A real life narrative by Priyanka (pseudonym), written and compiled by Deeksha Vats
Songs of Freedom bring stories from women — certainly not victims, not even survivors but fighters against the patriarchal status quo with support from the organisation Shaktishalini.
–Sanjay Kumar, founder, pandies’1
I loved eating samosas, always. I must have been 15 years, or younger. I cannot recall anymore. But samosas were always my favourite. And chocolates. Chocolates were always the best. I couldn’t do without them. That was my pink dream, nothing more, nothing less. A husband who would take care of me, a child I could love more than my life, a happy family, and some chocolates in the mix.
I am Priyanka. I must have about fifteen years old when my mother told me that I could not go to school anymore. I wasn’t the best student or particularly fond of learning, but I knew that school was important and would do me good. But we needed more money at home, and someone had to work. Well, I was the one chosen to get the money, while my brothers continued to study. I was happy to help, but what I didn’t know at that time was that I was being discriminated against. Why? Because I am a woman. What started in my teenage, hasn’t stopped even today after all these years.
I was happy to have a job. I had something to do. It was good work. All I had to do was cook and clean for a family that turned out to be quite wonderful. They were great to me, treated me like family. One day when didi[1] went to her parents’ house, her husband touched me inappropriately. I had just gotten my period. It was celebrated like a festival, and he knew it. He tried doing more than just touching me at places I did not like. And I was afraid something bad would happen.
When didi came back, I told her that I wanted to go back home. She asked me why. I did not want to break her heart but I burst out crying when she continued to insist. I was taken back home, given chocolates, and asked to keep my mouth shut. Their reputation was at stake, and my parents got what they had needed as barter.
I was glad to be back home. Living with the people I loved was getting tougher by the day. But the happiness didn’t last long. I was sent away to another home in the city to work at and this time I accepted it as my own home. Auntie, whom I looked after, was gentle and had welcomed me like family. They were good times. I made money, saved some, and bought furniture for my home back in our village. And soon after I found a boy I fell in love with.
It was a beautiful feeling. I had never felt that way before. It was as if butterflies had decided to make a home in my heart, fluttering every moment of the day. Not a minute went by when I did not think of him. Every time he came to auntie’s house, he would ring the bell of his bicycle. I would rush to the gate and every time I looked at him my heart jumped. It was magical.
Life was getting better with each passing day. One good news after another, and I couldn’t believe I was the recipient of all this joy. My family had begun to feel the need to find me a husband. They found a boy and it was time for us to meet. I did not know how to feel or what to do. I was in love with another man. It so happened that the man my family had found for me was the same man I was in love with. That day my happiness had no limits.
We got married in no time and built a beautiful life together. It was like a dream come true. Soon enough we had a daughter together. My husband was everything a woman could ever ask for. He was loyal, cared for me, loved me, and understood me. He was happy to just let me be. I was finally free. Free to live my life on my own terms.
I started glowing, started smiling more. I made new friends, one of whom I grew particularly close to. He understood me too. Steadily enough he became my confidante. I could talk to him, hang out with him, sometimes even drink with him. And my husband, the lovely man I loved more than my life, never objected. What more could I have asked for?
Life was good, when one day everything came crashing down. I found a nude photograph of myself on social media. It was visible to my entire family including my husband. His heart broke. My friend had laced a drink, taken a nude photograph of me, and posted it online. I begged him to take it down, I offered him every penny I had, but he refused. I wept bitterly. I told my husband that I had been tricked and that I had never even touched this man, but he refused to believe me. My husband, the love of my life, beat me and turned me out. Before I could even realise, I was ordered to not see my daughter. I did not have a family anymore.
When I came back to my mother’s home, I was blamed for what I had never done. I was punished for trusting a man whom I called a friend. The only solution now was to marry him instead. I was married off again to a man who was responsible for shattering my home, for breaking my hopes and dreams into tiny pieces. I did not know how to feel, all I knew was that I had to accept it in order to survive.
His family had no love for me. Taunts were served on a platter, through the day. I was always hungry. Every member of their family had a job, but their financial troubles were endless. And I was always hungry. It had been ages since I even saw samosas. I did not want another child. Life wasn’t the same anymore. However, before I could even process everything, I was pregnant again. Even in that vulnerable state, I was always hungry. I dreamt of my favourite food. I craved to eat. I had never slept on a hungry stomach before. But here, in this home of strangers, enough food was a distant dream. I would call my brother, sometimes even my first husband and beg them to send me money just so I could eat a little more than usual. They were gracious enough, and I could buy my samosas every once in a while.
I did not want my child to be born. I wished to run away once it was born. I would have dreams of abandoning it and escaping. How would I love a child I had never wanted? When I was in labour, I had nobody by my side. I called my husband, the man I had always loved, but he did not want to see me anymore. I found out he had blocked my phone number. My pain meant nothing to him anymore. I was heartbroken, in pain and hungry, with a child on the way.
My little boy came into the world. It was hard for me to love him. My new husband’s family had become crueler. Once when I talked back to my mother-in-law on my own birthday, my husband beat me black and blue. Once the beating started, it never stopped. Every few days, I would have a swollen lip, a bruised eye, an aching arm.
Life had become intolerable. I wanted to end it. I had no family, no home. Then one night I dreamt of a pink garden — a garden where dreams still came true, where love did not have to be begged for. When I woke up, I lifted my child in my arms and walked away in search of my garden, to realise my pink dreams. Ever since I left, I haven’t looked back. The search for my garden continues, my pink dreams seem near, my heart has not felt lighter, and my spirit is finally free.
[1] Elder sister – used to show respect to the employer
Priyanka (pseudonym), a 28-year-old survivor of intimate partner violence, is originally from northeast India. She had been living with her partner and his family in Bihar, where she experienced violence and abuse. Lacking a support system in Bihar, she sought assistance from Shaktishalini and accessed a safe shelter. Subsequently, she reconciled with her partner and relocated to Madhya Pradesh to live with him.
- “Establishing itself as a premier women’s organisation in India from 1987, Shaktishalini has spread out and deals with all kinds of gender based violence. A shelter home, a helpline and more than that a stunning activist passion are the hallmarks of this organisation.
“pandies and Shaktishalini – different in terms of the work they do but firmly aligned in terms of ideological beliefs and where they stand and speak from. It goes back to 1996 when members of the theatre group went to the Shaktishalini office to research on (Dayan Hatya) witch burning for a production and got the chance to learn from the iconic leaders of Shaktishalini, Apa Shahjahan and Satya Rani Chadha. And collaborative theatre and theatre therapy goes back there. It is a mutual learning space that has survived over 25 years. Collaborative and interactive, this space creates anti-patriarchal and anti-communal street and proscenium performances and provides engaging workshop theatre with survivors of domestic and societal patriarchal violence. Many times we have sat together till late night, in small or large groups debating what constitutes violence? Or what would be gender equality in practical, real terms? These and many such questions will be raised in the stories that follow.” — Sanjay Kumar ↩︎
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Deeksha Vats is a Delhi-based theatre practitioner, writer, performer, and lighting designer. As programmer and producer at Serendipity Arts Foundation, she creates and supports diverse artistic collaborations.
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