Sometimes all you should be is selfish. All you have to do is train your mind to think about yourself. Not others. About your dream. Not others’. About walking your own path, not the one paved by others.
I was eighteen when I was married off. I was a matriculate. I had come third in my class. I thought this would change my parents’ mind. No, it didn’t. My grandmother, however, had appreciated it. She had tucked a five hundred rupee note into my hand and asked me to run away. It was all she had. Yet I didn’t. How could I hurt my parents?
I was a mother by the time I turned nineteen. The fact that I’d given birth to a girl suddenly changed a lot of things. Respect, love, attention, care – all were snatched away from me and my daughter out of the blue. She was too small to fathom why and I was too scared to accept it. And stand against it. How could I let my husband down?
Eighteen years passed. She grew up into a girl I could only be proud of. Nobody else saw in her, what I did – a spark which had the intensity to turn into an inferno. Probably this is exactly what my grandmother had seen in me.
But her destiny was written with the same words as mine. It would be no different, I knew. I begged everybody to let her live the life she deserved. But they paid no heed. Who listens to a voice which has been mute for decades, right?
But surprisingly this time I wasn’t scared. I realized I’d sold myself out completely. I’d nothing left to lose. But my daughter had. It was time to tear off the pages her destiny was written on. It was time for her to write it herself.
I knew what we were going to do would break a lot of hearts. It would let everybody, who claimed to be our well-wisher, down. But this would also mean that my daughter would walk her own path with her head held high.
I took my grandmother’s five hundred rupee note, some jewelries and clothes. We grabbed each other’s hands and ventured out for the journey we could call our own.