Note from author: This story is a fiction, a result of observation of many women of this country.
I never made choices in my life.
I never looked at life in that manner. For me, life was all about what came my
way and I happily accepted it. I was born a girl and as a girl you have two
choices – either accept whatever comes your way and be happy, or be critical at
everything, compare everything with male counterparts and fight for missing
things. I chose the former. I chose to be happy and allowed my parents to do
the rest for me.
My parents must have preferred a
boy over me, but they were thankful to god for whatever they were blessed with.
My parents loved me and taught me to love everyone around. I was simple yet
beautiful and a diligent daughter who made all efforts to keep her parents
happy. When most others at my age were ogling at boys, I was told by my mother
that good girls don’t do that. She told me that I deserved much better and I
was assured that they would find that ‘better’ half for me. I was too faithful
and trusting. I knew my parents would get the best for me. I never complained
and I was too content. I learned the skills of making papads and achaar. I
learned cooking and enjoyed trying my hands at spices. I washed clothes and
loved playing with soap bubbles. I read comics, Enid Blyton or Nancy drew. I spent
my free time watching birds and running behind butterflies. I cooked food and
my parents boosted my confidence by praising me enough, even if the food didn’t
taste good enough sometimes.
Dad ran a small garment shop,
selling men and women garments. He was earning good enough for three of us. Our
needs were limited and we were content in our threesome world.
My mother taught me to be happy
in simple things of life. While in school, I was never forced to perform too
well. School was fun because there were no pressures on me. It was an all-girl
school and I enjoyed the carefree life. It was enough for me to be able to read
or write because after all, my goal in life was to be somebody’s wife or
mother. My qualifications lay in managing a house well. Trying my hands in
kitchen and learn nuances of keeping a family healthy, optimize resources and
minimize wastage. I was supposed to keep a house where a man loves coming back
to. I was learning all of that in practical sense from my mother.
There were occasions when I would
doll up and accompany my mother to marriage ceremonies or parties. Dressing up
tastefully was my hobby. I picked dresses from dad’s shop and I carefully
paired them with bangles and jewelry. My mother taught me simple tips of color
combination and subtle makeup tricks that made me look not just beautiful but
graceful too. I lived life like a carefree girl, a flower that bloomed
beautifully. I was my parents pride and center of their world. Life couldn’t
have been better.
I met him when I was in college. Most
boys in my class liked me and I knew that fairly well. I was after all a
beautiful girl and perfect wife material. I was the dream wife of many boys,
but I had learned too well to never show attitude. I was used to attention
since childhood and this was not new. I was content being with my girl gang and
never needed the company of boys.
But he was different. He was
smart and handsome and treated me with utmost respect. He reminded me of hindi film
actor Dilip Kumar. I tried to catch glimpse of him through side glances and
would be flushed with embarrassment if he ever caught me doing that. It was a
great feeling and I thoroughly enjoyed the special attention that I got from
him. Life seemed to have additional colors when he was around. He tried to
impress me in all possible ways.
He would participate in college
singing competitions and sing the whole song looking at me. It was quite
embarrassing and I just didn’t know how to react and handle the teasing that
came along. I got to know from friends that his friends called me Bhabhi. I had
mixed feelings. I was growing up and love was in the air. He offered to take me
out for lunch, but I gracefully declined and preferred accompanying him to
college canteen along with my girlfriends. Poor boy had to spend extra on my
friends but I gave him no choice. It was either me with the whole girl-gang or
not me at all. I was too shy to be alone with him. I needed support and my
girlfriends gave me that support. I was perhaps a person, whom people wanted to
protect. So did he and so did my girlfriends.
We were getting closer and
closer. I was feeling love on one side and the heaviness of breaking the trust
of my parents on the other side. I was supposed to marry and fall in love with
the guy chosen by my parents. I was not supposed to choose. I told him that we
could remain friends and nothing more. But he spoilt it all.
