I Wanted to Play Hopscotch—Instead, I Got Married
This deeply personal Sister Story is shared as part of AMBER’s celebration of South Asian Heritage Month and this year’s theme, “Roots to Routes.” In it, our AMBER contributor reflects on her experience of being married at just 16, navigating the weight of tradition, silence, and expectation. Her story offers a raw, honest glimpse into the inner world of a young girl growing up in the UK, caught between childhood and womanhood before she was ready. Through her words, we honour the complexity of heritage, how culture can shape, bind, and eventually, empower. This is her route- from a silenced past to a voice reclaimed.
Child Bride
I was barely 15 years old when I overheard my parents talking about my marriage to a man eight years older than me. I was a naive, carefree child—still playing with skipping ropes and hopscotch in the backyard or on the swings and roundabout in the local park. I’d laugh uncontrollably rolling down grassy hills with my niece. I had no interest in boys and no idea what lay ahead of me.
I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. Everyone else around me was getting married, so I thought I should too. What I didn’t realise was that I was much younger than all of them.
First Meetings
The first time I met my future husband was when he visited our home with his family. I remember asking him, “Paji, thusi pakora lena?” No one knew at that time that I’d end up marrying him within the year. I put the plate down and ran outside—I didn’t want to miss my turn at hopscotch.
His family had actually come to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage. But the two sisters older than me were already betrothed, and I was the only one left.
The second time I saw him was for about 20 minutes at my parents’ house. By then, I knew he was going to be my husband. We sat in the front room, chaperoned by his sister-in-law who did most of the talking. I didn’t say much—they were sharing inside jokes I didn’t understand.
Because his family were long-time friends of ours, my parents felt obliged to accept. My father gave his blessing, and that was seen as a binding agreement.
I was too scared to say no. Saying anything would be considered disobedient, disrespectful, even shameful. And that’s something I never wanted to bring on my family.
Agreements
The wedding was set for two months after my 16th birthday. As the date got closer, I became more scared and worried. I told my parents I didn’t want to get married. My dad said it was too late—he had already given his word.
I caught my mum crying. She said I was too young. She convinced my dad to speak to the groom’s family, and he came back with a compromise: the civil ceremony would go ahead, and the Indian wedding would take place when I turned 17.
The Civil Ceremony
That day is mostly a blur. I wore uncomfortable shoes and a stiff, multicoloured sari borrowed from my sister—I looked like a Christmas tree that a confetti bomb had gone off on. I felt rigid and uncomfortable. I had to hold the sari tightly over my head because I’d been told again and again, “Don’t let it fall—it will be disrespectful.” I wasn’t allowed to laugh, smile, or speak. I just did what I was told. I felt like I was only there for the sake of others.
I don’t remember the actual ceremony, but I do remember how long we stood outside Walsall register office having our photos taken. He needed enough pictures to prove he’d married a British citizen. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time.
“I could see my niece and cousins playing, and all I wanted was to join them. I kept thinking that after today, I could just go back to school—back to feeling normal again.”
Indian Wedding Preparations
That year went by like a whirlwind—my sister had her wedding just six months before mine. She seemed so excited. I didn’t feel like that, I kept wondering: Was there something wrong with me?
My family celebrated and made preparations. Even though I was surrounded by relatives, I had no idea what was going on, what the wedding involved, or what being a wife even meant. No one warned me how my life was about to change.
My wedding clothes were picked for me. My sister spent hours sewing my suits. My jewellery was chosen and bought by my mum. My dowry was picked for me too. Whenever I asked questions, I was told, “This is how it’s always done. People will talk. You’re too young to understand.”
Yet apparently, I was old enough to get married.
I felt invisible, like I wasn’t even there. And yet, I had to be there. I know that doesn’t even make sense—but that’s exactly how it felt. I wondered if anyone would notice if I just disappeared. My voice didn’t count. I didn’t matter. But at the same time… it all mattered.
The Big Day
It’s strange how I remember only snippets of the day that changed my life forever.
My sister-in-law tied my hair in a bun so tight the pins dug into my scalp. I wore a shiny salwar kameez that looked like foil. The chunni was pulled so far over my head I couldn’t even see where I was walking. Luckily, someone guided me.
I can’t remember who did my makeup, but it turned out nice. I wore the gold jewellery my mum had lovingly chosen and bought for me—the rest felt like it was made of tin. Decorated coconuts hung from my wrists—they were probably heavier than I was.
I remember sitting at the front next to my groom. My dad placed his hand on my shoulder, gave me the end of a cloth to hold, and said, “Don’t let go.” His voice was strained and trembling. I could tell he was holding back tears. That’s when I started crying too. I wanted to say, “We don’t have to do this—I can still come home with you.” But I stayed quiet. I just sat and cried as my sister-in-law wiped away my tears.
Every time we stood up to do the lavan, I had this thought: “If I faint now, maybe it won’t count. Maybe we won’t be married.” But I didn’t faint. And we were married.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I was just guided from one step to the next.
Looking Back
Now, I understand why my parents wanted me married so young. It was tradition. That’s how it had always been done. A proposal comes, a blessing is given. They were also scared. We were living in the West, and they didn’t want us to drift away from our culture.
But what I still don’t understand is why no one prepared me for the reality of married life. I didn’t know how to wear makeup, let alone understand anything about sex, relationships, or birth control.
I was a fun-loving, mischievous schoolgirl—not someone thinking about boys or marriage. But in our culture, that kind of outgoing personality can be seen as risky, as a sign that a girl might go astray.
What I’ve Learned
Not everyone’s story is the same. But when people close to me got married, I made sure they were prepared. I had the difficult conversations—especially about birth control—because I wish someone had done that for me.
I’ve struggled with coming to terms with my past. But I have no regrets. Without that experience, I wouldn’t have the amazing present I live today.
I’m a strong, independent woman. I have a beautiful family—children and grandchildren I love deeply. I work in a profession I care passionately about.
But sometimes, when I think back, I still feel sad for that little girl. I have a little cry, give her a hug in my mind… and then carry on with life.
