The Choice.

"And that’s why young women like you need to consider Engineering as a potential career choice. It’s not just a man’s world anymore, is it?"

She finished with a flourish, her conspiratorial wink earning her warm smiles from many of the teenage girls of St.Clark’s High School for Girls. She had started her speech on "Career opportunities for women – Engineering, a whole new world" with some trepidation. After all, a Master’s degree alone did not make her an expert about Women and their career choices; she did accept the offer anyway – not everyday did a Software Engineer get to make inspirational speeches to shape the youth of the country.

Not many questions were asked and soon the class was dismissed. Sunitha picked up her Thinkpad and her small handbag and confidently strode out of the room. Before leaving the school she quickly studied her reflection in the huge antique mirror that covered most of the hallway, she wondered what purpose it served but was glad it was there.

Stylishly short hair with streaks of brown – she considered that her little act of defiance, a dusky complexion, intelligent black eyes behind brown spectacles, a modern career-woman complete with the air of confidence greeted her back and she smiled.

*****
"Do you have to play that dumb piece of whatchamacallit every evening?"

The exasperation so evident in her voice did not penetrate through the hypnotic hold that The War of the Worlds had on Sethu.

"I promise you, I will not hesitate to throw your xbox right out the window!"

The comment hit home and he looked up in a daze and made a sound that vaguely resembled "Duh...."

She threw her handbag on the dining table and strode out of the living room, muttering to herself. When she came back to the living room after 30 minutes, she was considerably calm after her long scented bath with essential oils, candles and daily dose of Jane Austen. He was quietly cutting brinjals into small equal sized cubes. She watched him silently for some time as he washed the vegetables meticulously. His unruly hair kept falling on his eyes and his unsuccessful attempts to push them back using his elbow made her earlier irritation evaporate as quickly as it had appeared.

She sat down with the latest edition of India Abroad and started leafing through the pages, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. Her life was as she had designed it to be. She did not become the typical house wife whose life revolved around spices and cooking, managing the maid and taking care of in-laws – a life of servitude and dependence that she did not care for. She had studied hard, worked hard, dreamt big dreams and had built her life, as she wanted it, chiseling out pieces that she felt were not conducive to her ambitions and goals. She had a life to speak of, a job that commanded respect, people listened when she spoke and Sethu gave her all the independence she demanded. She made it a point to divide housely chores between them and stuck to the demarcation to a fault. Ironically, the demarcation was a bridge in her eyes, a bridge that reduced the different responsibilities that have been thrusted on Indian men and women over the ages, responsibilities acutely biased in favor of the Indian man. Her strong views did not change when she watched her docile mother yielding to every wish, every command decreed by her obstinate and irascible father; if anything, they increased her conviction to be everything that her mother was not – strong, independent, career-oriented…

*****
"Must we really go to Sumit and Anjana’s party?" Sunitha drawled, using her most convincing tone, which she had used to some degree of success, atleast the first few months into their marriage.

"Yes, this promotion means a lot to Sumit..." He hesitated, before adding, "And since they are expecting a baby in six months, it's a cause for more celebration for them, and it will mean a lot to Anjana if we..."

The rest of his words were lost on Sunitha.

"Yes, I am sure Anjana would appreciate having us, or is it you, there? I am sure she would enjoy cooing to you – Sethooo, honey…can you give me a hand with this book please, it’s sooo heavy - flirty, air-headed disgrace of..."

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by Sethu, "So, 6 PM sharp…we must pick a nice gift for them and for the baby too...."

"Yes dah-ling, we must," She answered mocking Anjana’s lilting voice. Sethu appeared not to have noticed it. It is uncertain whether Anjana did enjoy flirting with Sethu; In Sunitha’s mind, there was no doubt about it. This bent of her mind made her oblivious to many of Anjana’s endearing, even whimsical traits – her naivete, her culinary excellence, scrupulous maintenance of her house, her delectable voice, her constant chatter delivered unpretentiously to anyone who would care to listen – traits that amused Sethu, maybe because she was the very anti-thesis of his wife? At some subconscious level, Sunitha recognized this fact and resented it - "Sumit can indulge her every beck and call, for all I care, but, what does my Sethu see in her?"

Unjustified-possessiveness and jealousy rushed to fill in many nooks and crannies of her head, replacing the hitherto residing trust and rationality. The more Sunitha obsessed over these predominantly imagined and semi-accurate observations, the more she disliked Anjana and the more she felt the need to put Anjana down, which was no big feat, for Anjana was no match for Sunitha, intellectually among other things. But, come to matters of the home and the heart and Anjana was the uncontested Queen.

*****
An expensive red chiffon saree, glittering just enough to catch the eye but simple enough to steer clear of garishness, heart-shaped diamond earrings and a matching chain with a pendant sparkled as she moved, hair flowing down her shoulders, casually, lest it betray the many hours of preparation that went into grooming it, a touch of mascara and a light almost-natural shade of blush touched to the cheeks - Anjana looked positively radiant. Sunitha fumed inwardly as she leaned forward to kiss Anjana's cheek.

"You look nice, Anjana...my, your stomach hardly shows!"

Sunitha ignored Sethu's shocked look and continued, "Your house looks amazing, must say, you are the ideal house-wife...". The stress on "house-wife" was unmistakable.

Anjana being who she was, giggled delightfully and said, "Oh, I am so glad you and Sethu could make it..." Turning to Sethu, she said "So, you did keep up your end of the bargain, clever clever man!", she waggled her index finger playfully in front of Sethu's face, failing to notice his mild embarrassment and his wife's disapproving glare.

A hundred implausible notions ran through Sunitha's mind, "Bargain?! What bargain? When did they meet to conspire for this sneaky bargain?"

After the initial uneasiness, the rest of the evening passed by uneventfully until it was time to sit down for dinner. Everyone had a word of praise for Anjana - "Amazing biriyani, Anju!", "Noone can throw a party like you!" and so on. Sunitha patiently nibbled through the food, expending her pent-up emotions by chewing and grinding her food. She managed to remain in this precarious state of equanimity until Sethu chose to express his unfortunately-timed thought, "Anjana, A guy could marry you just for this!"

Appreciative laughter ensued at the dining table, agreeing to the sentiments just expressed and mingled with the laughter were Sunitha’s tears, which threatened to come pouring down in torrents.

*****
The next day, Sethu sleepily looked around for Sunitha, who usually lay snoring gently next to him in sound sleep, a sleep which would not let go of her until he held a steaming cup of coffee in front of her face, a bribe that she demanded everyday to grace him with her awakening. He walked to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and stopped abruptly.

Draped clumsily in a slightly wrinked yellow saree, which looked like it had been dragged hastily out of an old trunk, Sunitha was biting her lips in concentration, trying to scrape out the slightly burnt dosa from the tawa. Yellow bangles – one of the first few gifts that he gave her after their marriage that remained ignored until today – looked out of place, resting on her hands. With her left hand, she quickly moved loose strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear and he stood staring at her hair – he had never seen it in anything but a pony-tail or a bun, he stood mesmerized by the jimuki that dangled in her ear. She looked delicate, almost vulnerable in the kitchen…traces of her mother that he had not seen earlier in her, revealed themselves.

She looked up, startled at his footsteps, and then smiled "Sethu, ready for some delicious dosas? Sit down and drink your coffee, it took me a while to figure out how this filter works! Almost burnt my hand...and I..."

He silenced her with a hug. She hesitated for a moment and hugged him back, the dosa maavu still dripping from the ladle that she held in one hand, laughing and crying at the same time.

Several miles away, Sunitha’s mother deftly turned dosas on her tawa for her husband’s dinner.

*****