Wings in a Cage: A Daughter’s Dreams, A Mother’s Love

The original written work, comprising fictional stories authored by the writer, remains the writer's intellectual property. AI technologies were utilized for content editing and refinement.

Ayeee cuties!

I am back within four months. Even I am surprised. But this time i am trying something different and Honestly, i don't have much expectations from this. Look my intent is not to hurt anyone's emotions but to modernize a folklore which makes it more relatable to the readers. But let's see!

There’s something timeless about the bond between a mother and her daughter, isn’t there? It’s a relationship full of love, misunderstandings, and a dash of sass (on both sides, let’s be real). Now imagine this dynamic in today’s world: picture a mother-daughter duo navigating the chasm between a small-town upbringing and the madness of city life.

Our protagonist? Let’s call her Meera, a feisty, ambitious 26-year-old who’s swapped her quiet hometown for Noida’s glass-and-concrete jungle. (No, she’s not living the “Dilli wali masti” life; she’s mostly stuck in Metro queues, dodging harassment while walking on the road during late night and dodging unsolicited advice from nosy neighbors.) Meera is trying to hold onto her dreams of traveling across India solo while juggling work deadlines, safety concerns, and the occasional “Beta, shaadi kab karogi?” (When are you getting married?) from Rishtedaars.

Meanwhile, her mom—we’ll call her Sunita—is back home, living a simpler, more grounded life. She’s the kind of mom who calls thrice a day: once to ask if Meera ate lunch, once to share the latest family gossip (“Bua ne phir ghar mein kalesh kar diya”), and once to remind her to avoid eating cold food. Classic mom stuff.

After months of phone calls and video chats, Meera decides to visit her mom for New Year in Himachal. The train ride feels like a breath of fresh air—literally. Noida’s smoggy skies make way for the crisp, pine-scented air of her hometown. The snow-capped peaks stand tall, a stark contrast to the high-rises she’s grown accustomed to. Everything is beautiful but now she can't light a cigarette (nahi toh amma ne ulta taang dena hai)

As Meera steps into her childhood home, she’s greeted by the familiar warmth of Amma’s embrace. “Beta, kitni dubli ho gayi ho! Khaana nahi khaati kya?” her mom exclaims, cupping Meera’s face. Meera chuckles, knowing that this ritual is as much about affection as it is about Amma’s subtle guilt trip.

The evening is cozy—chai in hand, sitting by the kitchen fire while the scent of freshly baked siddu in ghee wafts through the air. It’s here that their conversation takes an introspective turn.

“Meera, tu theek hai na? Mujhe lagta hai phone par tu udasi si lagti hai,” Sunita asks softly, her eyes searching for answers in her daughter’s expression.

Meera hesitates but deflects, “Nahi Amma, airport ka construction chal raha hai Noida mein flat ke bagal mein. Shor se neend nahi aati hai.” (No Amma, airport construction is going on next to my flat in Noida. I can’t sleep because of the noise.)

Sunita listens intently, her face a mix of concern and realization. She knows Meera is hiding something deeper. “Sab chhod kyu nahi deti aur wapas aa jaati ghar? Kheti karenge aur khush rahenge.” (Why don’t you leave everything and come back home? We’ll farm and live happily.)

Meera, fiercely independent and yearning for freedom, replies with a smile tinged with determination, “Mere khwaab, jinse main mohabbat karti hoon, mujhe vo vapis aane nahi denge.” (My dreams, which I love, won't let me come back.)

Sunita’s expression softens. “Akele rehna pasand hai na tumhe? Khud ke liye khud se jeena? Yaad hai mujhe, apna pehla mobile phone bhi tumne apni pehli tankhwa se liya tha. Mujhe tum par fakhr hai.” (You like being alone, living on your own terms, don’t you? I still remember how you bought your first mobile phone with your first salary. I’m proud of you.)

Meera chuckles, a rare moment of vulnerability escaping her lips. “Sirf tum hi mujhe samajhti ho, Amma.” (Only you understand me, Amma.)

Sunita, never missing a beat, asks, “Hindustan ghoomna hai na?” (You want to travel across India, right?)

Meera nods, her eyes lighting up. “Haan.” (Yes.)

“Sunita smiles and says, “Tumhare sapne bade hain, aur mujhe fakhr hai ki tum unhe jeene ki himmat karti ho.” (Your dreams are big, and I’m proud that you have the courage to live them.)

Meera smiles, remembering carefree days, when she was a kid “Amma, Bachpan main zindagi itni complicated nahi lagti thi.” (Amma, life did not seem so complicated in the childhood.)

