I have always been expected to CONFORM: Conform to the body language code; dress code; manner of speaking… to be precise, my entire behavior had to be modeled on a mold, closely supervised by those around me for me to become a perfect “Female Role Model” for the family. A girl is appreciated for being sincere in everything she does: her academic pursuit and her other achievements… but the moment she clearly expresses her independent mind, she becomes the center! of the controversy! So it was only natural that my independent search for the truth and validity of the opinions expressed by the “authority” at home, or the values ​​imposed on me by the moral police around me, would always provoke criticism!

A girl is praised for her beauty, her beauty, her impeccable manners, and the courtesy in her behavior in India, but never for her individual expression, which can be dangerously unique. An Indian girl from a conservative background like me is not expected to be “Unique”.

Those were the days when, in a family setup, mothers are fallible angels quite often, but fathers are infallible… I couldn’t hide the scowl on my face when often asked “Are you being raised to argue with your father?” or “How can you be so arrogant as to contradict his views?” Sometimes they would ask “Child! Haven’t you learned manners in your school?” However, the situations that triggered such a barrage of questions could be extremely funny! I often laugh at those memories of my salad days! Anything could be outrageous… it could be my skirt above the knee, a loud laugh, or when caught off guard, exchanging sweet inviting glances with my secret admirer. The poor lad looked up at our terrace wistfully, like a Bollywood hero, every night from my terrace next door in the neighbourhood… It all came down to the same old stuff. cliché: Ouch! She will learn it the hard way from her Shosurbari (in-laws house). It was from my childhood days that the term “Shoshurbari” cast a shadow of fear in my heart. This fear was mixed with feelings of hatred for those imaginary enemies that hung in my consciousness like an imminent danger…

Well, one day, it was all about a problem about two talented singers. One of them turned out to be my favorite and my teenage spirit rebelled at my father’s nasty words for her. I was hurt by her unpleasant comparison of her with the singer of her own time. What made my insult less important was my aunt’s secret pleasure at my bewilderment. It was a common problem of generation gap and perception, and yet my impulsive adolescent blood was racing through my veins to react. As my anger grew, I became consumed with the idea of ​​proving her verdict wrongly critical. I secretly enjoyed the way I passionately explained my point of view in front of the stunned onlookers in my home. A father was proven wrong and that too by his loving little girl! My little brother secretly gave me a thumbs up! All right! I never anticipated the much ado about nothing that was to follow…

I saw dark and ominous clouds gathering on my father’s forehead and a strange mixture of excitement and fear loomed in my mind at that moment… I dared to justify myself, letting out a foolish statement with pride in my voice, “I participate in a debate at school to prove my point… I’m justifying my point of view to you in a logical way. What’s wrong with that?” “I just wanted to tell you how different singing styles make a difference in performance. If you can’t accept the new style, you have no right to despise it.” Time stopped for a few seconds. My aunt, who often visited my home from her town to get financial help from my dad, raised her eyebrow and quipped, “I often warned her, brother, never to let her go to any fancy public school. You never cared to listen, right? see now?” Then, turning to me sternly, she said, “So, you’ve been participating in the debate to contradict your Father? Even my mom joined the fray and threatened that she would speak to my class teacher about my demeaning manners and indiscipline.” “She would! I frowned at the woman who never found a voice in the family no matter how fickle her protests about problems at times. I pitied her at the time. I left the dinner table angrily and closed the door.” from my room with a loud slam.

My heart sank as his voice muffled in surprise wracked my nerves. I knew there was no chance of escaping since my class teacher didn’t appreciate my independent ways very much and tomorrow was the damn parent-teacher conference! During those days, a teacher enjoyed the status of Mini Hitler in his domain. Today, however, these poor souls are left at the mercy of the gang of mini classroom mobs that parents send to schools for a few hours of heavenly rest!

It was a sweltering summer day and my classroom was packed. I joined my friends, answering their queries with a disinterested voice. The class teacher, Mrs. Roy, sitting in the flesh of her, serene and grave, as usual. I looked away from her because I hated that perpetual scowl on her forehead. Some of the parents had already slipped into the room and sat down. I awaited my mother’s arrival in a gloomy mood, anticipating my painful humiliation in front of my classmates whose mothers already looked at me with suspicion for my high spirits and unladylike manner, as they said. It was only natural that they would not consider my example to be of any benefit to their growing daughters. I wiped away the droplets of moisture that were beginning to accumulate on my face and neck. Trying to lift my spirits, I looked out my classroom window when suddenly, the sight of a pair of doves making love on one of the window ledges of a nearby building mesmerized me! I felt excited! The mango blossoms in the school garden smelled sweet…

However, the dark hours of humiliation were mercilessly approaching… so my bower of happiness was short-lived. I suddenly woke up from my oblivion when the class teacher called out my name in her intimidating voice: Mandira! I came to my senses with a jump and saw my mother sitting in a corner chair with cold detachment. When she slipped into the room in silence? I asked myself. I felt curious eyes turn to me. I scrambled to my feet with shaky fingers, weak knees, and pounding heart… Bracing myself for the next moment, I faced Mrs. Roy’s stern face as he suddenly declared how pleased he was with my performance in the session before summer break… Before my mom could react, Mrs. Roy informed her that I was also awarded the District Championship trophy in the debate! I saw that familiar curve at the corner of my mother’s mouth every time she was in for a pleasant surprise. Her eyes lit up as congratulations rained down on her from different corners. A dizzying moment that was… she was happy because she made her happy like she always secretly wanted.

As we walked out in silent closeness after the meeting, my mom suddenly looked me in the face and said, “I know what you are like, my young lady… but no matter what you are like, you have to settle.” She continued: “In our society… I mean, in real life, you won’t be allowed to win the championship trophy… always remember! I don’t want you to feel alone…” I touched her finger and declared mom! Don’t worry… I’m strong enough to handle that…