I read lots of books, I will tell you why this Mahasweta has actually captured me from inside out? Do you remember the definition of pure in olden days? A girl going to get married or is about to marry or if you are a girl there are certain criterias you must tick off.
Criteria for validity to be called Girl 1. She must be beautiful in terms of shape, size and heart ( though the last one never counts in compare to first two)
2. She must be pure in terms of body, mind and soul ( though they only see body first, the latter two they won't even bother if first one doesn't fits)
3. She must sacrifice her dreams and must obey all the rules of society even if it's against her own consciousness.
4. She is responsible to be everyone's caretaker even if she herself can't take care of herself and don't expect anything in return.
5. She must hear everything and everyone's opinions and never allowed to speak unless she is asked to.
There are many more, but these five are actually still dominating in our society. Love makes people blind and Jasp, the body makes people blind, intentions makes people blind, lust makes people blind because how can love makes someone blind, it's the trust and faith and you will never get hurt while you hit waters it still feels like you have fallen on the cushion of feathers.
A short summary below in the form of poem: A story of young woman called Anupama, who marries and after short time discovers she is suffering from Leukoderma which is not hereditary disease even not transmissible disease through one another and still they are outcasted just because their skin isn't anymore brown by patches of white and brown.
Like Rohini to Chandra, like Lakshmi to Narayana, am I to him. Just as the creeper depends on a tree, I depend on him. I cannot live without him, and for his sake, I am ready to renounce everything. Let society say anything it wishes. I do not care. ' Book Mahasweta written by Sudha Murthy.
There are many Mahasweta around and let's take stand for them.
Whose fault it was?
Was it fault of live coal That fell on my foot While running towards God Whom I worshiped everyday for everything.
Was it fault of white patch That developed after pouring water Too Cold over too hot coal had fallen, Hidden under the plates of saree.
Was it fault of the doctor, Who prescribed me the best medicine, Ten minutes to expose at sun's rays the skin, Where the white patch started to expand its width.
Was it fault of the stairs, Where I fell down and my secrets spilled Over the foot of my in laws and I stared At the moon drawn over my skin.
Was it fault of my husband, Who knew I never decieved and knew Everything about what Leukoderma brings In his home, me and in future of us.
Was it fault of God Who knew how life of girl changes When a patch of white appears against brown Even his gates to worship are also closed.
Or was it fault of mine, That I never saw beneath my husband's love, That I never saw behind my in-laws intentions, That I never knew the world worships brown more than red.