The Rebellion of My Mother Inspires Me Somehow

 

The Rebellion of My Mother Inspires Me Somehow

My mother often tells me a story—one that I’ve heard many times, yet it never loses its power. It’s about a moment in her life when she decided to quietly but firmly push back against the oppressive expectations placed upon her. This story, though rooted in pain and resistance, has become a quiet source of inspiration for me.

She was in Class Eight, barely a teenager, when her parents informed her that her marriage had been arranged. In her family and many others across patriarchal Hindu households in North India, this was the norm. Her elder sisters had already been married young, and there were younger siblings still waiting in line. The pressure was as heavy as it was expected. No one questioned it—not the girls, not the women, and certainly not the men. The authority of the patriarchs was absolute, and girls were rarely asked what they wanted.

But my mother, even as a young girl, found a way to rebel.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t run away or shout in protest. Instead, she cried. She cried for days, letting her tears speak the words she was never allowed to say out loud. She stopped eating. Her silent resistance slowly began to shake the very foundation of her parents’ decision. Her sorrow became too heavy to ignore. Eventually, her parents relented. They called off the marriage.

Although she did get married a few years later, before she could finish her college education, that single act of defiance left a lasting impression—not just on her family, but on me as well. Her rebellion may have been quiet, but it was powerful. In a world where obedience was expected, she chose resistance. It wasn’t the dramatic kind of revolution we often read about, but it was a rebellion nonetheless—a refusal to give in to a system that demanded her silence.

That act, that moment, planted a seed. A seed of courage. A seed of questioning. A seed of change.

Today, I realize how much that story has shaped me. It’s not just my mother’s story—it’s the story of countless women who have dared to resist in small, subtle, but deeply significant ways. Her quiet rebellion has become part of my inheritance. It has taught me that strength doesn’t always roar; sometimes, it whispers. And sometimes, that whisper is enough to crack open centuries of silence.

Her rebellion inspires me—somehow, in all the ways that matter.

A Life Warrior

 

A Life Warrior

Not long ago, a book titled Exam Warrior gained widespread attention. I haven’t read it, but the title alone suggests that it's intended to guide school and college students on how to excel in examinations — how to score high marks, overcome test anxiety, and perform well academically. No doubt, such guidance can be useful during one phase of life. But my own experiences have taught me a very different lesson: life is not an exam — it is far more complex, unpredictable, and demanding.

Unlike academic tests, life does not give you a syllabus. There is no fixed pattern to follow, no past papers to solve, and no single correct answer. The challenges we face in life are often unexpected and don’t come with instructions. They test not only our knowledge but also our resilience, emotional strength, adaptability, and character. And unlike exams, which have a scheduled start and finish, the tests that life throws at us can emerge at any moment — sometimes without warning.

That’s why I believe we need more than just exam warriors; we need life warriors.

A life warrior is not someone who merely excels in academics or performs well in a job interview. A life warrior is someone who learns to cope with failure, who keeps going after a loss, who adapts to change, who stands up again after being knocked down — someone who, above all, refuses to give up.

In school, we are taught to memorize answers. But life demands that we learn how to ask better questions — and how to live with uncertainty. In college, we’re graded on individual performance. But in life, success often depends on teamwork, relationships, empathy, and communication — things that rarely show up on a report card.

Our education system tends to emphasize academic performance as a measure of a person’s worth. But the real world doesn't operate that way. Some people top exams but struggle to find happiness. Others may not have earned high marks, but they go on to lead impactful, fulfilling lives. Why? Because they’ve learned how to face the tests of life — not just the tests of school.

So while exam skills may help you get a degree or land a job, life skills help you live. Skills like critical thinking, emotional intelligence, time management, self-discipline, patience, and resilience — these are what shape a life warrior.

It’s time we broaden the definition of success. Let’s not raise a generation of children who believe their worth is tied only to grades or ranks. Let’s encourage them to dream, to question, to explore, to fail, and to rise again — to become not just exam warriors, but true life warriors.

Why Are Courts Ignoring the Everyday Realities of Women’s Struggle for Justice?

 Why Are Courts Ignoring the Everyday Realities of Women’s Struggle for Justice?

In recent years, a troubling narrative has taken hold in many Indian courtrooms: the idea that women are misusing the Domestic Violence Act. This narrative, often repeated without thorough evidence, reflects a deep-rooted suspicion of women's voices, especially when they speak out against abuse. What the courts fail to see—or choose to ignore—are the everyday, lived realities of women who are systematically silenced, disbelieved, and denied justice.

Let me share the story of one of my clients, which highlights the grave injustice being carried out in the name of procedure and skepticism.

She was a government employee, financially independent, and had a daughter from a previous marriage. Hoping for companionship and stability, she married a man from Calcutta who had been divorced. What unfolded after the marriage, however, was nothing short of betrayal and abuse. This man emotionally and financially exploited her. Under the pretext of buying a house for their future together, he took control of her salary, drained her savings, and even coerced her into taking loans in her name.

Then he vanished, leaving her with mounting debt, false promises, and a child to support.

When we approached the court under the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, hoping for relief and protection, the response was disheartening. Despite repeated efforts, the man refused to appear before the court. Instead, he sent her threatening messages, harassing her from a distance. When we presented these messages as evidence and requested a protection order, the court did not act. Rather than offering urgent protection to a woman clearly under duress, the court insisted on giving the man yet another chance to appear.

For nearly a year, this cycle continued. The police claimed they had pasted the summons at his address in Calcutta—a symbolic gesture at best. The legal system moved at a glacial pace while my client lived in fear, burdened by debt, and emotionally shattered. Eleven months later, she received news that he had died. Just like that, the court closed the case.

No protection. No justice. No acknowledgment of the harm she endured.

And now, she is left with nothing but the consequences of his lies—trapped under the weight of loans taken in her name, with no recourse, no restitution, and no home. The documents for the house were fake. There is no property to claim, no inheritance to fight for, only a lingering sense of abandonment—not just by the man who exploited her, but by the very system that was supposed to protect her.

She tried to console herself, thinking of this as her karma. But are these really her failures, or is it because of the indifference of the system that she suffered? 

Is this what justice looks like?

The courts' reluctance to believe women’s experiences of domestic violence reflects a dangerous and systemic failure. While concerns about misuse of the law exist and should be addressed responsibly, they cannot become an excuse to dismiss genuine cases outright. Every time the courts delay action, demand yet another piece of evidence, or wait endlessly for the accused to respond, they are enabling abusers and endangering survivors.

Justice delayed is not only justice denied—it is justice undone.

We need a judicial system that understands the complexity of domestic abuse, especially when it involves financial manipulation, coercive control, and emotional trauma. Women don’t just need legal provisions; they need courts that act swiftly, sensitively, and decisively.

Until then, the law remains a promise unfulfilled. And women like my client will continue to pay the price.