The Hidden Shame of Not Living Up to Cultural Expectations.
I am a Pahadi . I was born in a remote village of Uttarakhand where my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather took their first breaths and spent their entire lives. My great-grandfather was a farmer who lived a peaceful, quiet, grounded life in the hills of Uttarakhand, close to his traditions and to nature. Our home was made of stone and wood, with a roof of flat slate tiles and a floor made of mud, standing strong on the edge of a green mountain. He would start his day early with prayers and a cup of chai, welcoming the crisp mountain breeze before tending to his fields of mandua (finger millet) and jhangora (barnyard millet). My great-grandmother would cook food on a mud stove, take care of the children, and help in the fields. Our family lived close to nature, drinking water from mountain springs, eating what we grew, and breathing fresh air every day. Life in the village was full of tradition and togetherness. Festivals like Harela , Bagwal , and Phool Dei were times when...
