“ I used to be the girl every parent wished for—obedient, kind, and well-behaved. Prioritizing wasn’t a tough game for me because I knew, my parents and their dreams should be on the top of my list, not mine. My life wasn’t mine to live but theirs. At 18, I’ve heard my father saying, “What’s the point in educating girls anyway? We will find a man for you soon, my dear. Get married and make us happy.” My father’s will was my will. Furthermore, he added that he would be delighted if I could. But this time, I experienced a powerful melancholic urge that enveloped my entire body. I could hear voices of rejection, resistance to fitting in, and lack of acceptance deep inside of me. I wanted to study, I always wanted. I broke in tears all of a sudden and I knew it didn’t matter. “What’s the point in educating girls anyway?” That night, I opened my window and contemplated the stars oblivious of the future and especially, the present. I grabbed the courage to confront my father but it went futile when I saw the happiness on his face.
He was so glad that I accepted the proposal (I didn’t have a choice). Then my mother’s words started to echo in my heart: “Girls are not supposed to talk back. We must do as we are told. Remember, a family’s honour and glory are solely dependent on its women.” If I disobey them, won’t that be ungrateful? All my life, I never had an opinion of myself. In fact, I was not supposed to offer an opinion. That’s what good girls do. I painted my inner blue with wedding sparkles, but it was still there, swallowing me. Then he tied the knot, but little did I know that knot was for my life.
“Is this what you learned from your home? They made a couch potato, good for nothing. I don’t know why girls these days are so unaware of even basic cooking.” Yes, he yelled at me because the curry didn’t taste good enough. It might be the salt. I should have given a little more care. Anyway, he did that on a regular basis. Once, he pulled my hair and dragged me out of bed, and I had been slapped and beaten mercilessly. The way my heart pounded, I still remember. The pain, fear, and agony ripped my breath apart. It was my fault though; I should not have forgotten to press his shirts. But was that too much to be punished for? I apologised to him a million times, then he left like nothing happened. I almost hit the point where I failed to tolerate all these. I’ve never told my parents about the kind of violence I faced. But not this time. “Good girls must do as they are told,” I hear my mother say again. Usually, I listen to it. But not this time. I decided to write them a letter, saying the truth that I can’t survive in this relationship anymore. Maybe it was the bravest decision I ever took in my life, or the first decision I ever took. As you know, I was terrible at making decisions. After a while, a return letter from my home dropped in the corridor. I opened it (I wish I never) it and read it with utmost happiness, but suddenly it turned to tears again.
My dear,
You are not a girl anymore but a woman, a married woman. Haven’t I told you that a family’s pride and glory depend on its women? You have to adjust just like your mother did. Please don’t worry on such silly things and write something to us. Stay happy with him always. We love you so much.
“Love”! What a fragile and pathetic word. The pain was unbearable, even more than all the slaps and beatings he did. I ripped my heart out with tears, just like on the eve of my wedding. Slowly, I realised there was something dripping along with the tears. I’ve never felt anything like that before—fire, rage.
I looked back in time. I lived all my life obeying the commands like a slave, a soul without an opinion, even though I had many. If I could go back, I would have fought for the things I wanted. I exactly knew what I wanted to be, a doctor. But nobody asked me about my dreams maybe I didn’t have enough courage to express them. Good girls don’t talk back, but bold girls fight for the life they dreamed about. This epiphany set a flame to my soul. Then I understood where I was wrong. In the midst of all the chaos, I forgot to prioritize myself, my life, and my identity.”
There isn’t a name for this woman because, somewhere in life, we have seen her, or she might even be in our home. A grandmother or a mother, even a sister. We have seen different versions of this soliloquy. There was a time when domestic violence and oppression were glorified in the name of love, but isn’t that still here? Unfortunately, we couldn’t cut out the cancer as a whole, it’s still alive, killing the dreams of many women who are forced to “just obey and do as I told.” It’s high time to stop glorifying a woman’s sufferings. Aren’t we aware of the fact that we are plucking the roots of many future doctors, scientists, dancers, artists, engineers, CEOs, etc.?
A travellingHEART 
You must be logged in to post a comment.