‘Mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven’, thus said John Milton. The dark side of a society lies in the minds of its people.

To be a girl, born in a poor family, is to be ostracized continually, be faced with ceaseless threats and rules and murder of one’s dreams. My father, though poor, had loved me no less than he would love a son. And, I thank God everyday for him.

But apprehension, fear and distrust finds a way above love and faith. Even so, every person lives a day when trust proves stronger, and so did I.
A day before my 10th standard results were announced, I had expressed a desire to become a teacher after passing the school. However, my father seemed reluctant and said that I had to be married off soon or I would outgrow the age. We argued, but Father quickly gave up.
An hour before dawn that night, my father woke me and told me to follow him. We had only walked a while, when he told me to wait near a street light. I did as he said, but I was surprised at my father to have left me alone at that hour.
First I was confused, then thoughtful and no sooner than that I was scared.
The morning’s argument raced through my head. Terrifying thoughts gripped me. Had my father disposed of me? Was he scaring me so that I could be forced into marriage?

The fear was strangling me as the time slipped by. The silence was deafening. Drops of tears reminded me of the joyful moments I had spent with my father. My heart collapsed under the weight of this betrayal.
When I had lost any hope left, I thought I imagined the silhouette of my father coming running with sheets of paper flapping in his hand. But my eyes weren’t lying.

Light came flooding to me, though the Sun hadn’t risen. For, ‘Faith is the bird that sings when dawn is still dark’ said Tagore.
“You topped the merit list! Isn’t that wonderful? We came early because the first paper sells cheap… but are you crying?”

I said nothing, just hugged my father. “You are the best father.” “And a proud one too, my girl.”

Hope is not yet lost.

Image result for daughter and father


I wrote this long back, when I was 14… it’s not written really well, but is very close to my heart.. 🙂

I’ve heard so many such stories… of hopes lost, of trust betrayed…of little lives, torn this way. I so grateful for the life I’ve been given… a life where I am allowed to dream and hope.

And hope, I shall never loose again.

13 thoughts on “Hope is not lost

  1. au contraire, lil sis…it’s very powerful and moving…I can see the imagery, feel the emotions, what more can an artist (for that is what writers r, just paint with words) achieve?? sometimes our early works have a seething purity that gets washed out with cynicism as we age…I’m very proud of u for opening your heart with such fervor and courage…


      1. I love your lovely words..u r like fireworks to me…and I love fireworks..they burst color and light all OVAH da dark sky…just like u…😎😺🚀🎉


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