#We Want To Do The Talking

A few years too early

I saw my dad emerge from the room, closely behind another gentleman. He was in a white kurta with a large handlebar moustache that gave him a very comical look. I couldn't hear what they were saying but from the looks of things, everything seemed to be alright. My father let out a loud bellowing laugh, clearly exaggerating and communicating the fact that it was forced. The other man did not pick up on that cue, I didn't think very highly of him, nor his intellect. Little did I know, that I would soon be related to him. 

"Lakshmi!" He called out, yelling out to my mother. My mother didn't speak very much and always seemed lost in thought. Nevertheless, she quickly got up from her spot in the kitchen, and, almost like a mouse, scurried towards him. Whenever I looked at them together, they looked mismatched. My mother was at least 10 years younger than my dad and looked much prettier. I never understood why they got together. Talking quickly in Tamil, my father seemed overjoyed "I did it, they said yes. They said yes." My mother's reaction to what he said, was almost polar opposites. While he seemed overjoyed it looked as though all the life had drained out of my mother's eyes. He approached her and gave her a hug, which surprised me as much as it surprised her. This wave of oy did not crash, he repeated the phrase "They said yes" at least 10 times, before saying "Our duty to Sita will be fulfilled." This was when my interest was piqued. Sita was my name, what duty would be fulfilled after talking to that man? Both dad and mum brought enough to keep us fed, and I wasn't doing too badly at school either. I sat evidently confused but didn't raise any questions.

Just like that 3 months went by. Life went on like it always had, only my mother seemed a little quieter. But that was when the moustached man returned. I hadn't bothered to learn his name, but this time he returned with a younger boy. This boy looked close to 20, 5 years older than I was. He had wisps of a moustache growing, a mere imitation of his father. MY father bowed to greet the older man, which was a stark contrast from his usual stuck-up attitude and was received with a namaste. It was as he was showing the man to the living room, that my mother had called me. She seemed scared as if she was doing something wrong. She pulled me into the kitchen and grabbed both my shoulders. Her sudden assertiveness startled me a little bit. It was then that she explained the situation. That man was to be my father-in-law, and the scrawny kid he brought along was to be my husband. This bombshell left me silent. I didn't know what to say. I thought we were well off, and that allowing me to go to school meant that we were less conservative. People describe having a girl, to be a burden, and it is best if she is "married off" excluding the concept of choice, or the ethics of age. Shipping me off to another household, meant that my life was now in somebody else's hands. My mother called the older gentleman Surya and his son Anuj. I came to understand a lot about my mother that day, a lot of what I once thought peculiar became very clear. At some point, my expression triggered a memory of my mother, and she burst out crying.

The next few months went by in a flash. I could only recall a few moments from those days. I remembered meeting the family I was to become part of, trying on pieces of jewellery, handing out invitation cards to 'family' and other glimpses. I felt helpless, I did what I was asked, no questions asked, I listened to every piece of advice that was thrown my way. I supposed I served my role as a stereotype. I needed help. I wasn't eating nearly enough, and my fiance seemed as clueless as I was, a thought that gave me no comfort.

It wasn't long before the date for the wedding had been fixed. And the way that things seemed to be going, I was prepared to live life as my mother had. I knew what was happening to me was wrong, but I didn't dare say anything. Instead of fighting, I chose to rationalise. My mother didn't live a bad life, and I wouldn't either. As long as I did what I was told, Anuj would bring in the money, and I could live a 'struggle-free' life. Maybe I would even give him a child. On paper, it seemed perfect, but deep down I knew I wasn't happy.

It is the sense of helplessness that acts as a captor for many young girls around the world. Try as they might, society, and even their families, often act as a source of pressure. Marriage is supposed to be a contract of love, not an act of getting rid of a burden, or an alternative to real-life opportunities. 

In the end, I had given up, I didn't have the energy to fight the stereotype, nor the will to. But to my surprise, the strength to fight came from my mother. This was the individual who had always seemed quiet or shy, who chose silence over confrontation. At some point, I think seeing your child unhappy, can hurt parents even more. I gained an unprecedented amount of respect for my mother that day. It happened a few days before the wedding, and discussions on how one would split the costs were going on. On that day, my mother had had enough. She got up and didn't say a word. As my father tried to grab her arm, she wriggled out of his grip and turned to the people she faced. The woman who was always quiet had a lot to say. I will never know what exactly it was that she said, but I can only imagine that close to 20 years of silence, meant there were many things to be said. 

I was getting ready upstairs when she came to my room, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room, and out of the house. Nobody tried stopping us, nobody moved a muscle. She took me home, and we packed our bags, and we left. What I didn't know is that she had been saving, saving enough to provide a decent education for me, give me a foundation to rise from, to give me a voice.

This is my story, but a lot of other young women are pressured into marriages at young ages. While I had my mother in my corner, many do not. And that is why child marriage needs to be stopped. That is why we all need to do our part to help.

#WeWantToDoThaTalking