The Freedom to be.....

The Freedom to be…….

There is no better way to celebrate Woman’s Day than letting us speak our mind and voice our feelings with strength and conviction. A woman by far, is the finest creation of God. She is an epitome of love and compassion. They are gifted with some real super powers as they never fail to impress in every role they play. Be it a homemaker or a career woman or the one balancing both home and work, women are multi-taskers. Not to boast about, have you ever seen a man preparing his presentations while keeping a tab on the pressure cooker whistles? A woman has powers that are hard to fathom. She can lift you up in a second and also bring you down in an instant. She might make you the happiest person in the world while she can also put you through real hell. A woman can love with all her heart and soul unless you press the bitch button.

Yes, I am proud to be born a woman. I sometimes amaze myself with my own strengths. At times, I carry heavy burdens and still spread happiness. I am capable of smiling when deep inside I feel like screaming. I am unpredictable. At times I cry when am happy and laugh when I have to hide my sadness. I am capable of giving unconditional love but also capable of pulling out my guns when required. At times am intriguing and a mystery to some around me. I can also be moody or nasty.  I am a loving daughter, caring sister, devoted wife and compassionate mother. I embrace my struggles and scars gracefully and not afraid to fix the things which do not work. I am proud to be UNAPOLOGETICALLY ME.

My dear girls, be yourself.  Be proud of your achievements and flaunt your feminism with style and elan. Stop being a scapegoat. Voice out your opinions and learn to say a no. Feminist Movements across the world might have won us gender equality as a right but sadly we still face gender discrimination in our day to day lives. This discrimination differs in its ways and kind.  For me , gender discrimination means not letting a woman lead a life which she desires for. Gender Equality is the freedom to be myself without being judged and criticized for my choices.

When I say that I am a feminist, it does not mean that I hate males and am unable to relate to them. Being a feminist does not mean that I am superior neither does it give me the right to demean a man. I still like to be treated as a lady and the feminist in me doesn’t get hurt while taking help from males. Feminism is all about equality and human rights, being given the choice to be.  Ideally, no human being should need society’s approval on his/her way of life. Feminism is not female dominance, it is breaking away of patriarchal convictions that limit a woman. For me feminism is mutuality, a respect towards each other’s preferences and ways of life.

 “Women should not drink and party”

“If you get raped, it will be your fault”

“One more promotion, I hope your boss is not getting lucky”

We hear one or other such hurting phrases in our day to day lives. But take it as  society’s accepted behavior towards us. We see women being insulted but never choose to raise our voice. It is not enough to simply talk about gender equality. One has to believe in it and work for it. We talk about gender equality, women empowerment and feminism in public platforms, but in reality we believe in different sets of acceptable behavior for different women at different times. We teach empowerment to our daughters but fail to teach our sons how to live with an empowered woman. 

One of the greatest problems lies in the fact that women themselves are governed by malice towards each other. My dear girls, if you are a female, it is stupid to be not on your side. Dare to stand up for yourself and your fellow women. Don’t judge, don’t criticize, don’t belittle each other. Let us be each other’s biggest strength. All it takes is a moment of courage and strength to stand up against the wrong.

It is time we start seeing gender as a spectrum instead of two sets of opposing ideals. It is time, we start accepting and respecting each other for what we are. It is time to break the walls around us and defy all stereotypes. It is time to stand up for ourselves and respect our own individualities. Before the world respects you, it is important that you respect yourself. Speak up for what you believe in. Tell the world about your aspirations and how you want your life to shape. Stop compromising and learn to say a no without feeling a need to explain yourself.

Someone once asked me, “What does a woman want?”

My answer was instant and simple. All that a woman wants is to be the master of her own life. Is it too much to ask for?

Somethings in life do not change.....

Flashback 2000. I worked with Tata Infomedia Ltd as a Business Development Executive at the Amba Deep branch in Connaught Place, New Delhi. As my work timings were from 9 in the morning to 5:30 in the evening, I usually left office on time to catch a chartered bus back to my place at Ambica Vihar. As a rule, I never did overtime. Infact I was notorious for leaving office at 5:30 pm sharp much to the anguish of my fellow workers who passed their time chatting in their extended work hours as they had no families to go back  to and lived mostly on paying guest accommodation. Of course, at times they had work too.

