Changing age old patriarchal mindsets is a difficult long process

Host: The evening descended over the city like a silk curtain, soft but heavy. In the heart of the university, an old auditorium stood dim and quiet, its walls covered in faded portraits of forgotten men — founders, rectors, thinkers whose eyes seemed to follow every new generation with unspoken judgment.

The stage lights burned weakly, scattering tired shadows across rows of empty chairs. Jack sat at the edge of the stage, a half-empty cup of coffee in his hand, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his expression distant — the kind of weariness that comes from too many arguments fought in too few years.

Jeeny walked slowly through the aisle, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor, the echo of determination. Her hair hung loose, her face lit not by the dull yellow of the lights, but by a quiet fire of conviction. She stopped when she reached the stage, looking up at him. Between them, a printed poster hung on the wall — bold letters spelling out a quote from Padmapriya Janakiraman:

"Changing age-old patriarchal mindsets is a difficult long process and involves constant communication and dialogue."

Jeeny: (quietly) You didn’t say much during the talk.

Jack: (sipping his coffee) There wasn’t much to say. You were doing fine without me.

Jeeny: (crossing her arms) That’s not an answer.

Jack: (shrugs) Alright then — I don’t think words change people as much as you think they do. You can hold panels, protests, speeches, but in the end, most people believe what benefits them. That’s human nature.

Host: His tone was calm, analytical — like a scientist dissecting empathy. But Jeeny’s eyes flashed, alive with disagreement.

Jeeny: Then what’s the point of education, Jack? Of art, literature, democracy — if not to change how people think?

Jack: Education gives information, not transformation. The powerful don’t give up their power because of dialogue. They only listen when the world stops working for them.

Jeeny: (firmly) But it’s still a start. Change has to begin with communication. Even Gandhi said that resistance without dialogue becomes violence.

Jack: And yet Gandhi was shot. Dialogue didn’t save him. The truth is, change happens when systems collapse — not when people talk about it.

Host: The lights flickered. The silence between them thickened with tension, like the air before a storm. Jeeny took a slow breath, then walked to the edge of the stage, sitting beside him.

Jeeny: You always think in systems, Jack — power, structure, control. But patriarchy isn’t just a system. It’s a culture. A shadow that seeps into homes, families, stories, even jokes. You can’t tear it down with logic. You have to unlearn it, word by word, day by day.

Jack: Unlearning takes generations. How long do you expect people to wait?

Jeeny: As long as it takes.

Jack: (bitterly) That’s easy for you to say. But go tell that to the woman who’s being told she’s “less than.” Or the man who’s told emotion makes him weak. Waiting doesn’t free them.

Jeeny: Neither does violence. Real change — the kind that lasts — needs understanding. The French Revolution replaced kings with chaos. Patriarchy works the same way. You don’t destroy it by shouting louder — you outgrow it by teaching better.

Host: The rain began to fall outside, softly at first, like applause from the heavens. The room filled with its rhythm — gentle, insistent, endless.

Jack: You sound like you believe everyone can be reasoned with.

Jeeny: Not everyone — but enough people. Enough to make the rest follow.

Jack: (leans forward) You’re fighting millennia of conditioning, Jeeny. Fathers teaching sons, sons teaching sons again. The idea that women exist to serve, that power belongs to men — it’s been religion, law, tradition, survival. You think a few conversations can undo that?

Jeeny: (smiles sadly) No. But I think silence never will.

Host: Her voice trembled slightly — not from fear, but from the quiet exhaustion of those who keep fighting what feels eternal. Her eyes glistened under the stage light — part sorrow, part defiance.

Jack: (after a pause) You’re right about silence. I just… I don’t know how to talk about something that feels like history itself.

Jeeny: You don’t start by talking to history, Jack. You start by listening to the people it silenced.

Host: His gaze lowered to the floor. The words hit somewhere deeper than pride — in the part of him that remembered his mother’s long hours, his sister’s quiet frustration, his own complicity in pretending not to see.

Jack: (softly) When I was a kid, my father used to say women were made to endure. That it was their strength. I believed him. I thought patience was power. But now… I’m not so sure.

Jeeny: (gently) Endurance isn’t power, Jack. It’s survival. Power is when endurance finally learns to speak.

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat. The room filled with its sound — a natural dialogue, unstoppable and rhythmic.

Jack: So, communication and dialogue. You really believe that’s the weapon?

Jeeny: It’s not a weapon. It’s a bridge. Look at how movements start — one person speaks, another listens. The #MeToo movement began with a story, not a slogan. Stories are how systems crack. Every confession is a revolution in miniature.

Jack: But some people never listen.

Jeeny: Then you keep speaking until they can’t ignore you. Until silence feels heavier than change.

Host: Her words rang in the air like a quiet anthem. Jack looked at her — really looked — and for the first time that night, the skepticism in his eyes softened into something else.

Jack: (sighs) You make it sound noble. But you’ve seen what happens. Even educated men defend the same chains. Some women too.

Jeeny: Because patriarchy doesn’t belong to one gender, Jack. It’s a virus of the mind — passed down, justified, decorated. That’s why communication matters. You can’t fight a mindset with silence. You expose it. You ask questions it can’t answer.

Jack: (quietly) Like what?

Jeeny: Like — why should a girl apologize for ambition? Why should a man hide his tears? Why should power have a gender at all?

Host: The light shifted, the storm easing into a misty calm. Their faces glowed faintly under the pale stage lamp, and in that moment, they looked less like debaters and more like co-authors of a fragile new truth.

Jack: You know, I used to think feminism was about women fighting men. Now I think it’s about all of us fighting what’s been done to both.

Jeeny: (smiling) Exactly. Patriarchy breaks everyone — it just rewards one side for not noticing.

Host: He let out a long, tired breath, as if something inside him — old and rusted — had finally begun to shift. The poster behind them fluttered slightly in the air from a hidden vent, the quote trembling in its frame as if alive.

Jack: (softly) Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s a long process. Maybe centuries long.

Jeeny: It is. But every voice counts. Every time a father listens, a teacher changes his words, a company rethinks its culture — that’s progress. Not dramatic, but real.

Jack: Slow change still feels like no change when you’re waiting for justice.

Jeeny: True. But slow change is still the only kind that lasts.

Host: A soft silence fell. The rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet earth and new beginnings. Jack stood, walking to the poster, tracing the words with his fingers, as if reading them for the first time.

Jack: (quietly) “A difficult long process.” You weren’t exaggerating.

Jeeny: No. But that’s what makes it worth it.

Host: He turned toward her, a faint, genuine smile crossing his face. She smiled back — not in triumph, but in shared understanding.

Host: Outside, the first wind of dawn stirred the trees, whispering through the cracks of the old building. Inside, the echo of their conversation lingered — the kind of dialogue that doesn’t end, but continues to ripple outward, from room to room, from person to person.

Host: And as the light grew, pale and forgiving, it fell over the poster one last time — the words glowing softly like prophecy:

“Changing age-old patriarchal mindsets is a difficult long process and involves constant communication and dialogue.”

Host: In that stillness, it no longer sounded like a statement — but a vow.