“Who’s the Lucky Girl?”

-Lirisha Tuladhar

Luck I define as a game I’ve been playing with since my childhood. A game I always somehow managed to win even among my very good friends of childhood. Those friends whom I don’t think I would recognize now nor will they recognize me. All that’s left with me are the memories I hold within my cores of heart of the game we played of bridegroom taking the bride on a beautiful carriage to a place yet too far…

Lucky I define myself, for I was that bride whose bridegroom took her in a wonderful carriage to this place I call as my home now, indeed very far. I remember the shining tears when my friends bid me my last goodbye when we were just 10. I was the first among my friends to go and that day perhaps if I’d known I would never see them again, I’d have shed tears of sadness and not gone in that big carriage with happy dreams of living like a princess.

Luckiest I define as my fate which has brought me to this stand where I’m able to hold a pen and jot down words of my own in a crisp paper. A small girl wrapped in jewels and red sari happily hopping along in the carriage at just the age of 10 who knew nothing of even the ABCs, now here sits at her own desk scribbling up her thoughts. If this isn’t the fate that belongs to a lucky girl? Then whatever can it be?

I think every time I shall write to my friends and send them gifts as we used to discuss while we played in childhood. But every time I sit down to start a letter, my hand freezes- for I don’t know if they got as lucky as I did. Getting married to a man twice my own age yet being treated like a princess because I reminded him of his dead daughter was my piece of luck.

My husband who now lies on bed all day with a condition called paralysis gave me all the wonders of reading, writing and luxury an ordinary child of a small village who just carried water in a ghaito to and fro the house to the pond could ask for. He was the miracle that entered my life to give me the joy I couldn’t have imagined elsewhere…

Each time I look at my husband laying there my heart swells up in gratitude for all he did for me. Only once had I gone back to the village I was born in- 9 years ago, when my father passed away… That was the time I realized how lucky I was for I saw the looks all my friend’s mothers gave me of jealousy and sadness. The talks behind my back of their bad fate of daughters taken away forever – from where they shan’t ever return… That day I could no longer feel the same feeling of love for the village nor the people I spent my 10years in.

Today here I am leaving that small girl Maya behind amongst the shreds of the broken house in village… The new Maya who lives in a luxury colony amongst the city working as a typist in the esteemed company. A believer and a determined girl living amongst the people with dreams and aspirations fulfilled with hardwork and not luck…


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