#CelebrateingtheRainbow at the workplace – share your stories of Pride!
A bride's farewell at her bidai is often tearful, with myriad thoughts, doubts, and questions clustering in her mind, struggling to get some answers.
A bride’s farewell at her bidai is often tearful, with myriad thoughts, doubts, and questions clustering in her mind, struggling to get some answers.
Relatives from every nook and corner of the world are clustered together. Some are hogging food as if it is the last time they are seeing food, some are dancing on some absurd song for no reason, girls are wearing the maximum make up they can, and guys are getting crazy for those made up girls. Ladies are analyzing the prestige of other ladies by meticulously calculating the kilos of jewellery laden on them.
Amidst all this chaos, in some corner, the bride and groom are getting married.
Finally they tie knot and everyone is elated. But there is this one soul who is required to fake happiness despite being in utter distress- the beautifully dolled up bride. She is decorated as a Barbie doll and is bid adieu to in the jazzy so called doli. Where did this culture come from?
Only our culture that is supposed to be followed unaltered!
The story starts from playing the gudda-guddi game in childhood, where a 4 year old toddler herself hands over her doll to some unknown man. The rules of the game are etched onto her brain. And she, in her early 20s is easily asked to shift to her in law’s place.
In the bride’s farewell, she is weeping as the flashbacks of her childhood run in front of her moist eyes. She is tormented about the further adjustments and expectations. She hugs her mother tight out of the apprehension of not getting pampered by the same cup of tea in the morning. She cries out loud before her father, asking him, will they praise my worst dish as you did? Her wet eyes are questioning everyone around, “What is my fault?” “Why am I shouldered with the responsibility of glorifying somebody else’s house?”
Unfortunately, culture sits in the driver’s seat, and her pained voice is not even paid heed to.
In the good old days, man was the sole bread winner. So, it was expected that the wife should come and settle at his place, so that he could support her. But, there is a sea change in the current scenario. Both men and women earn their bread and butter by the sweat of their brow. Women are equally qualified and capable.
But still, she is also expected to be a splendid home maker. To add fuel to fire, she is obligated to ask permission from her so called new mom and dad to visit her biological mom and dad. A visitor to the place, where she has spent a quarter of her life.
I just hope for the day when her questions are answered. I just wish for that day when her every tear has its worth, because trust me, she is leaving behind much more than her surname.
Image source: YouTube
I am a chartered accountant by profession. I have tremendous interest and zeal for writing. I like to write and create an impact. read more...
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Can you believe this bloke compelled me to wear only saris - full time at home- till the eighth month of my pregnancy?! The excessive heat coupled with humidity made my life miserable.
Recently when I browsed an interesting post by a fellow author on this very forum I had a sense of déjà vu. She describes the absolutely unnecessary hullabaloo over ladies donning nighties and /or dupatta –less suits.
I wish to narrate how I was in dire straits so far wearing a ‘nightie’ was concerned.
I lived in my ultra orthodox sasural under constant surveillance of two moral guardians (read Taliban) in the shape of the husband’s mom and dad. The mom was unschooled and dim-witted while the dad was a medical practitioner. But he out-Heroded the Herod in orthodoxy.
Her mother pulled her hand and made her sit on the bed. “How can you behave like nothing happened, dear? Your whole life is ruined now!”
Trigger Warning: Implications of rape and assault and suicidal ideation.
“Come with me, my love.” His charming smile and mesmerizing eyes would lead anyone to walk behind him. She was different. “You need me Sirisha,” he was desperate.
“I said, get out,” she stood stubbornly.
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