ravan burn, believing that evil was always so easy to recognise. I wish I could go back and tell that little girl something. Evil doesn’t always come wearing ten heads. Sometimes it hides behind entitlement. Sometimes behind silence. Sometimes behind laughter when someone is being humiliated. Sometimes behind the decision to look away. And sometimes, it hides inside us, in the anger we refuse to understand.
So, Penguin, as you grow up, be strong. But don’t become hard. Be confident and not arrogant. Be ambitious. But don’t walk over people. Be angry when something is unjust. But learn what to do with that anger. Use your voice, your privilege. That’s your strength.
And when you have the choice between being feared and being trusted, choose to be trusted. Remember, Ravan was feared and Rama was trusted.
Because one day, when I am no longer standing beside you to remind you of these things, I hope there will be something inside you that does. A small voice that says, This is not right. Speak. Listen. Help, when you can. Be kind.
Perhaps that will be your Shakti. And perhaps, Penguin, that will be enough.
Always with you,
Maa
