Member-only story
Shattered by Society
Widowhood shouldn’t mean social death
In 2004, I was seven years old, living in a friendly neighborhood in South Asia where everyone felt like family. We shared meals, laughter, and support. My favorite neighbor was Jan Kaka, a kind man who always had a smile and a chocolate for me.
“Hey, kiddo! Got your favorite chocolate right here!” he’d say, tossing me a sweet with a grin.
Jan Kaka lived with his wife, Sara Aunty, who was known for her beauty, beautiful big brown eyes, and dimples on her cheeks, and their eight-year-old daughter, Uzma. Sara Aunty was pregnant with second child, and life seemed happy.
But one day, everything changed. Jan Kaka was in a terrible accident. After three days in the hospital, he passed away. I was so sad and confused. How could someone so good be gone?
Two months later, Sara Aunty gave birth to a baby girl. Jan Kaka’s family wanted a boy to carry on the family name. When they heard it was a girl, they were angry.
“Another girl? You couldn’t even give him a son!” Jan Kaka’s mother shouted at Sara Aunty.
Life got harder for Sara Aunty. People started calling her “manoos,” a mean word meaning unlucky or cursed. They believed she brought bad luck because her husband died.
