In Sanskrit, my name means love. But in Nepali, my name means rain. Rain. It means sadness, end of summer, destruction.
It was my great-great grandmother's name and now its mine. She was, they said, the only strong woman in our family. She was wild and free. She took care of the horses in our village in Nepal. The only woman in our family who died an unnatural death.
I would've liked to have known her, my great-great grandmother. A wild woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-great grandfather chose her to spend his entire life with. As if she was a thing, not a human being. She said no, but our family doesn't like their women strong, hence she was forced to marry him. The story goes she never forgave him; she looked out, sitting by the balcony all day. My great-great grand mother and my great-great grandfather made five kids. I wonder if she made best out of what she had or she felt sorry about all the things she couldn't be.
Not very long after the fifth kid, she jumped off the balcony that she used to sit by. No one in our family talks about her because they thought of her as a bad luck.
The only woman in our family who was free and wild, but couldn't be.
The only woman in our family who didn't want to marry, but had to.
Neha, her name was.
The only woman in our family who died an unnatural death.
I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place on the balcony.
