From The Quill of Suranya

 "You are too opinionated. Tone your voice down; otherwise, you won't find a groom." "Did toning your voice down help Aunty suffer your abuse and hide the scars on her body, Uncle?" © Suranya

"My dad is very open-minded. He allows me to attend late-night parties. Working night shifts. And even befriending men." She almost flaunted. "What? You need permission for those?" He laughed, a little shocked. She suddenly realised it was NOT funny that he didn't realise his privileges. © Suranya

"I can't go in there." She said to her husband, almost in an alarming whisper. "But why?" He frowned. "My mother arranged the puja especially for you." "I have my periods." She said, almost sounding guilty. "Why didn't you take medicines for it if it was due?" Her husband retorted. "Mom will be very upset." "You know those have side effects." She said calmly. "And if my being present matters, just tell her to allow me in the prayer room." "You know that's not possible." © Suranya

 "The greatest form of love is self-love," she said. I agreed with a nod. "I don't get these girls," she said, wincing at a group at the opposite table. "Short dresses and so much makeup!" "So you don't think women should have a choice to wear the things they like?" "No, but be appropriate." "Appropriate to what?" I asked, "And just because she likes makeup, she doesn't endorse self-love? Isn't taking care of one's body or looks, hitting the gym or putting on a face pack, too a form of self-indulgence in a good way?" © Suranya

 "Why don't you get married?" "I want to pursue my dreams right now." "What will you do in the end? End up alone? You will have to get married and have children. That's what women do. What's the use of wasting your youth and money on your silly dreams?" "So that if I do raise a kid, I don't raise one like you." © Suranya

"Life is tough." My grandma smiled. "You are a daughter first; you think of your parents' honour, then you become a wife; your behaviour reflects on his respect; then, as a mother, you are judged at every step if your child misbehaves. As sisters, aunts, grandmothers, too, you have to step up and look after your extended families." "What about your respect?" I asked. "Your name? Your identity?" "Women did not have those in my day. We barely stepped out, knew the world or dared to have a dream separate from our husbands." She shook her head. "And how was it?" I was curious. "I am glad things changed for the better." She smiled. © Suranya

"When did you know she was perfect wife material?" His words made me frown. "What's wife material ?" "You know... the one who will care, look after your home, and your parents... cook and stuff... dress up occasionally for you, respect and never question your decisions..." He smiled. "All that." "The day you do all that and start calling yourself husband material and think you deserve her, you can go look for it." I shrugged. © Suranya

 "You are not like other girls." He smiled. He had perhaps expected me to blush. I frowned instead. "What do you mean?" "You know how typical girls are." He shrugged. "How?" I asked cluelessly. "Nosy. Control freaks. Always judging. Need so much attention and gifts. Drags you to shopping under every excuse! Doesn't watch sports. Always criticising other women." "I do not know where you get this opinion of women from. But women aren't like this. And me not being like others is offensive towards my gender." "Oh, you are overreacting. I didn't mean it like that." "It's exactly what you mean." © Suranya

"That uncle touches me in a way I find uncomfortable."  "What are you saying? It's just in your mind. He is your uncle."  "Isn't the rapists too someone's son or husband, Mom?" © Suranya

 The day I met you  The sun shone warmly  Like an embrace  In the winter morning. The day you left  The sky poured incessantly  Like my teardrops in vain.  But between them,  Was our Spring of Love. © Suranya