My first lesson in feminism was taught in 1992 by a group of rural, Dalit women from a women’s collective (sangha) in Mysore. We were travelling on an overnight train from Mysore to Bijapur for training.  It was past midnight, and we were all sound asleep. A man on the next berth decided he could not let go of such a chance with so many women around. He got up and started touching my colleague and me on our faces, stroking our cheek, and would have gone further had one of the younger women, a light sleeper, not noticed this and raised the alarm. The man darted back to his berth and pretended to sleep even as I woke up, feeling shaken and outraged. Before I could come to my senses completely, three sangha women marched up to him, shook him and berated him soundly, waking up the entire compartment. They started pushing him awake, and soon all 8 of us were shouting at him, shaming him and telling everyone in the compartment what he had done. The man, of course, began pleading innocence, and some passengers sided with him, but the sangha women were vociferous and angry that he had dared to do this with “our madam”. We ensured he was handed over to the railway police at the next station. This experience brought home many lessons for me. First, the sangha women stood up for me even before I stood up for myself. They were more outraged than I was and ensured the man was handed over to the police. I think the fact that we're a group gave me a huge amount of strength and courage.

This incident also taught me how we could show up for each other real and be responsible.

When one of our young woman animators from a low caste and class was chased out of the village by an aggressive group of men, we all showed up for her.  10 of us of different ages and backgrounds held a village meeting and expressed our solidarity for the animator, saying we would move to the next village to work but wanted them to know she was not alone.  I was learning to speak the local language but using gestures and animated expressions (which added much-needed humour to the tense meeting!) I shared my anguish that the men had threatened someone who was only trying to spread awareness of health. The villagers backed off, our team felt emboldened, and the women of that village came together to form one of the strongest collectives in the Medak district. 

I think of the innumerable times I have drawn strength from women’s collectives and groups I have been part of and marvel at the bonds we built across lines of language, caste and class.

Sure, there were moments of tension and friction when I was challenged for usurping the tacit knowledge of rural women into presentations that were in a language alien to them or when I was told quite blatantly that I could never understand what it meant to be a Dalit, no matter how hard I tried. But there have an overwhelming set of positive moments and anecdotes as well.  

COVID and its aftershock are hugely palpable. There is irrefutable evidence that it has impacted women and girls disproportionately. This context makes it even more imperative that we give voice to a collective feminist change agenda that speaks to a world free of gender inequality and discrimination – and that in doing this, we show up intentionally for all women, be it our domestic workers, women in our families and workplaces, women on the street and in markets, women in offices or selling vegetables, women vendors and entrepreneurs.

How we do this will be part of our unique story, but what can bind us together is journeys of compassion where we hold the space and affirm solidarity.