He proposed to me one day, but
no!! I couldn’t have accepted it. He was just a friend and I couldn’t have
broken my parents trust on me. I still felt that a prince charming was out
there somewhere and my parents would find him for me some day. I had to refuse
and I had to let go. It was tough on me because I was never used to feeling
hurt. I was sad but not heartbroken because I was doing the right thing. It
wasn’t about me alone. It was supposed to be my parents right to shape my life.
I had no right to choose. I didn’t choose to choose.
It was just like any other normal
day. Dad was going to the shop, on his scooter. Everything was as usual, until
that fateful moment. A car hit dad and he died on the spot. Mom was devastated
and went into a state of shock. She couldn’t believe that such a happy life of
ours had ended. She cried and howled and wept her heart out. She stayed
depressed for days that followed. Relatives stayed for a few days but
eventually they all left. Some visited us time and again, but that frequency
also reduced with time.
Mother was so engrossed in her
sorrow that she forgot that I existed. I was feeling helpless. I had learned
the house hold chores, but to function independently, just wasn’t me. I always needed
a support. That’s how I was bought up. I was but a young girl.
Mom was gradually turning into a
zombie, not living in the present. She was mentally stuck in the time when dad
was alive. She talked to an imaginary dad’s presence. She didn’t accept the
change. She was blessed to be able to do that. But I had no choice but to live
in the present. I cooked, cleaned, washed and also played mother to my mother.
I gave her bath and fed her to ensure that she stayed healthy. Mom’s medical
bills were piling up and savings were depleting.
I pulled out bank pass books from
dad’s cupboards. Dad’s brother, my chacha, told me about banks that dad had
accounts in. Chacha helped me visit banks and consolidate dad’s funds. He
suggested that I take over the shop work too.
I gathered courage and opened
shop again. Chacha taught me a few things but it was all so new, so tough. I
didn’t understand much, but I had to try. I had to run the show and get the
food on the table. I was once a delicate doll and now I was scorching in the
heat of ruthless business world. I was just not a fit in there. Nothing was
working out. Days would pass and there would be zero sale. How much I missed
dad, how much I wanted the wheels to turn and bring the sweet simple days back.
How much I wished, dad had taught me a few practical things of the commercial
world. I opened the shop with a heavy heart every day and go back home by the
end of the day, back home to a zombie mother. Shop was in some respect my
escape because it was too painful to watch my mother waste away. I was facing
the harsh realities of life. The soap bubbles, the butterfly world was so much
better but all that had to be shut deep in my heart. I walked back home late
evenings and that was when I noticed some boys giving me dirty looks. For the
first time, I felt vulnerable. I did not have a father figure to rush home to
either. I was so alone.
Luck was just not favoring me.
Shop and home, both were stuck at the point where dad had left them. Chacha
told me to get some new material from wholesale market and keep fresh stuff in
the shop to boost up sales. He was helping as much as he could but he had his
own job and family to run too.
I went to the wholesale market
and how shocked I was. The crowded market, the stinking smell was all driving
me nuts. But I had to do, I had to be strong. I had no choice.
He was a garment whole seller and
he realized my awkwardness. His was the first shop that I visited for the
purchases. Indian markets are small and everyone keeps the updates of latest
news. The new of my dad’s demise was known to all in the market. He had known
too.
His name was Rohan. He gave me
material on credit and offered to carry it to my shop. I thanked him and then
he left. I was too scared to even make friends. I placed fresh stuff in the
shop and hoped to make some sale. Days turned into weeks but my sales did not
improve at all. My lack of confidence was clearly visible on my face and no
customers were willing to purchase stuff from a novice. I cried my heart out, every
single day. After a hard day at work, I returned back home to meet a mother who
was in her own world. I was too tired to even feel the pain now. Dad was in
memories but I didn’t cry for him anymore. I cried for my helplessness and for
my soon to be state of poverty. If things didn’t improve, I would soon have to
sell the house or other luxuries that dad had lovingly accumulated for us.
