Women - They're More Than A Metaphor

We named rivers after women, yet we pollute them without a second thought.

We named cities after women, yet we fail to be civil—towards women, towards ourselves.

We named mountains after women, only to deny them the right to peak, to rise beyond the shade of social oppression.

We named airports after women, and still, we tie their wings every time they try to fly beyond what tradition permits.

We named national awards after women, but no conferral could ever capture the weight of their silence, their tolerance, their strength.

We named welfare schemes after women, yet we never stitched their wounds—of domestic wars, marital prisons, and generational pain.

We named bridges after women, yet any woman who dares to cross the threshold of her house after dusk is crossed off, labeled, shamed.

We named our country after a woman—Bharat Mata—only to loot, hurt, and rot her from within.

How poetic we are in symbolism, yet brutal in practice.

We celebrate women on stages, in speeches, in hashtags.

But in our homes, in our minds, in our systems—we shrink them.

We place them on pedestals so we don’t have to make space beside us. We honor them with names while dishonoring their existence.

But here’s the thing:

Women don’t want to be celebrated like artifacts in a museum.

They want to be respected.

Heard.

Given the space to breathe, fall, rise, and grow—just like men.

Maybe the real tribute to a woman is not in naming things after her. Maybe it’s in not owning her at all. Just letting her be.

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