Fashionably Yours. Swati Sharma

prefer Game of Thrones,” I said nonchalantly.

      “What is that?” A girl clad in a red churidar asked me curiously.

       Oh my goodness, was she even serious?

      “Umm … a TV serial!” I said gingerly.

      “My mom was right. You are crazy,” she said in horror.

      Well to be honest I wasn’t surprised or baffled to hear her remark because it was common belief about me on Gulmohar Street. And on top of that my own mom had declared me insane, impractical, crazy and utterly irresponsible, time and again.

      “Have you talked to Mr. Alhuwalia?” I heard a snippet of the conversation between Mom and Sheetal Aunty when I went back to the breakfast table to refill my plate.

      “I did call him but same answer. He said that his son is very innocent and down to earth and he doesn’t think that a modern girl like Maya would be compatible with him or the family. Main tan badi pareshan haan. How will she get married like this?” Mom moaned.

      “Take my suggestion, Sunanda, and from now on don’t tell anyone about Maya’s mass media degree and instead tell them that she has graduated in arts? Trust me nobody asks to see degrees and certificates while fixing marriages. Nobody would ever find out!” Sheetal Aunty added helpfully and I could see Mom’s mind working around this idea.

       How could they?

      I had spent three years studying my arse off to graduate with first class and worked doubly hard to get the campus placement. What’s wrong with all the women of Gulmohar Street? Why couldn’t they think about anything beyond rishtas and weddings?

      Four hours later everyone bid goodbye to each other and left for their houses. While Payal and I cleared the table and dishes, mom rearranged the drawing room.

      “Mom, I want to talk to you about something” I said and as if on a cue the main door swung open and Dad entered the house. I instantly felt relieved and much more confident now. Though Dad had never openly approved of me doing a media course, he never, not even once said or did anything to make me feel guilty about my choice. He understood me, but unfortunately he didn’t have much say when it came to me and my sister because Mom believed that she knew how to raise girls into proper ladies and Dad should steer clear of all womanly business.

      “It’s colder than ever today.” He shrugged the snow from his overcoat before taking it off and hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

      “Let me get you some tea,” Mom said, but before she could make a move to the kitchen I offered to get the tea.

      “Mom, you relax. I’ll get the tea.”

      As soon as the words were out of my mouth I could see their stunned expressions. It wasn’t their fault. I never made anything before except the occasional late-night Maggi.

      “OK,” as seconds ticked away Mom finally found her voice.

      Within a few minutes I came back to the room with the tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits and found everyone sitting around the sofa with curiosity as if for the first time in their lives they were going to see tea. As I poured a cup of tea for Dad and another cup for Mom, I could feel their eyes boring into my head. They were shocked beyond words.

      “What’s the matter, Maya?” Mom asked suspiciously as I handed her a cup.

      She was one intelligent woman. No befooling her.

      “Nothing,” I smiled nervously.

      The moment of revelation had arrived and I could feel my heart palpitating and my palms sweating.

      “You said you wanted to talk about something,” Mom carried on her inspection as Dad looked at me over the brim of the cup. By his expression I could tell that he had smelt a rat.

      “I have got a job. It’s with a magazine in Mumbai,” the words rushed out of my mouth.

      “What?” she placed the tea back on the table and folded her hands in her lap.

      “Wow! Have you gone mad?” Payal laughed. “What do you need a job for?” She asked haughtily.

      “You better stay out of it. Nobody asked for your precious opinion,” I gnawed.

      “Maya, your sister is right. What do you need a job for? Your dad earns well, you have a roof over your head and if I am not wrong then we have always fulfilled your demands, small or big. I don’t think you need a job. At this point all you should be thinking about is finding a decent husband,” she said sternly.

      “But, Mom …” before I could complete my sentence, she cut me off.

      “This topic doesn’t need to be dragged. You are not taking the job and that’s that,” she made her decision. I felt my heart sinking. I couldn’t let it happen. This job was my one and only chance to get out of here.

      “Sunanda, let her speak at least,” Dad intervened.

      “What is there to speak about?” Mom thundered.

      “Sunanda, I never come between you and the girls, but this is about Maya’s future. We should help her make the right decision,” he said sternly and I could see Mom’s face turning scarlet with anger.

      “I am her mother and who do you think is more concerned about her future than me?” she balked with anger.

      “Mom, I want to be someone more than a trophy wife to some rich, useless man,” I said to Mom. From the corner of my eye I could see Payal’s jaw dropping to the floor. She had totally taken offence to my declaration.

      “Is it? And what’s that someone you want to be?” she folded her hands across her chest and glared at me.

      “Mom, I want to make my own identity. I want to work and be successful,” I pleaded.

      “And do you think that being successful will give you a better future than marrying a man who can give economic and social security and the comforts of life?” she was nowhere near giving up and neither was I.

      “Yes.” I said with more confidence than I actually felt.

      “These are not your words, neither your own thoughts. It’s the result of all those stupid Western movies and serials you watch. Those Western women do nothing more than drink, have babies without marriage and parade around TV screens showing off their skin. Years back I told your father to disconnect the cable but nobody listens to me in this house any more. I have spent my entire life trying to raise you girls properly and this is what I get as the reward? Hayo rabba! Aisa ki kidda main?” tears started to pour from her eyes.

      “Sunanda, please stop crying. You are creating unnecessary drama. Our Maya is a very intelligent and responsible girl. She is not one to be influenced by some stupid movie or TV program. If she wants a job then what’s wrong with it? Rather we should be proud of her. She has got a job in such a big city,” he consoled Mom, but she refused to stop crying.

      “Big city? No one who goes there ever comes back,” she said between sobs.

      “Mom, it’s Mumbai, not a death valley,” I was this close to losing my calm. All this hayo rabba nonsense was getting just too much to handle.

      “Mrs. Parekh’s daughter, Anita, went there for some interior design course and see what happened. She sent her wedding card to her parents last week and Mrs. Aggarwal told me that Anita is getting married to some south Indian. Becharre Mr. and Mrs. Parekh have stopped going out of their house out of shame,” her sobs were getting louder.

      “Mom, if I was so interested in getting married than I wouldn’t want to go to Mumbai. Trust me,” I said matter-of-factly.

      “Sunanda, ab chup bhi ho jao and just say yes to her,” Dad put his hands around Mom’s shoulders.

      “If this is what she wants then fine, but if something inappropriate