In one of those rare occasions I happened to stay back in office till 7 PM for some work. As I left office, I found that it was raining profusely outside and there was no way of reaching the bus stop without getting drenched in rain. As I reached my stop, I found that most of the buses that plied on my route had already left while the others were bursting at the seams because of a heavy rush of people trying to escape the fury of the rain gods. Struggling to find a way, I stood there clueless as it had already started to get dark.

Just then I saw a rickety Bajaj Chetak stop near me with the rider wearing a helmet and a raincoat. It was Manu, my colleague who occupied a seat next to me at office and was a Sr. Sales Executive for Better Photography. He had recently shifted from Yellow Pages office in Patel Nagar and my first impression of him was that of a gorging uncle like personality always interested in other’s lunch boxes. I am calling him an uncle like personality as he never wore jeans and T-shirts those days. He would always be dressed in formal trousers, shirts and a tie with black shoes and his trademark moustache.

Manu at that time lived at Rohini and he offered me a lift back home. I had no choice so I accepted the offer readily. There were the two of us riding on a feeble ancient two wheeled junker (Sorry Manu) in a rainy weather hoping every moment that the scooter will not give way before I reached my destination. The traffic in Delhi gets worse at such times and since the metro was under construction those days, there used to be utter chaos at Patel Nagar and we were stuck there for presumably more than the expected time.  Suddenly my padosi started developing his signature hunger pangs and felt the need to eat something chatpata. Till today Manu is the most chatora of all my male friends ever. So he convinced me for a quick bite and started gushing into the bylanes of Patel Nagar to land at a Tikkiwalla Chat counter. There we were standing under a make shift shelter dripping heavily  from all corners relishing those lip smacking hot tikkis as it kept on  raining cats and dogs over us.

Satiated Manu was ready with his Chetak but to my horror it refused to start. He said it was usual and will take a few minutes. With some of his time tested tricks he managed to get it rolling and we again started our sojourn. We talked about many things on the way and got to know a lot about each other. As I reached  home, as a goodwill gesture I invited him for a cup of coffee. And to my horror he accepted the invitation. I have always been a reluctant personality who never mixed up easily and maintained a distance from people. So we had a hot cup of coffee at my home and I conveyed my thank you notes to Manu.

This was the starting point of our friendship. We were destined to be friends. Very soon we developed a bond and became each other’s most trusted aides. During our friendship we have shared many such moments. Working in Photo Asia and AV Expo had its own share of thrills and so were our usual fights over office issues. I can proudly say that I have seen Manu grow from a log cabin to the White House. Always a hardworking man and a die-hard optimist, he has strived to reach the position which he truly deserves. Somehow life had been unfair to him during the initial phase of his life. He never got his due in Infomedia and became an Area Sales Manager at least six years later than he should have. But being a workaholic he has changed his luck to grab every opportunity and reach on top of the corporate ladder.

Circa 2012. We planned to meet nine years after we had left Infomedia. Though I had visited his place and he had come to Jaipur in between,  those were more of formal family meetings. Now the time had finally come where we could recreate the old times. I don’t know why but for a minute I  actually emancipated a Bajaj Chetak to stop and me sitting as a pillion rider visiting an eatery where we usually fought over as to who was going to pay the bills.  But life has come a full circle in these 10 years. As Manu called me to ask about my whereabouts a swanky new Toyota Fortuner stood in front of me with him rolling down the window panes for me. Indeed, he has changed a lot. I could smell the air of exuberance around him as we rolled back those golden times.

Manu has become a busy man today. He received calls on his swanky mobile every minute and he managed to coax the callers that he would call back once he parked his car. But as expected, the essence of this man has still not changed. He still chose a modest place to sit where we could have our fill and chat informally about old times. We talked incessantly over the things in the past and life at present. We shared our food and life. This time for a change we did not fight over the bill and my once miserly friend gifted me a chic HTC phone.

For a busy man like him, sparing his peak time was a big thing. I don’t know how much business he might have lost in these two hours he spent with me as I was my usual barbarous types with him. Without having any mercy on this persevering and dynamic Country Marketing Head, I made him hover around the busy Janpath market for roadside shopping. Poor Manu followed me without any complaint carrying his laptop bag on his one shoulder and answering in conference calls right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of market. This is the magic of old friends. Even when you meet after ages, you remain the same good old selves.

Really, somethings in life do not change, for everything else, there is MasterCard. 

The day I donned a journalist’s robe

The coveted day finally arrived when I realized my dream of being a journalist. So far, I had only heard the stories of how newspapers are made, stories filed and designs approved. But this time, I got a firsthand experience of the same..

