Travel - Feminism Vs Society Mindset

It was midnight. Vishu, a 25-year-old adult, stood at the corner of the road. He was on a call with his mom, saying, “Yeah, Mom, I already know it’s midnight. I’ve already booked a cab. I’ll be back within an hour.” His mom replied, “Okay.” They ended the call.

After the call, Vishu got busy swiping through Instagram reels. His feed was filled with videos of girls failing at driving. With a sarcastic smirk, he muttered, “Who the heck even gives girls a license?” As he kept scrolling, a reel popped up, demanding justice for a man who had died due to alimony torture.

Seeing that, anger flared up inside him. He muttered under his breath, “The women of this generation are the worst... doing shameful things in the name of feminism.” Frustrated, he shoved his phone into his pocket. Just then, the cab he had booked pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down the window.

Vishu froze for a moment — the driver was a woman. Stunned, he just stood there until the driver leaned out a little and asked, “Sir, OTP?” Snapping out of it, Vishu hesitated. For a moment, he even thought about canceling the ride. But seeing that it was midnight and there were hardly any other options, he sighed and got into the car.

As the car moved through the quiet, empty streets, Vishu couldn’t help but keep an eye on the driver. Every time she shifted gears, he felt his heartbeat quicken, an uneasy tension building inside him. When the driver tried to take a turn, Vishu instinctively blurted out, “Careful.” Startled, she glanced at him for a second and replied politely, “Okay, sir.”

Another turn came. Once again, Vishu said sharply, “Careful.” This time, the driver’s face tightened slightly with irritation, though she stayed silent. As she shifted from second to third gear, Vishu spoke up again, “Go slow.” The driver finally had enough. She pulled the car to a gentle stop by the roadside, turned to him, and asked, trying to stay calm, “Sir, are you the driver of this cab?”

Vishu frowned and said, “Why are you yelling at me? I’m just pointing it out for safety.” The driver’s patience snapped. She turned to him, her voice rising, “What kind of safety? I’m just switching gears and taking normal turns! I have license for this cab. If I were overspeeding, you’d have a valid point. But you’re interfering with every move I make!”

Vishu realized that arguing further would only escalate the situation. He took a deep breath and backed down. “Sorry, my bad. Please continue driving,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. The driver shot him a brief, annoyed glance, then silently started the car and continued driving.

Even though Vishu stayed quiet on the outside, he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “What wrong did I say? Most accidents happen because of women. Everyone knows how women drive... so it’s natural to be alert seeing a woman behind the wheel. Women should just stay at home anyway.”

The driver, having overheard him, asked sharply, “What did you just say? That women should stay at home?” Vishu’s eyes widened in shock, realizing she had caught his muttering. He quickly tried to cover it up, forcing a nervous laugh. “What did I say? Nothing... nothing at all,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

The driver pressed, “I overheard your muttering. You said most accidents happen because of women. Do you even have any real data to back that up?” Before she could finish, Vishu cut in defensively, “What’s wrong with what I said? There’s video evidence everywhere! Even recently in Kochi, a woman caused a collision involving three buses and two bike riders.”

The driver brought the cab to a sudden stop and snapped, “Oh really? There are plenty of videos where men perform dangerous stunts and cause accidents on the road. Who’s to blame there?” Before she could finish, Vishu interrupted harshly, “It’s foolish to even argue with a woman.” Hearing that, the driver’s face darkened with rage. She pointed toward the door and shouted, “Get out of my cab!”

Vishu snapped back, “Why should I get out? I paid 150 rupees for this ride!” Without a word, the driver pulled out 150 rupees from her purse and slammed it down on the dashboard in front of him. She glared at him and said coldly, “Take your money and get out.”

Seeing the money on the dashboard, Vishu clenched his fists and said angrily, “I don’t need it. Keep it for yourself.” He yanked the door open and stepped out of the cab, slamming the door behind him. The driver shook her head in frustration, muttering under her breath about his attitude. Without wasting another second, she started the engine and drove off into the night.

Vishu stood by the roadside, his ego still burning inside him. The street around him was nearly empty, lit only by a few flickering streetlights. He glanced at his phone, and it was already 12:45 a.m. A sinking feeling settled in his chest. “How am I even going to get home now?” he thought, but his pride refused to let him regret what had just happened.

Meanwhile, the driver continued down the empty road, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her eyes flicked to the clock — 12:45 a.m. A heavy feeling settled in her chest. “If I leave him there at this hour... how will he even reach home?” But then another voice in her mind answered back, “He insulted me. He disrespected every woman with his words. Why should I care?” It became a silent battle inside her — forgiveness pulling her one way, anger pulling her the other.

