To my lovely mother,
I was inside you, I could feel everything, how grandma was more worried than being happy. She would be a grandmother in next three weeks, she used to tell you every day how she would take care of her grandson, how she would feed him, how she would take him to the temple with her every day, how she would play with him all day long. I could hear everything and all I could do was feel unwanted. I felt I wish I was your son and not your daughter.
I could feel the pain you were going through. The nurse was holding your hand telling you to push yourself. I was eager to come out, eager to see your face. I wanted to be loved by you. The nurse cut the string to which we were attached and washed me. She covered me with a white cloth and all this time I was waiting for you to hold me in your arms. Finally, she gave me in your arms, I still remember the warmth they had. I do not know why you did not look very happy, perhaps I was not what you wanted.
I was staring at you, waiting for you to hold me close and tell me how you will wait for me at home and have lunch with me. Papa dropped me at the school gate and you were standing behind him with my one-year-old brother playing with him and making faces to make him smile. You kissed me goodbye but I could not forget how you did not look back even once and started playing with my brother again.
My dear maternal uncle was standing on the stage with a lady who had just become my maternal aunty. I was sitting with you, papa and my brother eating my favourite sabzi. The sabzi was very good but my brother was enjoying it more than me. Perhaps because he was eating with your hands. I was struggling to tear the roti and have the sabzi with it. I asked you to feed me but you told me how I was a big 5-year-old girl and could eat myself. I just wanted to eat with your hands.
I was waiting at the dining table to devour the pasta you were making. You knew how much my brother loved pasta but you never realised how much I loved the pasta you made. You never made something which was my favourite. You always told me that what if my in-laws do not love me. I did not belong to this house, I should learn to adjust and not expect that everything will work the way I like it.
I could always feel that you loved my brother more than me. In hospital bed holding my daughter in my hands, I am thinking how I was brought up being a daughter.
My brother would always praise how you would cook all his favourite dishes, give him whatever he wanted, I remember how he said he would never leave your side even after his wife will step in the house. He knew he would shout at you still you will love him. It was me who used to feel bad about how he used to talk to you. I wish you could understand me. I wish you could know me as a person rather than taking me as a burden.
Why can we not respect girls and boys equally like two genders born on this planet?Why does this society feel girls are inferior to boys? Can a daughter not be treated the same as the son?
I do not know what answers you have for my questions but I promise myself that my daughter will not feel what I always felt.
Your daughter.
