Priyamvada Mehra didn’t walk out of a cult in a single dramatic moment. It took nearly 20 years of slow, unravelling realisations. Speaking at the Mathrubhumi International Festival of Letters (MBIFL) 2026, she reflected on that long journey while discussing her debut memoir, The Cost of a Promised Afterlife.

Her move to Amsterdam four years ago was meant to bring professional opportunity, not a psychological reckoning. “Distance gave me clarity,” she says. “Only when I moved away did I understand—we were part of a cult.”

In India, coercive systems are often normalised as culture. “Abroad, if you’re part of a cult, you’re considered a weirdo. Here, it blends in,” Mehra explains. And cults, she notes, are not limited to religion: they can be families, relationships, political systems, or organisations.

Mehra was just nine when her parents joined the organisation. Her mother had a brain tumour, and both parents lived with polio. “Fear makes people lose rationality,” she says. “That’s when godmen enter.”

From that point, life was tightly regimented. The cult enforced 23 strict rules: women were expected to behave in prescribed ways, singing and dancing were forbidden, and joy itself was regulated. “Everything was tied to my mother’s health,” she recalls. “Every family conflict became a test of loyalty.”

Growing up in Haryana, the cult reinforced the patriarchy already present at home. “There is no fighting patriarchy without fighting it inside your home,” she says. “I was fighting two systems.”

As a teenager, she was forced to sit outside an ashram as a human shield during unrest. The godman, later jailed after riots in 2014, wielded absolute control. “When you enter these systems, the ideas get internalised,” Mehra reflects. “Leaving is slow.”

When that authority finally collapsed, Mehra felt unmoored. “I didn’t know what to choose,” she says. “So I stripped everything away.” The exit was messy, but it brought clarity. “I don’t want anyone telling me what is right or wrong. I already know.”

She is critical of asceticism and the deliberate denial of joy. “Taking away joy in these systems is strategic,” she says. “It changes brain and body chemistry.” Today, her relationship with God is personal, not dictated by doctrine. “I believe in being a good person. I believe in love,” she says.

Rejecting the idea of a promised afterlife, Mehra remains realistic about her family. “I see them still trapped in that dogma. There is no pulling them out,” she says. Her solution lies in education rooted in critical thinking. “Encourage children to ask questions. These are not isolated stories.”

For girls and parents, her advice is simple but powerful: “When I was confused and alone, I didn’t stop dreaming of a life. I didn’t fall into the trap of marriage then. Today, I am happier than I’ve ever been.”