Vishu stood at the roadside, staring blankly at his phone, debating whether to call someone for help. Just as he unlocked the screen, headlights washed over him. He squinted against the sudden light — it was the same cab, pulling up slowly beside him.

Vishu stubbornly pretended not to notice the cab, keeping his eyes glued to his phone. From inside, the driver rolled down the window and called out, “Don’t act like you didn’t see me. It’s already 12:45. No other cab will come at this time — and the railway station is 4 kilometers from here.” She paused for a moment, then added firmly, “It’s better you just get in.”

Vishu replied stiffly, “I don’t need your help.” The driver clenched the steering wheel, irritation flashing across her face. Still holding onto her patience, she said through gritted teeth, “I’m asking you one last time — leave your stupid ego aside and get in the cab.” Realizing he had no other option, Vishu let out a frustrated sigh and finally stepped into the car, his pride wounded but silent.

After that, the driver focused on the road, and a heavy silence hung between her and Vishu, neither daring to break it. The cab rolled smoothly through the empty streets until it halted at a red traffic signal. Just then, the driver’s phone buzzed — an incoming call. She glanced at the screen. It was from her daughter.

She answered the call, her voice softening instantly. “Mom, when will you come home?” her daughter asked a hint of sleepiness in her voice. The driver smiled faintly and replied, “Soon, within an hour. Didn’t you and Deepika go back to sleep?” Her daughter responded, “Deepika is asleep. I’m just waiting for you, Mom.”

She said gently, “You just go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll come and knock on the door when I get home.” Her daughter replied, “Okay, Mom. Bye.” “Bye,” the driver whispered back with a small smile, ending the call. As the traffic light turned green, the cab slowly started moving again, the silence inside even deeper — but somehow, it felt different now.

Vishu, who had overheard the entire conversation, found himself lost in thought. A question stirred inside him: How did a woman end up becoming a cab driver? What story was hidden behind her steering wheel? Unable to hold back his curiosity, he cleared his throat and asked, “Excuse me, ma’am... if you don’t mind, can you tell me how you became a cab driver?”

The driver glanced at him briefly and said, “Why do you want to know about me?” Vishu replied, a little awkwardly, “Just curious... it’s rare to see a woman cab driver, especially at this time of night.” The driver paused, her fingers lightly tapping the steering wheel as she thought for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, she began to narrate her story.

The driver, keeping her eyes on the road, started speaking, her voice calm but heavy: “It’s been seven years since I started driving this cab. Originally, it belonged to my husband. He was the real cab driver.”

She took a short breath before continuing. “We got married fifteen years ago. He was a good man at heart... but he had a weakness — alcohol. Once he drank, he would turn into a completely different person. He would curse, yell, sometimes even hit me. But by morning, he would apologize like a saint. This cycle became my life.”

Her hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “One day, the drinking caught up with him — a heart attack took him away. After he was gone, my entire life became a question mark. How would I raise my two daughters alone? I tried different jobs, but none gave enough to keep our family running.”

She smiled a little sadly. “Finally, I turned to the only thing we had left — this cab. The driving which I learned from my husband. In the beginning, I was terrified. Sitting behind the wheel, facing the world outside... but slowly, this cab became part of our family. It fed us. It kept us alive.” With that, she fell silent, focusing back on the road ahead.

Hearing her story, Vishu sat silently for a moment, feeling a weight inside him. He looked at her with a softness in his eyes and said, “It’s... inspiring to hear your story. Honestly, it’s rare to see someone like you. Nowadays, some people misuse feminism and do all sorts of nonsense. But you...” — he paused for a second —

“You are the real inspiration. You show what true strength looks like.” The driver gave a small smile but said nothing, focusing on the road ahead. The air inside the cab felt different now — not tense, but respectful.

The driver then asked, “What do you know about feminism?” Vishu shrugged lightly and said, “It’s just a namesake word women use. To do whatever they want without thinking about rules or responsibilities.”

Hearing this, the driver gave a slight smirk, but her voice stayed calm. Again, she asked, “I didn’t ask what some people made it. I asked what feminism is.”

This time, Vishu paused, thinking more carefully. He lowered his voice and replied, “Providing equal rights to women... without bias, without discrimination.”

The driver smiled slightly and said, “Exactly. Feminism isn’t about making women superior. It’s about making sure women aren’t considered inferior. It’s not about fighting men, it’s about fighting the mindset that says a woman’s place is only at home.” Vishu looked out of the window, absorbing her words.

Vishu continued stubbornly, “Don’t say that women don’t get equal rights. Nowadays, they have everything — jobs, education, freedom.”

