A Wife's Rebellion

In a world where whispers were the currency of women, a letter dared to roar. Tagore, the weaver of unseen truths, unfurled a tale with threads of fire. Mrinal, a caged bird with a song unheard, her beauty admired, her voice a muffled word. Years of stifled dreams, a mind in disguise, until a spark ignited, a rebellion in her eyes. The letter, a weapon sharp and bright, against the rules that choked her light. She wrote of patience, a heavy shroud, and a yearning for freedom, fierce and loud. Poetry, her escape, a world undefined, where her spirit soared, leaving societal chains behind. A world ruled by men, fathers, sons, and might, but Mrinal, a melody breaking through the night. Her daughter's loss, a wound that mirrored neglect, ached for love, a love she wouldn't disrespect. No longer confined to the roles they defined, she would nurture, she would love, with a heart and mind unconfined. Tagore's words, a mirror reflecting the fight, of women rising, claiming their birthright. To shatter the shackles, to breathe and to fly, Mrinal's voice echoed a battle cry. Let us heed the call, a revolution's start, a wife's letter echoing in every beating heart. (On the occasion of Tagore’s Birthday on May 7)