The scars across my chest are badges of my victory. They are the marks of my mother’s endless support and my father’s struggle to understand me. After years of self-doubt and breakdowns, unwanted discomfort and dysphoria, and rejection from society for who I was, I could finally learn to love myself and my body. I made it.

At some point during our undefined courtship, my friend’s attentions went from playful to predatory. I was touched in places I didn’t want to be touched. All the behaviour that would earn a male friend several swift kicks in the nads, possibly even a police complaint. But in the absence of a penis poking my anatomy, I didn’t know how to qualify my experiences as violations.

My mother refused to wear a nose ring, viewing it as yet another marker of marital status that found its way onto a woman’s body. By the time I was a teen, piercings signified a way for women to exercise their right over their bodies. I embraced this piece of jewellery as instantly as my mother had rejected it.

Blaming women for the mistakes men make is a tale as old as time. After Pakistan’s dismal performance against India in the World Cup, it wasn’t too long before cricket fans figured out where the blame for their lax attitude really lies – with “Indian agent” Sania Mirza.

I started using the menstrual cup more than 15 years after I got my first period and it was the first time I engaged with my menses. I no longer loathed “that time of the month”. With every cycle I understood my body a little better, embraced it a little more

If you support the ban of a piece of clothing – a burqa, ghunghat, or a skirt – you’re still supporting the idea that women’s bodies, and what they put on them, can and should be subjected to regulation. Why should the world decide whether a woman should be behind a veil or cover her legs?

In my family, it is always the men who take all the important decisions. Elections are all about herd voting, where my father announces his political leanings and the rest follow. Women, they believe, are incapable of understanding the affairs of the State. But this year, despite all the pestering, I voted for a candidate of my choice.

In a now viral video, a Gurgaon woman is seen slut-shaming a girl, saying she and her friends “deserved to be raped” because of the clothes she wore. It reminded me of the culture of aunty establishment that has always been prevalent in our schools, where girls were reprimanded for the length of their uniforms.

We are socially conditioned to equate youth with beauty, and beauty as an accomplishment. But why not think of your crows’ feet and greys as sieves that filter out assholes who think women serve only one purpose – to be someone’s eye-candy? Let’s start by retiring “you don’t look your age!” as a compliment.

When I was growing up, Maa’s kitchen had some manner of grinding, slow cooking going on at all times. But my utter lack of initiative when it comes to feeding people ghar ka khaana has been the cause of great pain to women in my family.