Indians Worships Women, Just Not Living Ones?

You know those WhatsApp forwards with glittering goddesses, folded hands, and a caption that says something like, “Respect women, they are Shakti.” Yep. Love those. Peak feminism, circa uncle-logic. But here’s the thing: In India, we literally have festivals where we line up to wash little girls’ feet, feed them halwa puri, call them avatars of Durga—and then, five minutes later, those same girls aren’t allowed to laugh too loud, walk alone, or God forbid, have opinions. It’s almost like we adore the idea of a woman. Just not the actual woman.

We worship Sita, who was loyal. We worship Draupadi, who was fiery. We worship Meera, who was in love. But if a woman today tries to be any of those things? Oh no no. We call her “too western,” “not sanskaari enough,” or my personal favorite, “asking for it.” India is basically that guy who posts #RespectWomen and then ask women to compromise just a little more because “beta, boys will be boys.” It’s wild how many times “tradition” is just a PR word for control. She’s at war with herself and doesn’t even know it anymore. Because the world taught her to be her own worst critic before anyone else could be.
The moment a woman tells the truth of how exhausted she is — she’s “too bitter.” The moment she sets a boundary — she’s “difficult.” The moment she stops performing — she’s “not the same anymore.” But maybe she’s not bitter. Maybe she’s done. Done trying to be the good girl, the hot girl, the cool girl, the smart girl — all at once. Done adjusting herself like an Instagram crop tool — always trimming edges to fit into someone else's frame.

They’re safely tucked in our temples and textbooks, never answering back, never wanting a salary hike, never refusing to marry the guy picked by the stars and Sharma aunty. Modern women, on the other hand? We come with ambition, and emotional boundaries. Scary stuff. So instead of dealing with us, society goes full nostalgia mode: “In our culture, women were treated like goddesses.”
We touch our mothers’ feet and then tell our daughters-in-law to “adjust.” We sing bhajans to Durga, then ask rape survivors, “But why were you out so late?” You can almost hear the logic: “We respect women, but only if they’re not asking for anything. Like rights. Or opinions. Or...you know, breathing room.”

If I had a rupee for every time I saw a Women’s Day ad that said, “Behind every successful man is a woman,” I’d finally have enough money to fund therapy for every girl who’s ever been gaslit by her boyfriend and his mother. Nari Shakti is great PR. But try asking for equal inheritance or calling out harassment and suddenly—“Don’t be aggressive.” God forbid we stop being “graceful” while being groped in a local train.
Meanwhile, equal pay? Still a myth.
Marital rape? Not a crime.
Street harassment? Everyday sport.
Periods? Still a whispered conspiracy best dealt with in shame, brown paper, and denial.
But hey, let’s upload a reel with “Respect women” audio and call it empowerment.

Lakshmi is welcomed in every household—on Diwali. But if your daughter-in-law wants financial independence? "She’s too modern." We fold hands to Saraswati before exams but silence girls when they speak too much in class. We light lamps for Durga but switch them off on our daughters' dreams. Why is our feminism only ceremonial? Seasonal, even—like mangoes or political promises.
Because what’s more goddess-like than cooking dinner after your 9-to-5 while also attending your cousin’s haldi, updating your in-laws on your fertility status, and smiling sweetly through it all? Translation: please do everything for everyone, suppress your own needs, cook a feast with a smile, don’t talk back, and make sure your gold bangles don’t clash with your career dreams. Also: be modern enough to earn but traditional enough to never question.

Despite this divine double standard, Indian women persist. We’re out here getting degrees, leading protests, earning our own money, choosing our own partners, and calling out wrong while still getting mehndi done on both hands and somehow texting back “reached safely” to ten people. We’re redefining what being worship-worthy really looks like. Spoiler: It’s not standing silently in a temple. It’s speaking, living, raging, laughing, choosing—and yeah, sometimes saying no. Indian women still rise.
They study late into the night while being told their degrees are just for “status.”
They speak out knowing they’ll be blamed.
They leave bad marriages and are called selfish.
They fight for others and are labeled dramatic.
They exist—unapologetically—and that alone is a revolution.
We may not get temples built in our names, but trust me: we’re already rewriting the scriptures.

Yes, India loves women. Just not the kind who talk back, walk ahead, or don’t play by the rules of reverence. It’s easier to light a diya for Durga than to support a daughter who wants to move out alone. But here’s the plot twist: We’re not waiting for society’s permission slip anymore. Worship us or not, we’re already holy chaos in motion. And trust me—this time, we’re staying alive. So next time someone tells you “We treat women like goddesses,” smile sweetly and ask, “Before or after the dowry?” Watch the confusion bloom. Because this isn’t about being divine. It’s about being allowed to exist. Loudly, fully, unapologetically.