The driver gave a short, bitter laugh and replied, “When you were talking to yourself earlier, you said ‘women should remain in the house only.’ When I asked about feminism, you first avoided answering and mocked it. This itself shows how deeply your mind-sets carries inequality, even if you don’t realize it.” Vishu stayed silent.

Vishu snapped, “Women are always like this — blaming men for everything! You’ve got all the freedom you ever wanted — drink, smoke, cheat — whether married or not, and you still call it love! Do you even realize how many men have ended their lives because of maintenance and alimony? Misusing the law for your own selfish gains! We men are the ones who have to endure everything — from life’s hardships to the law’s cruelty. And women? They just latch onto someone, using companionship as a ladder to climb higher and get richer!”

The driver calmly said, “I’ll give you three situations. You represent society and tell me — who gets blamed more, the man or the woman.” Vishu replied, “Whatever I say, you’ll just counter-argue it anyway.” The driver shook his head and said, “I won’t argue. You only be the judge — nothing more.” Vishu thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

The driver began, “Here’s the first situation: Imagine a society where a woman is caught engaging in prostitution with another man. Now tell me — who gets blamed more? The woman who was selling her body, or the man who came to satisfy his own desires?”

Vishu answered confidently, “Obviously, the woman! Why should a woman even get into such work?” The driver nodded slightly and continued, “Alright, here’s the second situation. Imagine a family — maybe even your own. A male cousin decides he wants to stay single his whole life. At the same time, a female cousin also decides to stay single forever. Now tell me — who will the family pressure more?”

Vishu thought for a moment and said, “It’s more dangerous for a woman to live alone.” The driver nodded slightly and then continued, “Alright, the last situation. Imagine a married couple deciding to get divorced. In one case, the man files for divorce because he’s unhappy. In another case, the woman files for the same reason. Now tell me — who does society blame more for ‘breaking the family’ — the man who walks away, or the woman who does?”

Vishu thought for a moment, his brow furrowing as he processed the scenario. Then he said, “In this case, society blames the woman more. If a man files for divorce because he’s unhappy, people might say he’s just being practical, or that he’s escaping a bad situation — maybe even call him brave for making a tough choice. But if a woman does it, they’ll say she’s selfish, that she didn’t try hard enough to keep the family together. Everyone expects her to sacrifice her happiness to hold things together, like it’s her job alone. Men get a pass because they’re already toiling day and night for the house, sacrificing their own happiness just to provide.”

He paused, then added with a hint of defiance, “But that’s just how society is. It doesn’t mean men don’t suffer too — divorce ruins them with alimony and all that nonsense. Women just know how to play the victim better.”

The driver then asked, “In the three situations I gave you, who got more blame — men or women? Just say.” Vishu, with slight confidence, replied, “Women only.” The driver nodded slowly and began, “In the first situation, society didn’t blame the man who came to satisfy his desires. They blamed the woman instead — without even thinking about her story, her struggles, or what forced her into that life.”

Hearing that, Vishu instinctively pulled back, the confidence in his eyes flickering for a moment. The driver continued, her voice steady, “In the second situation, society doesn’t want a woman to stay alone. Why? Because it’s considered dangerous for her. Dangerous from whom? From the same men and women who objectify her, who judge her, who make her life harder just because she chose a different path.” Vishu opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He stared ahead, feeling a strange weight settle in his chest.

The driver then said, her voice calm but firm, “Whether a man files for divorce or a woman does, the blame always falls heavier on the woman. That’s what society’s so-called justice says. Even when the situation is clear — when both the man and the woman have their share of right and wrong — still, it’s the woman who is expected to bear the blame and carry the responsibility.” Vishu remained silent, his hands tightening slightly in his lap. For the first time, he didn’t know how to defend his beliefs.

The driver then said, “You mentioned a man’s suicide — referring to Atul Subash’s case. I also felt very sad for him. And yes, I questioned too — how can a woman be so cruel to him? But let me tell you — a similar case happened in Karnataka. There, a woman demanded six lakh rupees per month as maintenance. And a lady judge who ruled that the woman’s demand was unreasonable and rejected it. So when it comes to maintenance and alimony — it’s not just about what a woman demands. It’s the court’s final decision that matters. Now you tell me — If the court passes the verdict, should we blame the woman? Or should we blame the legal system itself if it makes a wrong decision? Or maybe we should blame selfish individuals — whether they are men or women or entire genders?”

Vishu sat there for a moment, lost in thought. Then he muttered, almost defensively,
“Still... the law is more favorable to women. It always sides with them.”

