The Kiss for Humanity

We are tired of being told. Doing at other’s behest, dressing to suit some others; they tell us what to wear and what is not appropriate- when to cover our heads and when not to. They tell us our eyes are beguiling and our hair is not to be seen. They tell us who to date and who to avoid.  They also tell us when to step out and when to return to the fold.  The menfolk supposedly know better, you see. They tell us what we should do with the child in our womb or if it needs to be in the womb at all. They tell us what is safe or unsafe for us.

They tell us and we are supposed to do as we are told. The omniscient, omnipresent, sagacious moral police- the certain men who decide what women and girls must do.  Women are killed for what is rightfully theirs- the right to choose. The unrest and the resentment spread, and the protests began. The whips lashed, and the protestors shot.   And then came the barrage of tweets, the posts, the reels, and the stories. If women need to be veiled, so would the men. Across the world, the word spread, and the time was fixed.

People came in droves, the young and the old- students and professionals- the unwed and the married, he, she, and they. All came covered with head scarves, veiled. And they kissed.

Thousands across the globe, more joining by the minute- making a statement with that lingering, passionate, marathon kissing event ever organized and the only criteria was it should be through a cloth. The media went berserk covering this mammoth event across the globe.

The guns fell silent, the whip lay limp, and the power-to-be went mute, for the protests were one of quiet strength. We stand not only for gender equality, we stand as one for humanity.

Chandrika R Krishnan

Author’s Note: This fictional piece has been woven after seeing the image in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.