An Open Letter to My Dearest Mother/My Precious Uterus

Dear Mom,

I know you are not reading this, and you never will. Because you don’t even know that I blog, because it scares the shit out of you after all those blogger killings happening in our beloved country.

But that’s the premise of this whole thing.

Are you worried about me mom? Think before you answer. Are you worried about ME? Or it’s just MY UTERUS?

If I showed you this writing, you will scoff away and say how could I be so irrational and ungrateful! How such horrific ideas got in my mind!

You have the answers to these all. And the answers come from the question I asked.

If you were honest, the answer should have been NO.

You don’t love me. You never did. But you love my uterus. You love me as your “daughter” because I carry a uterus, the baby making device. Sounds gross and inappropriate?

Then tell me, why do you and your husband (my beloved father) and the rest of your immaculate relatives constantly force me to focus on and eventually commit to things that I don’t want to, IN THE NAME OF FERTILITY, IT THE NAME OF THE “PRODUCTIVITY” OF MY UTERUS? Since I was born, you loved me because I will someday fulfill your dream of becoming someone like you who will use their uterus and give birth to another human being and at the same time be a great provider to that human being, its family and have a successful career “on the side”. Yes, that is what you thought, you might want to disagree and say “I only wanted the best for you and still do.”


Your love for me was conditional. Just like your mother’s love for you was. And her mothers for her. You are “trained” to love your daughters for that certain organ they have, not for the person they are. Because if you did, then you would not be constantly angry, sad and frustrated with me for the decision of not participating in the “baby making” race. For not wanting to be a part of the marital rituals and whatsoever.

Those ideas shock you, scare you. Because those do not go with the “plans” you had for me. The plan of being a breeder, a producer of human life.

I am not saying that procreation is bad. It is a wonderful thing! But not all the wonderful things are for everyone. No matter how much you agree with that part, according to you this “wonderful thing” should be for everyone. Because, otherwise, according to you, my life has no purpose. Otherwise, I will become a sad cat lady in ten years and will be a burden to everyone. I will become someone everyone will want to avoid and will have no time for.


Because you are willing to make it so. You are only willing to love and support me if I  have a husband and a baby in the “given time”. You are only willing to stand by me and have my back if I’m married, with children. Only then you and your beloved family is willing to “include” me. Otherwise, you vow to make me feel miserable, you will want to make me feel that “I was wrong” even if when I wasn’t. You will want to implant seeds of guilt, frustration and loneliness. You will support an environment that will be harsh and unappreciative and coax me to isolate myself and then you will rub it on my face that how my “bad decision” has got me here. ALL OF THESE BECAUSE I CHOSE NOT TO PROCREATE.


So, no matter how you want to argue, how you want to remind me of the sleepless nights you have spent when I was ill, how much money you have invested in my education, it was never for me. It was for my uterus. You just wanted a “better future” for the carrier of the uterus that you gave birth to.

I am sorry if this hurts, infuriates or irritates you. But I have no other logical explanation for your never ending irritation with my life choices. Your mask of “tolerance” during my presence often drops and I can see you simply wish I was someone else. But I cannot be someone else.

I wish I was never born.

Long live South Asian patriarchy! Long live procreation! Long live hypocritic aunts with PhD, who loathe women in 20’s with no husband and children!

I invite you all to tie me up to stakes and burn me the way your beloved ancestors would do.

Even I don’t want this life!


The good for nothing uterus bearer/The girl you call your daughter


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