Frantic, panting and trying desperately to hide her tears, a girl in a red dress rushes into the ladies’ loo just as I am done applying lipstick. Mascara was running down in streaks on her cheeks, she surveys herself in the mirror and breaks down. Immediately, as if on cue, the four other women in the washroom surround her- one girl wraps her with a jacket and another wipes off her ruined eye makeup with wet tissues. We sit her down and give her a glass of water as she pours out her predicament- she just found out her partner of six years has been cheating on her and to top it off he humiliated her in front of everybody at the club minutes ago.
We listen, console and weep with her. One girl fixes her makeup and her clothes. Another girl books her an Uber home and decides to accompany her till she is dropped off home safely. We tell her she’s beautiful, that she can do amazing things and that she deserves nothing but pure, unadulterated love. Her face breaks into a childlike smile. We are sisters, bound to each other by shared experiences and solidarity, in this safe space called the ladies’ washroom.
The ladies’ washroom is a space where strangers become soul sisters, where phone numbers are exchanged and affirmations are shared generosity. This is a space of shared girlhood, of joyous femininity. In the ladies’ washroom, I’m told I am beautiful by a girl I’ve never met. A stranger hands me a sanitary napkin, her lipstick, a token of sisterhood. The ladies’ washroom, therefore, becomes a space rife with love, laughter and feminist joy.
Growing up in all girls’ schools, how many times have we escaped the authoritarian gaze of the teachers and CCTV cameras to sneak into the girls’ washroom and just pour our hearts out? We have processed our first heartbreak, dysfunctional families, bad grades, and our first taste of sexism at this sanctum of feminist sorority- the girls’ washroom. From sharing a pack of tampons and a communal tinted lip balm to playfully bickering about who the cutest singer in the boy band is and dreaming about first crushes, the girls’ washroom becomes a feminist utopia.
In a world that is defined by the patriarchal system, where at every step of the way, women are policed, reprimanded and objectified, the ladies’ washroom is one place, away from the male gaze that provides women with safety, security and solidarity.
The ladies’ washroom is also a protective safe space where vulnerabilities are seen, heard and appreciated. It is a space where women who have undergone sexual trauma and have encountered the lecherous advances of men outside come to heal. I am reminded of how one time, a girl was molested by a drunk man on the dance floor. The girls in the washroom wrapped her in hugs, solidarity and warmth, wiped off her tear-smudged makeup and created a shield around her that no man could ever penetrate. This is the power of the subversive feminist space of the ladies’ washroom.
In a world that is defined by the patriarchal system, where at every step of the way, women are policed, reprimanded and objectified, the ladies’ washroom is one place, away from the male gaze that provides women with safety, security and solidarity. I am sure every woman has at least once in their life felt the thrill of getting ready with her girlfriends, in a space that is public, yet private- the ladies’ washroom. Whether it is applying eyeliner on each other or holding back your friend’s hair as she throws up after drinking too much, we all have had some core memories formed in the ladies’ washroom.
It is not just the snazzy washrooms of high-end clubs that provide such spaces of feminist joy- women are consoling each other in hospital washrooms, teachers arranging each other’s saree pleats in the staff washroom of an all-boys’ school where the male gaze is omnipresent outside, mothers chatting with each other at the mall washroom as they change their babies’ diapers or nurse them.
The space of the women’s washroom is therefore not solely accessible to a certain class of society, who can afford to visit fancy clubs and restaurants, but is available to every woman, as a haven within a public place. I am yet again reminded of my childhood theatre days, we would rush to the ladies’ washroom backstage in the absence of a proper green room to put on makeup and fix our costumes. The stalls would be filled with excited and nervous giggles and everyone would be vying for the mirror. While we memorised the lines and repeated them in whispers, little did we know that we were making joyous memories in a space so sacred to our womanhood. As one of the only all-girls’ theatre troupes in the fest, the ladies’ washroom was the place we would flock to before the play as if to get good tidings from the invisible spirits that inhabited such a special space.
As we grew up, we came across many such ladies’ washrooms, in clinics, colleges, shopping malls, restaurants, bars, exam centres and offices. Yet, all these spaces emanated the same warmth, kindness and joy and made us feel welcome and loved. We made friends with strangers, complimented and lifted each others’ spirits and shared our makeup and life lessons with them. We fixed each others’ crowns and giggled like school girls without the fear of being called ‘silly’. We stood by each other like rocks, in rage, in trauma and joy, always ready to protect, love and heal one another.
My feminist joy is the time I spent and the people I met at the ladies’ washroom, a space which made me believe in the power of a feminist haven built on solidarity and sisterhood.
