Geetanjali Krishna: A future without choices

One rainy morning, I was sitting in the balcony perusing some of my favourite feminist blogs when Munni came to me with a problem. "As you know," she said, "we've been trying to get our daughter married for the last two years." I did know, as every other day, Munni would be very excited about a prospective son-in-law, only to say later that it hadn't worked out. Some alliances had fizzled out because of high dowry expectations. Some had been dismissed since the prospective groom had no job. "Finally, in the last two weeks, we have been in talks with a family that seems very promising," she said.
 

The prospective groom worked as a peon in an office. His father had his own house, and his two sisters were already married. "For people like us, nothing offers more security than one's own house," she said. It was ideal, she said, especially since the family was making no dowry demands whatsoever. Then, woman to woman, she told me that the other reason she really liked this family for her daughter was because the boy was an only son, and his sisters were married. "I'd never let my daughter go into a house with unmarried, grown-up daughters! Sisters-in-law can be crueller than their mothers even!" she said. "Also, being the only son, he will inherit his father's house..." I bristled at her attitude, asking instead that if everything seemed so perfect, what was hampering the alliance.

"It's probably a small thing," she said. "They say they won't accept a girl who has been doing domestic work." I didn't quite know how to respond, knowing that her daughter always accompanies Munni as she cleans several houses in the neighbourhood. "Why have they kept such a condition in this day and age," I eventually asked. She smiled sadly and said, "they say they're so well off that they don't need their daughter-in-law to work. And they consider domestic work especially lowly..."

Her daughter did work as a domestic help, I pointed out. Munni shifted uncomfortably. "She doesn't really work... she's just helped me out like a good daughter since she stopped going to school," she rationalised. She said that she'd told her daughter to stay home until the weekend, when the family was coming to finally "see" her. "We will tell them that she manages the house while I go out to work," said Munni. "That she sometimes helps me will remain a secret..."

I asked if Munni thought it was advisable to marry her daughter into a family that refused to let her work. "Doesn't it feel good to earn some money yourself and to not be dependent upon your husband for everything?" I asked Munni. "Of course," she said. "I have worked hard my entire life and supported my family!" Why did she not want the same thing for her daughter, I asked. "My dream is to see her in a rich house, where she can relax and pamper herself. The last thing I want to do is to mould her in my image..."

After Munni left, I stared unseeingly at the feminist blog for a long time. How far removed it seemed from the reality of her existence, with its debates on glass ceilings in the corporate world and freedom of choice. Munni worked because she had no choice, not because she really wanted to. No wonder the grass on the other side looked greener to her. I feared, however, that the life she dreamed of for her daughter will be as bereft of choices as hers. No wonder they say that the more we change, the more we remain the same...