Raised in One. Married into Another. Owned by Neither.
In India, we spend crores feeding 700 strangers on a wedding day.
Lavish buffets. Helicopter entries. Sangeets choreographed like Bollywood film sets.
Band-baja, drone cameras, designer lehengas no one will wear twice.
And all of it, just to announce —
your daughter is now allowed to have sex.
Let’s not sugarcoat it.
That’s what we’re celebrating.
A socially sanctioned transfer of a girl from one home to another.
A ceremony to say, “She now belongs to someone else.”
But here’s a radical thought:
What if, instead of spending ₹70 lakh on a one-night spectacle, we spent ₹50 lakh on a 2BHK?
One she doesn’t live in right away.
One that isn’t her “matrimonial gift.”
One she gets the keys to after five years of marriage — no matter how the marriage turned out.
If the marriage works, she has space.
If it doesn’t, she has safety.
A roof she doesn’t have to beg her father for.
A space no husband can weaponise by saying,
“Jaayegi kahaan? Baap toh rakhega nahi, bhai sambhalega nahi.”
A place where she doesn’t have to return with suitcase in hand,
only to be met with stares from aunties who say,
“Bhoj ban gayi hai.”
Or her mother’s silence — sharp as a slap.
For once, she could have a home of her own.
Not as a favour.
As a right.
We call our daughters “papa ki pari.”
But measure our love by the grandness of her bidaai.
What if we raised her not for a palace,
but for a spine?
Taught her that love isn’t duty.
That compromise isn’t a prayer.
That “thoda aur seh lo” is how centuries of women disappeared in plain sight.
Teach her the difference between
adjustment and annihilation.
Between loyalty and erasure.
Between holding a family together
and losing herself piece by piece.
What if she never had to stand at the doorstep of her own life,
waiting for someone else’s mercy to let her in?
Because truth is —
dowry isn’t always gold or cash.
Sometimes, it’s silence.
Tolerance packaged as sanskaar.
Sacrifice worn like sindoor.
Self-worth traded for social approval.
We don’t tell our daughters how to protect their spirit.
We just say,
“Thoda aur adjust kar lo. Har kisi ko karna padta hai.”
But adjustment isn’t a virtue when it costs your identity.
And being a good wife shouldn’t mean being an invisible woman.
What if she never had to stand at the doorstep of her own life,
waiting for someone else’s mercy to let her in?
Because truth is —
dowry isn’t always gold or cash.
Sometimes, it’s silence.
Tolerance packaged as sanskaar.
Sacrifice worn like sindoor.
Self-worth traded for social approval.
We don’t tell our daughters how to protect their spirit.
We just say,
“Thoda aur adjust kar lo. Har kisi ko karna padta hai.”
But adjustment isn’t a virtue when it costs your identity.
And being a good wife shouldn’t mean being an invisible woman.
Because maybe, for once,
a girl shouldn’t have to choose between being a bride and being a person.
Letter to family
Dear fathers:
If you really want your daughter to be papa ki pari,
don’t buy her a helicopter entrance.
Buy her safety. Buy her exit. Buy her the right to never beg for space.
Dear mothers:
Stop teaching her how to serve guests with a smile.
Start teaching her how to draw boundaries without shame.
Dear daughters:
You’re not a gift to be given.
You are not the burden of two homes.
You are not between “ghar ka farz” and “samaj ki izzat.”
You are not paraya dhan.
You are your own light.
And if marriage is the beginning of a new chapter,
make sure it’s not the end of your story.
