The Girl Who Never Waited for Permission

Somewhere between the moped rides of fun and college and the quiet strength of parented nights, a few memories popped up today—bold, uninvited, and achingly beautiful. One made me laugh out loud; another, a soft tear slipped out before I could stop it.

It reminded me of the girl I was and the woman I’ve become.
A rebel with reasons.
A mother with meaning.
A dreamer with deadlines.
But always, always the one who never waited for permission.

So here’s a poem… about that girl, her journey, her jacket, and her joy.

I was the girl with windswept hair,
Dreams so loud, they fogged the air.
Rules? I rewrote them mid-way through,
Rode my moped like rebels do!

In small towns, I made my mark,
Debates by day, drama after dark.
While others asked, “But... should I try?”
I was already soaring sky-high.

Dad’s para-jacket? Instant flair—
Wore it to college like I owned the air.
Met an IPS lad for chai and chat,
Ten minutes in, thought, “Yep, I’m up for that.”

From city lights to village lanes,
I danced through storms, dodged the rains.
Said, “I’ll train these kids, just show me where,”
Honorary work? Done with flair!

Raised a son, lost a mom,
Stumbled—but never dropped the calm.
Cut off drama, pruned the weeds,
Fed my soul and planted seeds.

Never half-done, never on mute,
Always real—and sometimes cute.
From rebel boots to saree grace,
I’ve lived it all—at my own pace.

Now here I stand, bold and free,
Not just who I was—but meant to be.
With a laugh, a hug, and a skin well-worn,
Still blazing trails since the day I was born.

So if you ever meet a girl wearing a para-jacket, sipping chai with a plan in her eyes and laughter in her heart—don’t blink. She probably has somewhere epic to be, and she’s already five steps ahead (with snacks packed too).

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