On the one hand, in the Islamic country of Iran, women and girls are fighting against the hijab. Despite lakhs of restrictions, she is burning the hijab by taking to the streets. In protest, the tops are being torn off and on the other hand there is a struggle to wear the hijab in India. It is understandable in Iran that girls there want freedom.
… of course Indian girls also want freedom. Their movement in favor of hijab may be happening on their own free will, but girls need freedom in any case. Freedom can also be that if they want, they wear hijab, if they don’t want to wear them not. It should be their own decision in any case.
On the other hand, the girls of Iran are openly saying that the opposition to the hijab is a rebellion of the youth. Old clerics will not understand this. An Iranian girl said – wearing a hijab, I felt – I am living a second class life. Take off the hijab. Feeling the power now. Another girl said – Hijab was a bond for me. Quite a ban I have found myself by removing the hijab.
Girls need freedom from many shackles. Which is not available or given in most places, cities, towns, villages and even homes. The real fight is to get rid of these bondages. Whether the name is of hijab, it may be time-to-time, whether it is dress or speech or colour.
There are so many prohibitions, so many denials and so many protests for girls in the society, city, country, even in the air around and far and wide that the breath swells, but no one is ready to listen and understand. Neither father, nor husband, nor uncle, nor father, nor brother, neither younger nor elder. This is the reason that different, beautiful and weeping songs were written for the freedom of the girl child in India. These songs are not mere songs in themselves, they are also intense movements. Prasoon Joshi wrote-
Babul Jiya Mora panicked… Don’t go without saying… Babul Jiya Mora panicked. Babul Mori listened so much, Mohe did not give gold to the goldsmith’s house, never loved his jewellery… Babul Jiya Mora panicked. Babul Mori listened so much, Mohe Raja did not give home, Mohe did not come to rule.. Babul Jiya Mora panicked. Babul Mori listened so much, gave me the house of the blacksmith who melted my chains… Babul Jiya Mora got scared.
Against these restrictions, shackles and chains, when Amrita Pritam raised the pen, some such pearls were scattered on the paper.
Today I have erased the number of my house, removed the street board at the end of the street, and wiped the name of every direction of the city, but if you must meet me, then every street in every city of every country Knock on the door, and the place where there is a glimpse of the free spirit, understand that it is my home.
Credit: www.bhaskar.com /