When I got an opportunity to write and conceptualize a 3 day newsletter covering the prestigious Bharatiye Pravasi Divas, I was in double minds. Would I be able to carry it off? Would I be able to complete it by myself? To add to it, I had no help, no translators and no editors? But something in my heart said that I had to do it at all cost. I could not have lost this chance at any cost. I was being told that I would get all the readymade coverage which I will have to translate, which didn’t seem to be a herculean task. Journalism has always fascinated me and I wanted to test my mantle in it.

Finally it was decided, Jyotsana Arora was to be the editorial consultant for the Pravasi Meet who was to cover the proceedings from the office, taking leads from the Hindi newspaper team and translating them in English. However, it did not turn out to be a cakewalk. The work that was to start from January 8, started on January 6 itself, courtesy the miscommunication between the marketing and sales people. I could have got an idea what a messy affair it was going to be for me if I had been into a media organization before.

Situated at Kesar Garh, the office was a huge fort like structure. Upon reaching there, Madam Jyotsana got to know that there is going to be no editorial support and no leads from the Hindi team. The interviews are to be conducted by me; the proceedings are to be covered by none other than me. So I was being asked to reach the Birla Auditorium and find out matter to fill my 4 pages.

Not to talk about the technological challenges faced by me. Their computers looked like type writers. It had no spell check and no yahoo mail. There was no printer in the immediate vicinity of atleast 500 meters. So when one gives a print command one has to travel all the way from one part of the fortress to the other. And in case (which was always a case most of the time) the print command did not work and failed to generate the print, I guess I don’t need to express. No amount of words can explain the anguish of the person who will travel back to complete the cycle again and hope for the right result. 

The designer I worked on the first day seemed to be was word blind. I will call him word blind because going by his work; I doubt  he would even be able to spell an apple, (God bless him) which meant, this was also to be done by me. To add to it, I had the dumbest person as my boss. I cannot bear this man for more than 3 days and in case I bang into him on the fourth, I am gonna shoot him. This person would repeat the same thing 10 times a day to the people and still does not get the results. I rejected him outright and decided the pages according to my insight. The best part is that the idiot didn’t even realize what I had done him in the end.

So now coming to my first day at the convention Centre, there I was, with a letter pad in my hand, a press card in my neck and a photographer at my beck and call. My heart swelled with pride while there were shivers going down my spine. But somehow, I carried it off. I decided to cover the ongoing preparation before the big day and gave special focus on the NGO’s who are trying to make difference in society. There was a ray of hope in their eyes and they wanted me to publish their pics and their cause in my edition. I also got myself clicked with HIV positive people. My story for day one was ready to be filed.

Day 2 was even worse, as I had to fill 8 pages and I had no expectations from the editorial. The intern did not turn up and I was alone.  But this time I had a better designer and had planned a draft to fill these pages. I covered a press conference and wrote on it. Cooked up a story on the cultural evening that was to be held at night but still the pages were left. That was the first time when I actually felt like a journo, with deadline approaching, piles and piles of work pending and the clock already showing 10 in the night. Two stories I had made did not find a place in the newsletter as they got extra advertisement in the end. So much of my effort had gone waste. But I guess that a part of a reporters job. First finding ways to fill gaps, then having futile fights with the marketing department and in the end, ending up giving your space to an advertisement. But somehow, the genius in me braved all this (:p) and I was free to come back at 12 in the night (big achievement as at one point I even contemplated the idea of spending the night there.. hahhahaahha)

On my last day I was being told to come at 3pm, but I woke up to a call from office which said that I had to report immediately at the auditorium as I had to interview some big shots. But upon reaching there, I realized that there was none, my Sunday morning already wasted. The day was spent at the venue gathering details about my feature story on the Pravasis. I did a full page on it and completed the other pages and proof reading. The patrika website I was relying on proved to be a crap as they uttered stupidity in every word. But still, the eight pages were filled, though not perfect by my standards but still, much much better than the patrika coverage online. My creativity said that I could have done better.

However, I was swelled with pride when I got a call from the GM who appreciated my efforts and my ability to carry the newsletter on my shoulders without any editorial support. The biggest thing I got was an offer to join the group full time. Better still, I was treated like a celeb when I went to school with my newsletter in my hand.  