Sunita places a reassuring hand on Meera’s. “Tabhi toh keh rahi hoon, beta. Kabhi kabhi apni khushi ke liye bhi zid karni chahiye. Agar Hindustan ghoomna hai, toh jaa. Kaam toh zindagi bhar chalega, par yeh din phir nahi aayenge. agar yeh soch rahi ho meri umar main ghoomna hai toh yaad rakhna ghootne sirf tumhe gaali denge vo bhi daali wala 'Penchoda, Khachra' ” (That's why I'm telling you, dear. Sometimes you should be stubborn for your own happiness too. If you want to travel across India, then go. Work will always be there, but these days won't come back. And if you're thinking you'll travel at my age, remember, your knees will only curse you.)

Both started laughing together

For the first time in months, Meera feels understood—not in the way she expected, but in the way she needed.

To know the real conversation do listen to this song (Scroll down for modern interpretation):

amma puchchdi, sun dhiya merieye, dhubari itni tu kya kari hoyi ho…

“Listen, oh my daughter, what have you been worrying about that’s making you so skinny?”

In Sunita’s warm yet probing tone, we can hear echoes of this question. It’s the timeless concern of a mother noticing what her child tries to hide—the weight of unspoken battles. Just like in the song, Sunita’s query is a blend of concern and tenderness, cloaked in her traditional way of seeking answers.

paar li vaniya, mor jo bole ho, amma ji ine more nindara gavayi ho

"Across the forest, when the peacock speaks, mother, hearing it I lose my sleep."

Meera’s response parallels this metaphor. For her, the "peacock's call" is the city's ceaseless noise, her ambitions whispering louder than her exhaustion, and the judgmental voices that make her question herself. The sleepless nights aren’t just about external noise—they’re filled with dreams she’s chasing and fears of falling short.

sadh le banduki jo, sadh le shikari jo, dhiye bhala eta more maar giraana ho

"Let’s call the hunter who will aim with his gun, oh daughter he will kill the peacock and drop it to the ground."

Sunita’s suggestion for Meera to leave her chaotic life and return home mirrors this sentiment. It’s a mother’s instinct to shield her child from pain, even if it means asking them to abandon their dreams. In her view, happiness lies in simplicity, away from the relentless chase for more.

mor ni maarna, mor ni gavaana ho, amma jee eta more pinjara puvaana ho…

"I don’t want to kill the peacock, I don’t want to lose the peacock, mother, I will just put it in a cage."

Meera, like the daughter in the song, refuses to abandon her dreams. For her, putting the “peacock in a cage” translates to holding onto her aspirations despite the challenges. She’s trying to balance societal expectations with her pursuit of independence—a delicate act of keeping her desires alive but controlled.

Kuthi jaanda chandrama, kuthi jaande taare ho? Oo aamaji kuthi jaandey dilaan de payaare ho…

"Where does the moon go? Where do the stars go? Oh mother, where do people who are loved by our heart go?"

This line resonates deeply when we think of Meera’s longing for home, safety, and familiarity. She wonders where her sense of belonging has disappeared amidst the chaos of city life. The stars and moon could symbolize the parts of her that she feels she’s lost in the process of growing up.

Chupi janda chandrama, chupi jaande tare ho, ho dhiye bhala naiyo chupde dilaan de pyaare ho

"The moon hides and so do the stars, Oh daughter but those we love never disappear."

Sunita’s final reassurance mirrors this line. She reminds Meera that even if life takes her far from home and family, love remains constant. It’s not bound by geography or circumstance; it stays alive in shared memories and in the quiet understanding between a mother and her child.

Song Translation Credits: Rachna Verma

This is more than just a story—it’s a reflection of the shared struggles and dreams between mothers and daughters, even if their worlds seem poles apart. It’s about holding onto traditions while carving out your own path—a sentiment that’s universal yet deeply personal.

To all the female pookies hustling in cities far from home, navigating judgment, harassment, and societal expectations: You’re seen, heard, and celebrated. To the male pookies: Support the women in your lives. Their battles are as real as their victories.

And to all the Ammas out there: Keep asking, keep caring, and maybe update your advice manual. But never stop being the pillars of love and strength you’ve always been.

Feeling all the feels? Stay tuned for something that captures this sentiment perfectly. And hey, if this struck a chord, let’s chat. Click that anonymous message icon, and let’s have a real, unfiltered conversation. After all, deep talks > small talk. or here's my insta: @underrrr18

Do let me know if i have anything to improve in the comments below. Wish you a very happy new year. This is me Shivansh signing off. Till then love love💕💕

Should i keep modernizing the folklores and songs?

• yes
• yes, but you need to improve
• no
• no more folklores or modernizing