Ghunghroo: Between Passion and Perception

The Rhythm of a Dream, The Weight of Society (Part 1)

No one is born with a dream. As we grow, we begin to discover what truly excites us. Some fall in love with football, others with cricket, some with music, and some with dance. Every dream is unique because every individual is unique.

But what happens when society celebrates some dreams while questioning others?

Now, let me ask you one more question.

Who gave society the right to decide which dreams deserve applause and which deserve judgment?

Among these countless dreams, some choose to express themselves through different art forms, one of which is dance. For them, a pair of ghunghroo is not merely an ornament to wear. 

It is a symbol of devotion, discipline, and years of relentless practice. Every chime of the ghunghroo reflects dedication and the courage to express emotions that words alone often fail to convey.

For a dancer, tying a pair of ghunghroo is more than just getting ready for a performance. It is a moment of respect for the art they have chosen. Every knot reminds them of the hard work, discipline, and countless hours of practice behind every step. Before the audience hears the rhythm of the ghunghroo, the dancer has already spent years learning, falling, improving, and believing in their dream.

Ironically, the very symbol that represents devotion and discipline often becomes a subject of judgment when it adorns the feet of a boy instead of a girl.

The ghunghroo remains the same.

Its rhythm remains the same.

Its significance remains the same.

Then what changes?

Is it the ghunghroo, or is it our perception of the person wearing it?

When a boy expresses his desire to learn dance and wear a pair of ghunghroo, he is often met with remarks like, "नचनिया बनेगा?" ("Will you become a dancer?") or "Dance is for girls. Become a doctor or an engineer instead." 

What many dismiss as a casual joke can leave a lasting scar on a child who is only trying to follow his passion.

But this is not a story about boys alone.

Society has never hesitated to question girls who dare to dream differently. A girl who dreams of joining the Army, becoming a fighter pilot, taking up mechanical engineering, or choosing a profession that society has labelled as "meant for men" is often reminded of what she is "supposed" to do instead.

In many families, even today, a girl who dreams of becoming financially independent or pursuing higher education is questioned. She is often told, "Why do you need so much education?" or "You will eventually get married, so why dream so big?"

Instead of encouraging her aspirations, society sometimes teaches her to limit them.

Different dreams.

Different people.

Yet, the same judgment.

Perhaps the problem has never been the dream itself.

Perhaps the problem has always been the labels we attach to it.

Maybe this is why this topic feels so personal to me.

I know what it feels like when people question your dreams because I am living that journey myself. As someone who is often considered an average student, I have been told that dreaming of becoming an IAS officer is unrealistic. Some people laugh, some doubt, and some question why I dream so big.

But that makes me wonder...

Should the size of a dream be decided by our present abilities, or by our determination to achieve it?

Whenever self-doubt tries to replace hope, I remember the words of Dr. Vikas Divyakirti sir :

"क्यों डरें ज़िंदगी में क्या होगा?

कुछ नहीं होगा तो तजुर्बा होगा।"

"Why fear what will happen in life? If nothing else happens, at least you'll gain experience."

Those words remind me that the biggest failure is not falling short of a dream; it is never having the courage to chase it.

Maybe that's why I understand the boy who dreams of wearing a pair of ghunghroo, just as I understand the girl who dreams of becoming financially independent, pursuing higher education, joining the Army, or choosing a path that society considers unconventional.

The dreams may be different.

The people may be different.

But the judgment feels the same.

Society has always been quick to measure people's dreams by their gender, their marks, their background, or their circumstances.

But dreams have never asked for permission before choosing the people they belong to.

Perhaps the real question was never whether a boy should wear a pair of ghunghroo or whether a girl should dream differently.

Perhaps the real question is this: Who are we to decide who is allowed to dream?

Maybe the problem has never been the dream.

Maybe the problem has always been our perception.

But is this perception really a part of our culture, or have we simply mistaken stereotypes for traditions?

Let's explore that in Part 2. ✨