Blog by Nitya Bhattad

I come from a Marwari household, where tradition isn’t just culture — it’s structure. A way of life passed down quietly, through rules we never questioned and roles we inherited before we even understood them.

My mother was educated, intelligent, and full of potential — but her story was already written before she could turn the page.

Marriage came early. Career? Not even a real option.

She wasn’t told “no”, she was just never told “yes”.

Her life was one of quiet acceptance. She poured herself into her home, into us — without ever being asked what she wanted beyond it. And growing up, I didn’t think much of it. I thought that’s just how things were. That women like my mother didn’t need more — they were already respected for how much they gave up.

But now, I see it differently.

Because I’m not being raised to shrink — I’m being raised to expand.

I’ve been told I can study, speak, build something of my own. I have choices she didn’t have. Opportunities that weren’t even imagined in her time. And while I’m grateful, I’m also aware of how heavy that freedom can feel.

It’s strange — the guilt that comes with privilege.

Because while I chase dreams, part of me still hears the voice of a generation that told women to stay quiet. Be graceful. Be small.

Our values haven’t disappeared — they’ve just shifted.

Where once the ideal woman was obedient, now she’s expected to be independent.

Where once marriage was the end goal, now it’s a choice — not a finish line.

And yet, I know I stand where I do only because of what my mother endured without complaint. Her silence gave me space to find my voice. Her limits are the reason I now know mine.

We are not the same — and that’s the point.

She walked so I could run.

And maybe one day, I’ll build a world where neither silence nor struggle is passed down — just strength, in its purest form.