These 3 days, though difficult, have given valuable experience to me. I have lived the life of a journalist in these days, eating, drinking and sleeping my newspaper. What an amazing thing this newspaper is!!!!! It might be costing 2-3 Rs, but one cannot imagine the handwork of hundreds of people that go into making of a daily paper. It has much more value in my eyes now than before especially when I know that every line we read in it, is cross checked by so many people. The designs that are edited a number of times and not to forget the last minute changes. Hats off to all the media people that are involved in the process.  Kudos to my media friends who have been into this line and still manage to have happy families……..

The elements so mixed in him...

Something very weird and strange happened today. As I came back from my school and was about to take the elevator, the security guard handed me an envelope marked with my name. What was striking in the envelope was my name and address written manually, since most of the correspondence one receives today is from banks and insurance offices with your name chits posted to it. I glanced through the neatly written letters, very familiar to me, closely. I had got a letter, that too by post and written by none other than my mentor, my grandfather. His handwriting filled me with a sense of nostalgia. The ascent up the elevator was a short flash back of memories spent in my ancestral home.

As I ascended the elevator, what struck me was the sheer simplicity and ingenuity of the man who has seen the world changing around him so fast that his thoughts have stuck in time. There is something amazing about the man who happens to be my friend, philosopher, guide and grandfather. Lovingly called DADDY by all his grand children and students, he is a man of tremendous energy, talent and compassion. His is the generation that has seen the transition from telegrams to e-mails, from the invention of the telephone to the iconic I-phone, from the rickety typewriter to the suave I-pads…… And yet despite this sea of change around him, he still tries to live in the good olden days and keeps the old traditions alive, perfectly aware of the modern means around. He still uses the same old type writer to type letters ignorant of the internet technologies. He still walks an extra mile to go to the post office to buy stamps, postcards and post letters to all his loved ones and friends. Surprisingly, he still waits for seven days for his letter to be delivered and getting a reply, which he seldom gets. What he gets in return is a phone call in reply as things have changed for his forbearers. After all who has the time to complete the daunting task of writing and posting a letter when it can be done within a second through an e-mail?

I still remember the day when I once explained him about the world of internet technologies. There was a sense of disbelief in him about the pace of change. He was full of questions like a 5 year old and could not believe how the written word can travel miles with the least of efforts and time.  I had a hard time explaining the procedure to him and was obviously annoyed. But then I remembered how he had taken the stringent pains to teach me the rules of grammar as a kid and felt ashamed.

He was totally amused to see his 6 year old great granddaughter use an I-phone deftly; He got to know of the telephone when he was 25 years old and he could not believe his ears. Once his friend from the Delhi visited him and asked him to come there for a job. He asked him to call him before coming and gave his office telephone number. Daddy walked 5 miles to go to the nearest telephone center. He dialed the number at least 10 times but in vain. Frustrated, when he was about to leave, the man at the counter came and laughed at him and said, “You don’t even know how to operate a telephone!” Daddy felt ashamed. He was first dialing the number on the phone and would then pick the receiver to say a hello. And today his great granddaughter can perfectly operate the most complicated gadget in the world.

Technologically challenged he might be, but he can still give a run for their money to the modern generation. He can walk miles without getting tired. He might be Indian by birth, but he has the etiquettes and mannerisms of a true Englishman. He has an ornate love for the English language due to his English bosses at the news agency where he worked. Initially hired as a mere typist, he went on to write for the leading news papers of the world. He has perfected the language and gets immense pleasure to pass it on to others.  I remember how much we used to detest going on holidays because the moment we used to come back, he would ask us write a travelogue.

Teaching is his passion and he has kept it noble. Post retirement, he took a teaching job in my brother’s school. Surprisingly he has never charged a penny and feels that teaching loses its sheen when sold. During the course of his teaching career, he has offered help to hundreds of weak children. He loves to give private classes free of cost which annoys my granny to the hilt. The poor man bears all the grunts and taunts of his wife but the satisfaction which he derives out of the grades his students get, justifies all. After all, in his own words, “The end should justify the means”.

At 87 today, most of his time is spent in the company of his best friends – books & news papers. He is a non-smoker and a teetotaler. He follows a strict vegetarian diet and has not tasted tea or coffee for the last fifty years. Except for his meals, he does all his daily chores by himself, from washing clothes to ironing to buying goods from the market. To all the people known to him, he is a pinnacle of knowledge, love and sacrifice. What more can I say about this man. Words fall short when one gets to talk about daddy.

