I was born in Kanyana, a village near Mangalore. Growing up in a family with a sister and a brother, we lived in poverty, but my childhood was surrounded by simple joys.
There was no proper road in our village, but we had something more precious -- nature around us. In front of our house flowed a small stream, which we used to drink from, bathe in, wash our clothes, and even use for cooking.
Our home was surrounded by flower gardens, fields, cashew plantations, pine trees, and coffee plants. We would pluck coffee berries, grind the beans, and prepare fresh coffee on a traditional clay stove. With it, we would eat idlis or dosas from batter ground on the traditional stone grinder.
I would pluck cashews, swing from the branches of cashew trees, and eat tamarind wrapped with turmeric and salt while bathing in the stream. During school days, I would often sit on the branches with books to study for exams.
Those moments were simple but special to me. But life was not only about play. I often worked with my appa (father) in the fields, helping him cultivate rice and even handling bulls for farming.
PLANS FOR MARRIAGE
When I grew older, my parents began searching for a groom for me. Like every young girl, I had my own dreams of marrying a man working in an office. I dreamed that I would prepare soft idlis and chutney, pack them in a tiffin box, and take lunch for my husband to his office.
Slowly, those dreams began to shatter. Many grooms rejected me because of my appearance. Every rejection brought pain not only to me but also to my father. I could see the stress and worry in his eyes.
I decided that for my father’s sake, I would marry whoever accepted me. I decided not to hold on to expectations or dreams anymore. Instead, I promised myself that I would do everything possible to make the marriage last, even if fate was not always kind.
MOVING TO GOA
A couple came to our house with a marriage proposal, and a meeting was arranged. I was nervous but hopeful.
When I saw the groom, he looked good and was very quiet. My father asked him to sing. When he began singing, his voice was sweet and melodious. I felt he was humble and gentle. I accepted the proposal on the spot, believing that perhaps God had made me wait all this time to meet someone like him.
I had also heard that he owned a large betel nut and cashew plantation, though I had never seen it myself.
After marriage, I went to my husband’s home at Naigini-Bicholim. I was terrified. The house had only three small rooms, cow-dung flooring, and clay walls. There was no kitchen. I learned that my husband had almost cut ties with most of his family because of his anger.
I was in a new place with unknown people, unfamiliar traditions, and a language I did not understand. There were times when, even during my children’s illnesses, I did not know where to find a doctor or how to ask for help. Those were moments of deep helplessness.
BUILDING STRENGTH, RESILIENCE
Initially, I felt shocked and lost. But I did not complain. Instead, I entered my marriage with determination and took it as a challenge to turn this house into a home.
I built a mud stove, the way my mother had taught me. I requested my husband to bring two or three utensils, some rice, and lentils. From those simple ingredients, I began cooking meals—dosa, rice, and curry.
Some people might think I was cheated and should have left immediately. At times, I too felt like leaving, but had no choice. Returning to my parents’ house was impossible because they were already struggling with very little income. I did not want to become an additional burden. So, I decided to stay strong and never give up.
My husband was not cruel. He never beat me or humiliated me, but his anger often made life difficult. Still, I stood beside him and helped in the plantation work, supporting him in whatever way I could. Sometimes, he would take me on visits to nearby Jatras or to relatives with whom he still had a good relationship.
Within a year of my marriage, I gave birth to twins, and my life changed completely. I knew I had two little lives depending on me.
To support my family, I started working at a neighbour’s pedha-making business. That is where I met my first and only close friend in Goa. While rolling khava to make pedhas, we began sharing sorrows and secrets. Even today, she remains my best friend.
With my small income, I slowly gained confidence. I even began paying my children’s school fees. Today, when I see my children grown up, working, and living their own lives with dignity, I feel deeply proud. The dreams that I once had for myself have been fulfilled through them.
This is my story—my journey from a small Mangalore village girl to becoming a proud Goenkar. It has been a life of struggles, courage, and quiet determination, but it has also been a life full of hope and strength.