Rohan started visiting my shop
more often. I gradually started trusting him. He was after all not harming me
in any way. He gave me fresh material on credit and took the old stuff back. He
perhaps realized how much of a struggle was it for me to run the business. He
genuinely wanted me to do well. I also needed him for some adult talk. I
couldn’t talk to mother any more. I was too scared to talk to fellow shop
owners either. They often made fun of me and were, kind of, happy that I wasn’t
doing well. With my dad gone, there was one less competitor for them in the
market. I was a nobody for them. A woman and her failed attempts at business.
Rohan observed me for days, weeks
and months and then one day he sat down to give me a talk. He gave me the idea
of running the business like a woman and not like a man. I was who I was, and
there was no need for me to fit in the man’s world. He suggested that I make my
new world and handle things as I should – as a woman. I realized that he was
right. I was trying too hard to fit in. I had to bring my sweet soap bubble, bird
and butterfly world out in light again. It was time to do something different
in a new and unique way.
Rohan lent me some money to
renovate the shop. I converted the shop in to a beautiful boutique for women only.
I designed it aesthetically. Rohan picked the best women attires from the
wholesale market and helped me setup mannequins. He then suggested that I dress
up in style and show off my beauty. A beautiful boutique managed by a beautiful
and elegant woman for an elite segment of customers. It suited me and came
easily to me compared to the traditional mode of selling like a man.
He taught me how to treat every
woman customer like a celebrity. We did rehearsals with each other and when I was
ready to greet my customers, I reopened my garment shop as a stylish boutique.
Women found my shop beautiful and tastefully done. At first they would drop in
to just check the interiors but ended up buying something. I gave
recommendations to women on best suited colors for their skin shade and best
attires for their body types. Since I myself was dressed tastefully and looked
beautiful, they chose to take my advice. I was finally able to sell. I was
finally making some money. I was an elegant woman in a man’s market. I didn’t
realize that I actually had fashion sense and I could mix and match so well. The
subtle tricks taught by my mother were proving handy now. Meanwhile I took up
some online fashion courses to get to know of latest trends and add my special
touch to my designs. I became the talk of the town soon. Yes, I did it !!
My business
grew multifold and with Rohan’s help, I opened a few more boutiques across the
city. I didn’t even realize but I was flowing through the fashion world. I was
getting attention from the market. I was looked up as someone who did things
differently and uniquely. I had a
creative side of me and that showed up beautifully in my garment designs. I
started taking wedding orders and I began designing complete attires for the
bride. My name went far and wide. I got orders from celebrity brands too.
Thanks to Rohan, I had turned the tables. He helped me in marketing and
supported me in everything.
I didn’t
think I would ever fall in love again. I know that everyone says that after a
heartbreak, but the difference is that I’m not heartbroken. I’m not cynical, or
pessimistic, or sad. I’m just someone who once felt something bigger than
anything else I’d ever felt and when I lost it, I honestly believed I would never
have that again. But... I was 22 then and life is long. And I’m feeling things
right now that I haven’t in a long, long time.
Rohan is
the one who stood by me in tough times. He gave me the confidence to be ME and
didn’t attempt to change me even a bit. He told me yet again that a woman
needn’t be like a man or equal to a man. She just has to be herself. She
needn’t fit in. She should make her own space in her own unique style.
I have the
right to choose now. I have the confidence to believe in my choices now. I
choose to leave a mark and life live beautifully again , quite like I was living in my
childhood. The difference being, that now I have chosen to choose. I choose to
be a WOMAN. An independent woman. Who has the courage to be herself.
Author: Bhawna Shah
CEO and MD
Sagrco Softsolution
Modern women are no more the frail princess who wait and want someone to fall in love with them. The princess of modern world should now fall in love with themselves. Let Rapunzel of the modern world open their long hair for not letting the prince in but for their own good reasons. Let Cinderellas not run away from the palace leaving a glass slipper behind. Let her show her real self to the prince without botheration. The prince's approval is no more needed, she has a right to lead a happy and carefree life.
Let Sita not wait for Ram for years because Ram will anyways keep loosing her all the time. Oh dear Sita - free yourself from the clutches of Ravan, leave the Ashok Vatika on your own. 
