In Munger ki Rani, Manisha Rani recounts her journey from a small village in Bihar – where the birth of a daughter was often met with disappointment – to becoming one of India’s most loved social media stars.
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‘Phir se ladki!?’ (Again another girl!?)
I was born in a village nestled in the rural district of Munger, Bihar, India, where age-old traditions and patriarchal conventions still reign supreme, and the birth of a daughter is generally welcomed with resignation. Slow-paced development, if any happens, has little impact on people’s lifestyles there. But in one poor home, a new story began to unfold—one of hope, defiance and the relentless pursuit of progress.
I am from a culture in which the birth of a girl is viewed as a financial burden. My parents, Ragini and Manoj, or Maa or Baba as I call them, already had a daughter. In a town where the community valued sons over daughters, the birth of another daughter was interpreted as a kind of curse. However, from the moment I was born my parents saw me as a beacon of light, a blessing in disguise. My mother recounts that when she cradled me in her arms after birth, she murmured to my father, ‘Our little Lakshmi has come to bless us,’ and Baba affectionately added, ‘She is our joy, not our burden.’ However, the town elders, mired in tradition, were not as welcoming. The whispers began almost immediately, as people speculated about my family’s future and the weight of the dowry obligations that my father would have to undertake. ‘Yeh to dahej nahi de payega,’ (He won’t be able to afford her dowry) was their verdict.
But Munger’s archaic habits did not overshadow my youth. Despite the murmurs and social pressure, Maa and Baba made a daring decision. They would provide me with formal educational opportunities and other possibilities that were mostly denied to girls in our community. They believed that a girl deserved to pursue her full potential, regardless of cultural expectations. My father was firm: ‘Our daughters will be educated. They will have options.’ Growing up, my mother constantly encouraged me, ‘You will learn, grow and choose your own path.’ As the years went by, the townsfolk watched all that went on in our family with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. While most girls my age were pulled out of school and prepared for early marriage, I continued my studies. My parents’ determination set them apart, making them a source of inspiration to some, but gossip to most.
‘She’s almost thirteen. Why isn’t she being prepared for marriage?’ asked one elder sceptically.
‘Education won’t help her in the kitchen,’ another scoffed.
Baghi aur Baghavat: The Rebel and the Rebellion
I thrived in school. My curiosity knew no bounds, and from very early on, I dreamt of a world beyond the confines of Munger. My parents’ firm support helped my ambitions grow, but the town elders’ expectations loomed large. In Munger, a girl’s destiny was often sealed by tradition and societal norms. As I approached my fourteenth birthday, the pressure really started to ramp up. I recall that almost everyone seemed to want me married off. You see, in my village, turning fourteen is a big deal—it’s when a lot of girls get married off, and their futures are decided by generational practices instead of what they wished for. People in the town began to question my parents going against tradition and choosing to keep me in school: ‘Ladki ki shadi nahi karni hai kya? Samaaj mein naak katvaoge kya?’ (Aren’t you going to get the girl married? Do you want to be shamed by society?)
‘Why waste money on education? She’ll just get married,’ another judgemental neighbour questioned.
Yet, my parents remained calm and composed. They were willing to face isolation, whispers and even outright disapproval for the sake of their daughter’s future. They believed in my potential and desired to give me a chance to pursue my dreams, no matter the cost.
‘Manisha deserves more than this town can offer. She deserves to choose,’ Maa asserted fiercely.
‘We will stand by her, against all odds,’ Baba added, resolute.
As I continued my studies, I became more and more aware of the sacrifices my parents were making. Their quiet rebellion against the deeply entrenched mores of Munger was both inspiring and a bit scary. I realized that my future was this delicate balance between my dreams and the harsh realities of our world.
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