Question Everything Around You

 

Question Everything Around You

Growing up in a patriarchal family in North India, I was taught to obey before I could even understand the meaning of disobedience. "Respect your elders," "listen to your teachers," "follow what's being told"; these weren't just instructions; they were stitched into the fabric of everyday life. And as a woman from a middle-class Hindu household, the expectation to comply was even more intense. Blind obedience wasn’t just encouraged—it was demanded.

But even as a child, there was a quiet, stubborn voice inside me that refused to be silenced. I began to question things, even when I didn't yet have the vocabulary to express rebellion. Why should I go to the temple if God is everywhere? Why are there more temples than libraries in our neighborhood? Each question I asked was met with silence, scolding, or worse—dismissal. I was told I was being disrespectful, difficult, or too curious for my own good.

Still, I couldn't stop. As I grew older, the questions grew louder and more urgent. When my family insisted it was time for me to marry, I asked: Why? Why is marriage considered essential for a woman? Why must I move into a man's house—why can’t it be the other way around? Why is a woman’s life always defined by someone else’s authority?

They told me women are not supposed to question.

But they never told me why.

Maybe they didn’t know the answer. Or maybe they were afraid I’d find it.

I realized I had to seek the answers myself. And so, I turned to books. I began reading philosophy, politics, sociology, and history, or whatever I came across, and slowly, the world started to make more sense. My questions became sharper, my reasoning stronger. I discovered the power of critical thinking and the importance of dissent. What once was seen as rebelliousness became a foundation for my research and analytical skills.

I began to understand that questioning the world around us isn’t an act of disrespect; it’s an act of courage.

One quote that deeply resonated with me is by historian Howard Zinn, who wrote:

“Civil disobedience is not our problem. Our problem is civil obedience. Our problem is that people all over the world have obeyed the dictates of leaders…and millions have been killed because of this obedience… Our problem is that people are obedient all over the world in the face of poverty and starvation and stupidity, and war, and cruelty. Our problem is that people are obedient while the jails are full of petty thieves… (and) the grand thieves are running the country. That’s our problem.”

These words hit home. They echoed everything I had felt but didn’t know how to articulate growing up. Today, I find myself asking deeper questions about democracy, citizenship, gender, class, and power. And I have learned that dissent is essential, not just for academic inquiry but for social transformation.

To anyone reading this: never stop questioning. It’s through questions that we challenge injustice, push the boundaries of knowledge, and create new possibilities. Whether in science, society, or personal life, every meaningful discovery or change begins with someone daring to ask: Why? Who? How? What? Where? When?

Even when society tries to silence you, keep asking questions. When you're told to stay quiet, when you're made to feel like your curiosity is a threat, remember: it is a threat. A threat to systems built on blind obedience. A threat to the comfort of the status quo. But it is also the seed of change.

No matter how many times you're shut down, ignored, or ridiculed, don’t stop. Keep questioning. Especially when you’re told not to. That is when it matters the most.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that disobedience is not a weakness, especially for women. It is a vital tool for change. In a world that teaches women to obey before they learn to think for themselves, saying no becomes revolutionary. Every time a woman refuses to conform, she cracks the system open just a little more.

Disobedience is how women reclaim power—not just for themselves, but for those who come after them.

Disobedience is not a flaw; it’s a force.
Especially for women, disobedience is essential to challenge the norms that were never built for us. In a society that survives on our silence and submission, every act of questioning, resisting, and refusing is a step toward change.

For women, obedience has never been safety; it's been surrender.
But disobedience? That is where freedom begins.

The Rebellion of My Mother Inspires Me Somehow

 

The Rebellion of My Mother Inspires Me Somehow

My mother often tells me a story—one that I’ve heard many times, yet it never loses its power. It’s about a moment in her life when she decided to quietly but firmly push back against the oppressive expectations placed upon her. This story, though rooted in pain and resistance, has become a quiet source of inspiration for me.

She was in Class Eight, barely a teenager, when her parents informed her that her marriage had been arranged. In her family and many others across patriarchal Hindu households in North India, this was the norm. Her elder sisters had already been married young, and there were younger siblings still waiting in line. The pressure was as heavy as it was expected. No one questioned it—not the girls, not the women, and certainly not the men. The authority of the patriarchs was absolute, and girls were rarely asked what they wanted.

But my mother, even as a young girl, found a way to rebel.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t run away or shout in protest. Instead, she cried. She cried for days, letting her tears speak the words she was never allowed to say out loud. She stopped eating. Her silent resistance slowly began to shake the very foundation of her parents’ decision. Her sorrow became too heavy to ignore. Eventually, her parents relented. They called off the marriage.

Although she did get married a few years later, before she could finish her college education, that single act of defiance left a lasting impression—not just on her family, but on me as well. Her rebellion may have been quiet, but it was powerful. In a world where obedience was expected, she chose resistance. It wasn’t the dramatic kind of revolution we often read about, but it was a rebellion nonetheless—a refusal to give in to a system that demanded her silence.

That act, that moment, planted a seed. A seed of courage. A seed of questioning. A seed of change.

Today, I realize how much that story has shaped me. It’s not just my mother’s story—it’s the story of countless women who have dared to resist in small, subtle, but deeply significant ways. Her quiet rebellion has become part of my inheritance. It has taught me that strength doesn’t always roar; sometimes, it whispers. And sometimes, that whisper is enough to crack open centuries of silence.

Her rebellion inspires me—somehow, in all the ways that matter.