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I have been writing for the last two years. Writing has been therapeutic for me. Through my pen I found an outlet for all my pain, accumulated over a long time. After the pain oozed out, I found what I had lost for years -- myself. Now-a-days, I don't write about my pain anymore because I have been able to leave my past behind me and there are other things that need expression. I am sharing my personal experience here because my life as I see it provides a perspective on women's lives in India, that most people in our society, including my own family members, do not see.

I am the second child among five. Both of my parents came from a sound middle class. My father was a scholar and writer, holding a high position in the Indian government. My mother was educated and taught school. They were liberal in their religious views. They brought us up to value education and equality between the sexes. My childhood and youth were happy and privileged. I studied in private schools and then received higher education in liberal arts from a premier institution. I remember being an eager participant in various college activities and receiving accolades and honors from my teachers and peers. My parents were always proud of my accomplishments and encouraged me to excel academically. As I contemplate on my happy upbringing, I am even more devastated by the irony. The same family that taught me the equality of sexes could not support me to break away from an abusive marriage and humiliated me when I finally gathered all my strength and decided not to continue in my meaningless marriage.

After getting a Master's degree in social work, I worked for a year or so in a government agency. During this time, my mother showed concern regarding my unmarried status. The old social pressure was on her to get her three daughters married off. I, the oldest daughter, was her most immediate concern. I was to be her first sacrificial lamb to be given away in matrimony to a suitor they regarded as capable and worthy. They found a man holding a respectable job, a prize catch. Unfortunately, I had fallen in love with one of my colleagues and we were planning to be married. When I broke the news to my mother, the whole idea was dismissed as foolishness. Harsh words were spoken which amounted to emotional blackmail and threats. All these were used to crush my will and bend it to theirs. Fear of the unknown, respect for my parents' wishes, lack of confidence in myself, and the pressure to conform to the society and its traditions all combined to weaken my resolve. I gave in. My marriage to a man I had scarcely met took place with great pomp and show. As a dowry, I was given a great deal of gold jewelry, cash, and a plot of land. Only then did I realize how my parents had scrimped and saved all their lives to fulfill this social obligation called dowry.

My marriage to a diplomat involved a lifetime of wandering from one part of the world to another. We left for England soon after the wedding where I soon realized what a mistake my marriage really was! The man who was supposed to love me was domineering, loud, abusive, extremely insensitive to my feelings, and a womanizer. I was expected to cook, clean, and keep house while he basked in his role as the provider, the man. I had little say in anything. My suggestions, and feelings were dismissed as being unreasonable and irrational. Time after time, I was made to feel inferior, a mere wife, and not an individual or a partner.

I hoped that having a child would somehow bring us closer together, but it didn't. The birth of our first child, a daughter, was considered an unhappy occasion by my husband's family, though our second child, a son, was a cause for celebration. The children, and all my labors for them only made my husband jealous, which resulted in more harassment and insults for me.

During my husband's assignment in Korea, things reached such an impossible state that I was compelled to return to my parent's home in India with both my children, still very young. I had made up my mind to leave the abusive marriage and start a new life. But I was met with a totally unexpected resistance from my family, friends, and relatives, even though they knew of the frightening abuse the children and I had experienced. I was told that a woman derives status from her husband and that a woman's place was in her husband's house no matter what. It seemed that the values of freedom and equality they had fostered in me while I was young had disappeared or did not apply now that I was married. Insecurity concerning my children's future, combined with the unrelenting pressure from friends and family, forced me to return to my husband.

The nomadic existence continued. As the children grew, I began to channel my energy toward volunteer services and other activities to escape from my unhappy existence. I took up painting and yoga. For the outside world, I appeared to be a devoted mother, a dutiful wife, and an accomplished hostess, all taken as signs of a happy and content woman. But underneath this veneer of respectability and contentment, there stirred a great turmoil. Fear of my husband, pressure from my family, and lack of support from the society perpetuated the farce my marriage had become.

In 1990, I returned to India because the marriage had deteriorated into daily tirades of such ferocity that I knew I could not continue the pretense any longer. Finally, at the age of 51, I decided to file for a divorce, which meant that I would be the cause of shame and dishonor on my family. Instead of being given the much needed support, I was blamed for the failure of my marriage. My parents and relatives turned against me for failing to conform to society's dictates.

My only source of strength and comfort were my two children, now young adults pursuing their education in the U.S. So I, an outcast, left India in 1992 to be with my children. The divorce had left me broken and physically exhausted, but there was great peace and joy in being with my children, in a country where my status did not call me a complete failure. In 1994-95 I made my third visit to my children. I knew that visiting my children again and again was not a permanent solution for my seemingly aimless life and depression grew. Only at the urging of my daughter, I joined the Friendship International program where I attended the Creative Writing class taught by Dr. Lillian Brown.

Dr. Brown can tell you about my state of mind at the time I joined her class, but I can tell you of the change in me. I have found the creative person in me. I know that no matter what my family or the society calls me, I am not a failure. On the contrary, I am successful, because I have had the courage to free myself from the bondage of oppression. I have liberated myself from my abuser, from my family's double standards, and the society's pressure to conform to meaningless rules.

Saheli is an all-volunteer non-profit support and advocacy organization for Asian families in Austin, Texas. Saheli's mission is to help victims and survivors of domestic violence to heal, and empower them to make choices for a life free of abuse. We spread awareness of various forms of oppression against women and children through community outreach and education. We form a bridge between the Asian community and local services to cross the culture gap. Saheli's vision is to work toward preventing abuse in family relationships, to break the cycle of violence and pursue a cycle of peace. For more information about Saheli, visit www.main.org/saheli
To contact us call (512) 703-8745
or send e-mail to: saheli@usa.net

Opinions expressed in this column are those of the authors alone.

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