 Sadly, he has reached the stage in his life when he looks an alien to the outer world. Some of the new generation laughs at him for his old ways. He is forlorn and craves for company. He reminds me of the stage of a pantaloon where the world has become too wide for his shrunk shank. In him he has drowned an era, in him he sees a hope for future.

Shakespeare must have him in mind when he wrote, “The elements so mixed in him, that nature one day might stand up and say to all the world. THIS IS A MAN….”

Why Malice towards Ravan once and for all?

Why Malice towards Ravan once and for all?
As the popular message goes around, Dussehra is a reminder of the consequences of fooling around with somebody else’s wife. True indeed. Since time immemorial Ravan has been paying the consequences of his deed. He is being immolated, thrashed and laughed upon endlessly. He is being made the scapegoat of venting one’s anger and ire. Year after year he is humiliated with his effigies burnt amidst much fanfare.
The point to ponder over here is does he deserve all the treatment which he has got? In the times where people like Kasab get to live a luxurious life in prison and law attorneys arguing that capital punishment is inhuman and barbaric, why Ravan gets to live with his crime forever?
Even the law says that you cannot punish the culprit for the same crime twice. Why is his crime being freezed upon and punishment fixed for good?
If we leave Ravan aside and talk about Kumbhkaran and Meghnath, are they paying the price of being loyal to their king and country? Would they have been revered if they would have chosen to betray their homeland and chosen to aid with the almighty? If that is the case then why is Vibhishan still termed as a traitor?
As the story goes, during the war between Ram and Ravan, Kumbhkaran was awakened from his slumber and was given the orders to fight against Ram on the wish of his elder brother. Being a visionary he had foreseen the future that they would have to pay a heavy price as Ram had divine powers. When he tried to convince his brother for the same he was laughed upon and termed a coward. In the end he had no choice but to succumb to the wishes of his king and senior. He dutifully did what was expected out of him. Does his action deserve the kind of dishonor from the present generation for whom the ideas of obedience and loyalty have gone to the winds?
It is ironic that if we ask the youngsters to tell who was Vibhishan and Meghnath, 50% of them would be blank. But when it comes to pelting stones on someone’s character, they leave no stones unturned. They might not know who Ravan was, but they still love to throw stones at him and have their share of fun. Isn’t it hypocrisy at its zenith?
With changing times, many notions and beliefs of religion are changing. The rise of atheism and modern thinking has made the people question the age-old practices of religions. The beliefs are challenged and reformed. It is high time to acquit our very own Ravan and give a character modification as he was also a great scholar and a spirituous man. So much so that Ram asked his younger brother Lakshman to obtain Ravan’s “words of wisdom” when the vanquished king was nearing his death. He deserves his share of penance and reverence for his knowledge and wisdom.

Mahashweta

Keats once wrote, “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. Its loveliness increases. It will never pass on to nothingness.”

While writing the above lines, the poet seemed to take a deliberate poetic licence and chose to ignore the human angle of life. The fact of life says that man has always been in pursuit of beauty. He wants a pretty picture of everything that is around him. And when this beauty turns into ugliness, he discards it with scorn and prejudice. Time is the greatest destroyer which ruins everything, be it love, affection or relationships. And beauty never remains forever. It fades with time. And so the liaisons attached to beauty.

‘Mahashweta’ is a hard hitting novel on man’s obsession with physical beauty. Whatever we may feel and love to say that beauty is not just skin deep, the fact lies that external beauty has always been dear to the human eye. A tale of love and betrayal, the novel talks about the journey of pretty and charming Anupama, whose life seems to fall apart when she develops leukaemia.

The protagonist hails from a modest background completing her education with the help of scholarships. She bumps into Dr. Anand and what a pretty picture she turns out for him. His rapt admiration for her beauty makes him forget all the odds to propose marriage to this poor girl. But Anupama’s fairy tale marriage suffers the first setback when she discovers a tiny white patch on her foot. Things start to fall apart. She is abandoned by her in-laws and her insensitive husband and left alone to survive in this merciless world. She wonders how a tiny white patch can make her lover turned husband to forget the eternal vows of love for her.

