The Power of One

My mother is an orthodox Brahmin. She was born in a village, far to the north. Hidden deep from this world. She was progressive in her village, believed in her future and also the rights of man and woman. She loathed the concept of untouchability and also believed that she should be in equal with her brothers.

She got married and left for Mumbai, then Dubai and now Bangalore. But she is an old school to the heart. She believes that her place is with her husband. That he is the man of the house and I kid you not, my father wears the pants in the family. That was never in doubt.

Today her daughter wishes to marry a non Brahmin. The very idea is against her beliefs and it is the culmination of her worst fears. My mother is a shattered woman.

My mother believes in doing the right thing. She has stood by t her whole life. Today my mother spoke to my father, told him that they should let their daughter be free, not bind her. She stood up to the one man whom she never did. She decided to let her daughter be free.

This is not a heroic tale. My mother is shattered. Deep are her wounds and I feel them to my very core. My mother is in pain and my every breath burns to see her so.

But my mother chose to do the right thing. Whatever the cost. However deep the pain. Such is the fire from which I have been forged. Hers is the will through flows my own. It is never easy to do the right thing. But if you boil it down. It really is the only thing to do.

Such is the power of one. The will to change. The strength of a ten tigers. One day I hope to tell my children about the power of one. And each day, I do the right thing. I am proud of my orthodox Brahmin mother. I walk in her path. One day I hope my children will be proud of me.

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