This morning, my mother-in-law cheerfully declared it was an auspicious day and that I needed to perform the classic “fall at the husbands feet for blessings” act. I was immediately taken aback—like, really? My thoughts wandered to that time when my mother asked The Husband to seek blessings from one of my grandfather’s sisters, and he acted like she suggested he wear a clown suit. He came to me, all flustered, and demanded I tell my mother to skip that nonsense next time, which I dutifully did. This time, though, what I was told to do nagged at me like a catchy jingle stuck in my head. When i told him what i was asked to do, he turned it into a joke. So we shared a chuckle, I tried to brush it off and complied with the absurdity. The husband sprinkled rice on my head while giving me his “blessing” and then my mother-in-law piped up that he should say “Dheerga sumangali bhava” every time I went for his feet. He shot back with, “what does that mean?” I have a hunch he knew exactly what it meant, but lucky for him he didn’t utter the words. Meanwhile, my internal rage was revving up, but all i did was tame it into tears in the secrecy of my room. I hated it!

It means “may you live as a married woman for a long time”, which translates to “may your husband outlive the cockroaches”. So, there I am, falling at his feet like a dramatic actress, and he’s blessing himself with a long life? Talk about emotional whiplash! My mother-in-law isn’t your typical type; she’s more progressive than a salad at a barbecue, but then she has these unexpected quirks that leave me scratching my head like I just saw a lion try to bark! It suddenly dawned on me just how one-sided these mother-in-law antics and ridiculous traditions are. Sure, I want the husband living a long, happy life, but where’s my blessing? I mean, can I at least get a “may you survive the next family gathering”? Who ever thinks about the wife, right? I’ve never heard anyone bless a man with a “may your wife live long enough to put up with your shenanigans!”. On second thought, that could easily backfire and sound like a curse instead of a blessing!

My daughter was watching all of this unfold with wide eyes, like she had discovered the circus of the absurd right in our living room! Sure, she might be a bit too young, and blissfully un-encoded by the society to decode the complexities of a married woman’s life, but heaven help us if she thinks this is the blueprint for womanhood! Especially when all she observes is the husband, Mr. Calls-Himself-Healthy-Eater, advising me to stick to home-cooked meals and take walks, like we’re training for a marathon, while I secretly dream of a life where dessert comes first and couch-potatoing is an Olympic sport!!

I have a special place in my heart — a dark, sarcastic corner — for traditions that come with an instruction manual exclusively for women. “Dress like this”, “Don’t eat that”, “Sit like a folded napkin”. Honestly, it’s less culture and more dictatorship with embroidery. But the real plot twist? It’s not always some cranky uncle with a handlebar moustache yelling these rules—nope. It’s other women. Women who rise every morning, sip their tea, and think, “You know what the world needs today? More unsolicited advice about how other women should live”. If the leash wasn’t tight enough, now they want to throw in some stilettos, blindfolds, and a tiara made of unsolicited advice.
Like, ma’am… what exactly are you gaining here? Frequent flyer miles to the 18th century? Honestly, it’s baffling. Sometimes I wonder—what if I walked in with my own “modern traditions”? Like: Thou shalt always wear wear a five inch stiletto, binge Netflix before breakfast, and leave unsolicited opinions at the door. Thou shalt not judge anyone before your third cup of coffee. And thou shalt absolutely mind thine own business. I’d give it five minutes before someone throws a sandal in protest.

At the end of the day, I don’t want a revolution. I just want a bubble of sanity where my peace of mind and being isn’t treated like it’s up for public auction. Maybe a place where I can pray for my own life, eat noodles, and not explain my life choices to a committee.

So where do you think are my blessings? Should I even plan on sticking around for the long haul? Or is that a thing strictly for the sons of traditional mother-in-laws?