The other day, I was preparing salad in the office kitchen. Abhishek was there too, and we were having a work-related discussion. Janaki Didi, a new member of the team, was also there, busy doing the dishes. Abhishek asked her where she lived. As she answered, I turned my head and excitedly said, “Aap bhi wahin rehte ho? Main bhi!” She chuckled and continued washing the dishes.
Abhishek then asked her if her in-laws lived with her. She replied, “Nahi, mera mayka hai ye.” “Acha, aap apni mummy ke sath rehti ho?” he inquired further. That’s when she shared something that left us stunned. She told us her husband would hit her after drinking alcohol. While implying that he didn’t contribute financially, she added, “Paisa toh main hi kama rahi thi. Isliye mummy ne wapas bula liya.” I was surprised to hear that her mother had called her back. It struck me as progressive.
Her Early Days Of Marriage
Engulfed in my thoughts, I kept talking to her. I wanted to hear every part of her story. Janaki Didi was just 21 when she got married. Initially, everything seemed fine. Within a year, she conceived. But when she was seven months pregnant, tragedy struck—her husband passed away. She was devastated, but her in-laws treated her well. She stayed with them for eleven years, forming a close bond with her mother-in-law and caring for her until her passing. Then, things changed.
“Jeth-jethani ne bola ki tum yahan reh ke kya karogi,”. Her brother-in-law dropped her off at her mother’s house. Only a few days later, her mother arranged her second marriage, this time to a man in Punjab. “Paanch din huye the ghar aa kar, aur mummy ne dusri shaadi karwa di,” she said with a hint of regret in her voice.
Image – Representational purpose only.
At first, her second marriage was happy, but over the years, things took a dark turn. Her husband began hitting her, and domestic violence became routine. He would often come back home drunk. He didn’t even contribute to the household. Janaki Didi endured this for years, blaming herself. Then the neighbours told her about his first marriage. She had no clue about his daughter either. All of this was hidden from her for almost eight years. It would have been enough for anyone to give up. She kept tolerating domestic abuse for about a decade. Even so, she kept silent, never mentioning the abuse to her family.
Visit Back Home
It wasn’t until a visit to Himachal that her mother noticed bruises on her body. Her mother asked her about them, and for the first time, Janaki Didi broke her silence. She revealed everything. Her mother pleaded with her to leave him, and eventually, she did. It wasn’t easy, but it was the right decision. Two years ago, she returned to Himachal with her son.
“Main upar rehti hun, aur meri mummy niche wale ghar mein,” she exclaimed with a smile.
If I were in her shoes, I’d be crying as I recounted such a story. How was she able to tell me all this with a straight face? Did she not feel the weight of everything she’d been through? Didn’t she feel relieved when her mother asked her to come back? Shouldn’t she be happy now? My thoughts were endless. I felt lost, weighed down by gloom. Yet, curiosity slowly crept in and broke through the heaviness.
“Aapka beta? Woh kya karta hai?” I asked. Her face lit up with pride. She told me her son is in his early 20s. “Maine paise bacha ke usko padhaya hai. B.A. padha hai vo, naukri karta hai ration depot pe.” She beamed as she shared that he wants to continue his job, though she hopes he’ll study further. “Bahot shareef hai vo, kabhi paise nahi mangta mujhse. Koi nasha aur galat harkat bhi nahi karta,” she added.
Her happiness was contagious. For a moment, it seemed like none of the hardships she had endured mattered anymore. All that mattered was her son.
Sharing A Common Fate With Her Sister
The conversation didn’t end there. “Hum dono behno ki kismat dekho,” she said. “Dono ki do baar shaadi toot gayi.” She told me about her sister, whose second marriage also failed. “Bhaiyya ne mummy ko mana kiya tha ki jaldi shaadi mat karwao,” she said. But their mother went ahead and married both daughters off at 21.
By the time she finished sharing the twists and turns of her life, she had also finished washing the dishes. I wondered if she had grown tired of sympathy, of people looking at her with pity instead of understanding. Maybe she had learned to protect herself by showing strength, even when her heart carried the weight of all she had endured. It struck me how much courage it must take to keep going, to share such a story without breaking down.
I wished I could tell her how inspiring her story was. I wanted to hug her—not out of pity, but admiration. In her, I saw anything but a helpless woman. I saw a fierce, bold, and proud mother who worked tirelessly to educate her son. I saw a disheartened sister who couldn’t protect her sibling from a similar fate. In her, I saw an understanding daughter who didn’t blame her mother for bad decisions. And I saw a courageous woman who finally stood up for herself to create a better life.
Her Story Stayed
Her story stayed with me. It reminded me of the quiet resilience that so many women like her carry. It made me realize that strength isn’t always loud or visible. Sometimes, it’s in the way you keep going, finding happiness in the little things and holding onto hope no matter what life throws at you. As I reflect on our conversation, I feel grateful for the glimpse into her life. Her journey isn’t just about pain or survival; it’s about courage, perseverance, and pride. It’s a story that deserves to be told and retold, to remind us all of the strength we carry within ourselves, even when life tests us in unimaginable ways.
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