Being a woman of substance, she decides to fight back. She realises that her life is her own and she has to be responsible for herself. Slowly she makes her way into the fast paced life of Mumbai and paves an identity for herself as a Sanskrit lecturer cum social worker. Life seems to move in the right direction for her when again she bumps into another medico in her life. Friendship grows between Anupama and Dr. Vasant and so do the white patches on her skin. It is to be noted here that even the writer has deliberately avoided the white patches from appearing on her face. May be she wanted to justify Dr. Vasant’s attraction for her (another indication that physical beauty is indispensable when it comes to the so called greatest sentiment called love). Dr. Vasant’s marriage proposal to Anupama despite knowing her skin condition and the fact that she was never to recover from it seemed to be too filmy. And so was Dr. Anand’s recognition of his guilt and his effort to re-enter Anupama’s life.

The best part I loved about the book was Anupama’s admission of her state. She learnt her lesson the hard way that nothing is permanent in this word. Even love doesn’t last forever. Initial sparks fly off when one is faced with harsh realities of life. The sooner the white patches would grow over her face, the sooner she would be further scorned off by her loved ones. This makes her choose a life of reclusion from relationships and dedication to the service of humanity. She refuses to get entangled in the same circle of husband and family. Now she aims for a different path sans any love and further possible prejudice. The emotional maturity of Anupama is beyond comprehension when she refuses to complicate her friendship by getting married. She eventually decides to live her life as the original ‘Mahashweta-the white one’ but this time her fate was to keep her separated from her ‘Pundarika’ forever.

The title of the novel has been taken from ‘Kadambari’, a romantic novel written in Sanskrit by Banabhatta. The touching story of the brave girl will surely move your heart to pieces. It will urge the people to show empathy towards the people suffering from leukoderma.

Gently falls the Bakula

TUM NE TO AAAKASH DE DAALA,
MERE NANGE PAIRON MAIN ZAMEEN HAI.
PAAKE BHI KYU TERI AARZOO HAI,
SHAYAD YAHI ZINDAGI HAI.

The lines summarize the feelings of the protagonist in the novel “Gently falls the Bakula” by Sudha Murthy. A beautiful story of a relationship that slowly falls apart with time. A marriage that loses its spark when ambition and success take their toll. How expectations can affect love and commitment.

The story revolves around Shrikant and Shrimati who, once school mates in a small town of Hubli, go on to be husband and wife. From being competitors in the class, to good friends, then life partners and again strangers in the end, the story moves on the lines of Shrimati’s journey of life. The bakula flower is the symbol of their love and the title signifies the breaking of this relationship and bond with time.

Shrimati is a sensitive human being. She portrays the typical Indian woman who sacrifices her career in lieu of a happy family life. She marries for love but her love turns to dust. The novel talks about an unspoken truth that love fades with time. It dies a slow death when it faces the harsh realities of life. Often we ignore the people we love so much and tend to take them for granted. We do not realise that a single act of insensitivity can leave a deep scar in a relationship. Srikant’s callous attitude about his inconsiderate mother and her attitude towards Shrimati leaves a deep hurt in his relationship. To add to it, his unresponsiveness makes a void that slowly becomes impossible to be filled with time.

As for Shrikant, he plays an ambitious bright young man, in pursuit of his dreams. Success is addictable. The ones who get addicted; go for it even at the cost of love and family. It is here when ignorance becomes a habit and not knowingly, one becomes a victim of it. One can relate the character of Srikant with most of the successful people. The people who achieve everything in life at the cost of relationships. People who become machines with time, incapable of thinking about others who have equal share in their success.


It makes us question reality. Does love really exist in this world? I have seen the greatest of relationships breaking with time. The deepest of emotions losing their spark and shine. Change is the essence of life. People change with time and so do relationships. If I would have written this review 10 years back, it would have been totally different. My heart would have definitely ruled my mind. But my perspective has changed today. Experience and age enable you to look into reality with a broader spectrum.

One thing which I did not like about the book is the age old norm of wives cribbing that their husbands do not give them time. When will the Indian woman grow up? There is a world beyond husbands too. Srikant being a broad minded person gave all the liberties to his wife. She was free to pursue her studies and career. She had money to spend at her discretion. She was not living with her in-laws. She had the independence to go on a historical tour with her professor. How many women get such luxuries in life? And yet the only thing she craved was her husband’s time. Something I could not relate to. The end seemed to be an exaggeration too. Infact, if she would have wanted to go to US for her career, her husband would never have forbidden her to do that.

Overall the book is an interesting read. Sudha Murthy’s narration is very simple and the book catches your interest right from the first chapter. Finally the novel gives the moral “Relationships are easy to get into, but difficult to nurture. A bit of time, perseverance, selflessness, patience and care is all  it needs to preserve them.”