I was not ready for Dorothy.
I was not ready for Dorothy . I cried, continued to cry as I watched the film. Not that kind of crying that comes with a sentimental scene, where you wipe away your tear and move on. I simply couldn’t. I felt very uncomfortable, anxious and eventually content. I am trying to comprehend all of it. I have encountered this sort of violence before- in literature and cinema that stubbornly refuses to let us look away. When I first read The Begetter by Imayam, I was a college student. It was a part of my syllabus and I had to present it to the class. I read the night before, I couldn’t sleep. A lump in my throat refused to move. The honour-killing episode and the violence inflicted consciously by the society broke something open in me. It wasn’t the violence that affected me but the terrible familiarity of it. The way such violence can be made inevitable, sanctioned and even ordinary within the structures that produce and sustain gender inequality. The next day while ...