Difficult Daughters Read Free Page B

Shakuntala’s unmarried state, each remark was such an insult to the mother.
    ‘How can anyone see her when she has no time? Such a talented teacher, so popular, what an inspiring example she is for the younger ones‚’ declared Lajwanti, about achievements she herself had never understood or cared for.
    ‘Still, it is the duty of every girl to get married‚’ remarked Kasturi mildly.
    ‘She lives for others, not herself, but what to do, everybody in our family is like that. And with all this reading-writing, girls are getting married late. It is the will of God‚’ concluded Lajwanti aggressively.
    *
     
    Shakuntala came, very different from the thin sallow creature she had been in Amritsar.
    ‘I hope I am not disturbing your convalescence, Chachi‚’ she said teasingly to her aunt.
    ‘Beti‚’ said Kasturi, in a mock scolding voice, ‘how can family disturb? You are getting very modern in your thinking. We hardly get to see you as it is.’

    ‘What to do, Chachi? These colleges really make you work.’
    ‘ Hai re , beti! What is the need to do a job? A woman’s shaan is in her home. Now you have studied and worked enough. Shaadi.’ Here Kasturi’s eyes glistened with emotion. ‘After you get married, Viru can follow.’
    At this entry into the hackneyed territory of shaadi, Shakuntala winced.
    ‘Now Chachi,’ she said, playfully, ‘you know Viru doesn’t have to wait for me.’
    Kasturi knew of course. There was no question of the line being held up. Six girls to marry was not a joke, and nobody could help those who missed their destiny.
    ‘Another word about shaadi,’ continued Shakuntala, ‘and I’m going back to Lahore.’
    Kasturi laughed indulgently while Lajwanti sniffed disapprovingly in the background. ‘When will this girl settle down?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘All the time in the lab, doing experiments, helping the girls, studying or going to conferences. I tell her she should have been a man.’
    Virmati, looking at her glamorous cousin, marvelled at the change Lahore had wrought in her. What did it matter that Shakuntala’s features were not good? She looked better than merely pretty. She looked vibrant and intelligent, as though she had a life of her own. Her manner was expansive, she didn’t look shyly around for approval when she spoke or acted.
    Her dress too had changed from her Amritsar days. When they went visiting she wore her saris in Parsi-style, as Shakuntala called it, with the palla draped over her right shoulder. The saris were of some thin material, foreign, with a woven silk border sewn onto them. The blouses were of the same thin material, with loose sleeves to the elbows. She wore her hair with a side parting, smoothed over her ears into a bun at the back. Her shoes were black, shiny, patent leather with high heels. Her jewellery consisted of a strand of pearls, a single gold bangle on one arm, and a large man’s watch on the other.
    ‘She’s become a mem,’ Kasturi said disapprovingly. ‘Study means developing the mind for the benefit of the family. I studied too, but my mother would have killed me if I had dared even to want to dress in anything other than was bought for me.’
    Virmati listened, thrilled to be her mother’s confidante, but drawn towards Shakuntala, to one whose responsibilities went beyond a husband and children.
    The cousins were taking an evening walk. ‘These people don’t really understand Viru, how much satisfaction there can be in leading your own life, in being independent. Here we are, fighting for the freedom of the nation, but women are still supposed to marry, and nothing else.’
    ‘But everybody knows how they also go to jail with Gandhiji, don’t they, Pehnji?’ contradicted Virmati timidly.
    ‘ And conduct political meetings, demonstrate, join rallies. I wish you could see what all the women are doing in Lahore. But for my mother, marriage is the only choice in life. I so wish I could help her feel better about