A writing Contest HOSTED IN PARTNERSHIP WITH Sweet July

A Necklace of Pearled Dreams

By Navya Vasireddy

Finalist

A beaded necklace, adorned with stunning white pearls outlined with traces of brilliant gold, wrapped around the neck of my ammamma [grandma]. My poor conversational skills in Telugu, my mother tongue, did not inhibit me from comprehending the stories she shared with me. My akka [older sister] and I would sit in a circle amid the sunlight pouring through my family room window, and my grandma would bring us into her childhood, using hand gestures and facial expressions to punctuate her lines. The floor gleamed from the golden rays of the sun, as we eagerly listened to my ammamma share a story in Telugu about the gorgeous string of pearls tied around her neck.

India in the 1960s was very different from India today. There were fewer jobs, and we rode bikes instead of elegant cars. Engineers and doctors were common professions, as it is today. And, performance and ranking in school determined your fate. 

Siri, my ammamma told my akka, who at the time was in sixth grade, I hear you talk about your grades as if your life depends on it. Imagine if your entire future was jeopardized with one failing grade. Siri’s jaw dropped, and she turned to me, but my carefree, second-grade self was too young to understand. 

And for women, it was rare to see girls with extensive education and multiple degrees. All of my sisters married at a young age – under 16 years old, with no option to pursue higher education. To add to my surprise, she said, In the 60s, it was common that girls stayed at home to take care of her family. 

Not only common, it was expected, Siri added. Only I understood her English, though; my grandmother watched us before continuing.

I was the youngest daughter, and my amma [mother] decided to send me to school, the first in the family. We were struggling financially, and my being employed became a necessary component in supporting my family. I attended a women’s college in a nearby village and pursued a bachelor of science, and following my studies, I seeked work by the request of my mom. As a gift of gratitude, Amma gifted me her necklace. It was decorated with the most beautiful gold chain, pearls lining the thin strap.

I eventually married your tata [grandpa], and the necklace remained a permanent ornament on my neck. On my wedding day, the pearls glistened from the bright lighting; my mother’s smile that day paralleled its gleam. The necklace served as a constant reminder of her, even after she passed away. She paused, appearing to be deep in thought. Siri and I exchanged a glance, waiting silently for our ammamma to finish her story.

I knew I wanted to continue working. I like going outside, and I like meeting new people. Staying at home simply did not make me happy. Although your tata was a teacher, and our family was financially stable, I wanted, rather needed, she corrected herself, to work. My beautiful necklace reminded me of amma, but it also reminded me of how much I wanted to work and surpass what society told me I could achieve. My bachelor’s degree grew dusty as my wishes were met with restraint. The necklace became a shackle, reminding me of the  dreams I had left behind. 

Silence ensued in the family room. Ammamma normally introduced us to the happy chapters of her childhood, to her friends making chants and playing during recess. This was the first time she spoke freely about her struggles.  Suddenly, she smiled. But then, I had your amma. And my dreams were passed down to her. She was a stark reflection of my amma, with her curly hair and sweet smile. I knew her future would come to shine as brightly and beautifully as the necklace still glued to my neck. And I was right. A single tear streamed down her cheek, attaching to a different necklace. This necklace didn’t have pearls. Instead, it was a plain gold chain, made beautiful by its pure simplicity.

The pearl necklace hasn’t left my mother’s neck for the past nine years, when my ammamma gifted it to her at my grandparents’ 50th anniversary celebration. My grandmother now wore that simple necklace every moment of the day, beaming with pride as she watched my amma’s dreams unfold. 

Among my ammamma’s countless stories, the one about the necklace always stood out to me. With the necklace symbolizing the dreams of the women in my family, its story didn’t feel exclusively my grandmother’s. A piece of myself, my sister, and my mother would always be fixed to this story.

One day, I asked her if she missed the pearl necklace in the best broken Telugu I could muster. She smiled at me, and without hesitation, shook her head “no”.  “The necklace was never mine to start. The day my mother gave it to me, it was meant for your amma – for her to achieve the dreams not written in the stars for me, the dreams that remained a spark in a different, but nearby galaxy.”

Process

When I read the prompt for the Sweet July x Girls Write Now Contest, I immediately knew what – or rather, who – I wanted to write about. I’ve carried many of my grandmother’s stories and the lessons they’ve taught me through the hurdles of life, channeling her bravery in moments of adversity. My grandmother has been one of my biggest inspirations for as long as I can remember, and I wanted to honor her through this piece. While writing “A Necklace of Pearled Dreams,” I called her several times to ask her questions about her story in my best broken Telugu (my mother tongue), drawing further inspiration from her raw responses. Furthermore, scattered throughout my piece are Telugu words – an element of my family’s culture that I believe the piece would be incomplete without.

A special shoutout to my mentor, Ambika Sukul, for her guidance on my piece, and a huge thank you to Girls Write Now for recognizing my work!