The driver gave a small, knowing smile and replied, “At least one thing should support women — to survive in a society that’s already stacked against them. Women are already facing rape, torture, and so much violence in our country. If a constitution or a country doesn’t give them laws for protection, then what kind of country is that? Sure, people may misuse the law sometimes — but that’s why we have judges and the police. It’s their job to decide right or wrong based on evidence, not just blame the existence of the law.”

Vishu had no answer. He stared out of the window, feeling the walls of his old beliefs begin to crack. After a few seconds, he said quietly, “I never really thought about all this before.”

The driver nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on the road, “Hmm. Most people don’t. It’s because nowadays, everything comes through social media — reels, shorts, quick headlines. A thirty-second video can’t explain the entire constitution or the real struggles behind these laws. It’s just not possible. People catch a few lines and form their opinions.”

She paused, and then added, “And the media... they’re also to blame. They don’t show what people need to know. They show what people want to see — sensationalism, emotions, and controversies. Not the complete truth.” Vishu remained silent, his mind swirling with questions he’d never asked before.

Vishu then argued his voice firm, “I get it, but there are women who cheat with other men. Every day, there are news reports — wives killing their husbands for their boyfriends. What about that? What will you say?” The driver stayed calm and replied, “Similarly, there are rape cases and news of husbands killing their wives too. So should we blame all men for that?” Vishu opened his mouth to respond but found himself hesitating. The driver continued, “Wrong is wrong — no matter who does it. But blaming an entire gender for the mistakes of someone? That’s injustice too.”

The driver then said, her voice steady, “Men or women — both should have morals and their own sense of right and wrong. If drinking and smoking are wrong, then they’re wrong for everyone. There’s no such thing as justifying the same act differently based on gender.”

She glanced briefly at Vishu before continuing, “Cheating is cheating — no matter who does it. And if one gender spreads toxicity, it doesn’t mean the other should respond with more toxicity. Wrong doesn’t correct wrong.” Vishu listened quietly, feeling like the foundations of his old thinking were slowly crumbling.

Vishu hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, “Do you really think every gender will follow this moral code?”

The driver gave a small shrug and said, “It’s a 50-50 case, I’d say. Some will, some won’t. But real change and true morality don’t happen overnight. It takes time — discussions, debates, uncomfortable conversations. It happens when people start thinking for themselves, not just following what’s trending.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle, then continued, “And it’s not just about change — it’s about strict laws, real movements, and transparency. Only when people start realizing these things, will they see whether dialogues like feminism actually succeeded... or if it unknowingly created new inequalities for men too.”

Vishu leaned back, absorbing the driver’s words. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about arguing back — he was just thinking.

Vishu nodded slowly, taking it all in. The driver continued her voice calm but firm, “When I took this job, the first person to oppose me was another woman. A woman’s first enemy is another woman. People spoke behind my back. Riding at midnight some even laughed, questioned my dignity. A few male passengers even asked for sexual favours.”

She paused, her grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel, “But I kept going. I raised my daughter through this job. I gave them a better life. And when people saw that, they started praising me — calling me brave, hardworking. But you know what?”
She glanced at Vishu from the corner of his eye, “Even now, they still judge me. They just do it quietly.”

The driver smiled faintly, a tired but genuine smile, “No matter what you do, people will always judge. That’s why the only thing that should matter is our own morality — our own sense of right and wrong. Respect and support shouldn’t depend on gender’ it should depend on being a human being.”

She took a breath, and then added, “Providing equal law, equal justice, and equal opportunity — that are the true meaning of feminism. Not favouring one side, but giving everyone a fair chance to live with dignity.”

Vishu sat silently, the hum of the car the only sound between them. For the first time in a long time, he was truly listening — not to argue, not to defend, but to understand.

Vishu, who had been quietly listening, sank into deep thought. The car rolled to a stop. Vishu slowly opened the door and stepped out.

As he stood beside the cab, he turned back to the driver and said, “You made me question whether I’ve been seeing things right or wrong all this time.” The driver smiled warmly and replied, “If it even makes you think differently, then I’m happy.”

Vishu hesitated for a moment, then asked with genuine curiosity, “I forgot to ask… by the way, what’s your name, ma’am?” The driver gave a small, proud smile and said, “Jasbir Kaur.”

Vishu nodded respectfully, his mind still swirling with everything he had heard.

Vishu smiled and said, “Bye, ma’am. Take care.” Jasbir smiled back and replied, “Take care.” The cab slowly drove away, leaving Vishu standing there for a moment, watching it disappear into the distance.

He then turned and began walking toward his house. As he moved, his mind spiraled with a thousand thoughts — about women, about society, about the way he had been seeing things all along. Would he truly change his stance? Only time would tell. Lost in these thoughts, Vishu quietly made his way home.