I am a 40-year-old widow with a 20-year-old son from a small town in Assam, India.
Being a motherless fourth daughter of a police officer who had cancer, my life was not easy from the very beginning. A troubled childhood taught me how horrible it is to be born as a girl in a backward, conservative family of a small town. My younger brother (who was just a year younger than me) got all the attention and love from my dad and relatives, whereas we (girls) were always unwanted, mistreated. For my dad, we were nothing but a curse, a burden. In spite of this negative atmosphere, there was something that made my life beautiful. The wonderful nature of my surroundings helped me to dream of a better future. A little girl of ten years promised herself that she would become a good mother in front of a calm river of summer and a rising sun.
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I never enjoyed my teens like my friends did. I gave up my hobby of painting, though there was a bright possibility of me becoming a good painter. I couldn’t fight with my dad for the supplies that I needed to continue my hobby. He wanted to give his son a secure future with lots of money. So he decided to save each penny for my brother. How could I ask him for a new book that I wanted to read or a box of watercolours? We were the poor daughters of a rich father.