Sarala has been sitting at the edge of her bed. But with Nirgala entering her room to pick up the argument, she stood up.

“Not everyone can be as rude as you,” Sarala scoffed, getting angrier at Mitra’s defiance.

“Rude?” Nirgala chuckled in sarcasm. “If speaking the truth and not being submissive to false narratives being spread by people right under your nose is considered as being rude, then what is that these people are doing being called? Honesty or honourable?”

“NIRGALA!!!” Sarala was exasperated.

“Mom, honestly, I never expect anything even remotely good or appreciable from people - they are all the same.You know what has consistently disappointed me all these years? It’s that you never spoke up for me when everyone tried to shred me apart. You gave very feeble attempts of disagreeing with their opinions, never actually strictly correcting them. You fumbled and submitted to all this so called nonsense of society. Guess what mom, an entire society can be wrong, mob mentalities can be terribly wrong. You don’t have to be so agreeable with everyone irrespective of how terrible they are.”

Sarala shook her head, not following anything that Nirgala presented as reasoning. She was a woman who was born and bred in a patriarchal setting. Ever since she was a child, she had been taught to adhere to the standards of the society, to resonate with the opinions and judgement of the people around her, to be agreeable with her relatives and neighbours no matter what they do.

For Sarala, the intricacies of dealing with the people around her were pretty straightforward - the standards set by the majority should be upheld as the right course of action and followed. This came down to the way she expected her children to behave.

She wanted her son to be successful, have an envious career, a beautiful and respectable wife and a couple of kids (one of them a son definitely) and earn enough to be able to flaunt to others. On the other hand, for her daughter, Sarala wanted her to be well educated and mannered enough to get married to a good man with a dependable job and not so imposing family.

Sarala had achieved the dreams she had of her son - Abhi and his wife Siri always acted per her expectations. But, she had failed miserably with her daughter Nirgala. While Sarala had been proud of Nirgala’s education credentials and her high paying job, she had always been worried about Nirgala’s straightforward attitude and no nonsense approach to everything. Nirgala wasn’t the kind of mild tempered and socially amiable girl Sarala wanted her to be. She always spoke her mind, didn’t entertain any word of falsehood or flattery and didn’t try to suck up to anyone.

“That kind of attitude will make you look rude to everyone,” she had often warned Nirgala to no avail. “You need to behave like everyone else, like how the society wants you to be. Standing out apart from everyone will leave you in pain in the end. Lonely, without anyone to speak for you or speak to you.”

But Nirgala never deterred. She saw people for who they truly were and acted on her conscience. She walked around like a lone soldier rather than a delicate flower of feminine softness. Problem was, Sarala knew the kind of fate lone soldiers standing on honour face in bloody battles and drawn out wars. While she tried to mould Nirgala to her expectations of a prized feminine flower, Nirgala never deterred from her innate nature of a honourable warrior.

The whole ordeal with Nirgala’s marriage was based on the same premise. Nirgala had refused to marry just for the sake of it. No matter how many methods Sarala and Abhi used to convince, guilt-trip and force her into her, she never budged.

Of course, there had been a multitude of different issues that had taken place the first time Nirgala got engaged, but they were soon brushed off by people as not so important. Which, obviously, Nirgala didn’t overlook.

It was her own trauma. How could she let go of it?

As Nirgala stood in the room with her arms crossed and her gaze blazing in defiance, all Sarala could feel was disappointment and fear. Disappointed with Nirgala’s attitude and approach to her life, and fear for her future as a single woman.

“You think I am a pushover, don’t you?” Sarala said through her gritted teeth.

Pat came Nirgala’s reply, “Yes, a pushover for everyone except me. You don’t shy away from raising your voice against me. But with everyone else, you become so meek that it gives them the lenience to say and do whatever they want.”

“Guess what Nirgala, that is what has kept our family still standing strong amongst all our relatives, community and acquaintances. Especially after your father passed away. The reason everyone still bother to come for us is because I am agreeable. It’s precisely because I share some of their opinions. Else our family would have long back been isolated from others.”

Nirgala sighed and tilted her head with a spark of ridicule in her eyes. “Mom, the reason they keep in touch with us is because they get their entertainment from our woes. They pick flaws in me and Abhi to make themselves and their kids look better. They talk to you because you naively tell them things that should be very personal to us, and they are feeding off of the negatively exaggerated stories they weave around those tidbits.”

She took a step towards Sarala and said slowly, “They are not concerned about us. They are keeping a check to see we don’t stay happy for a long time. If you show even a tiny bit of contentment or joy in your life, they will make sure to say something to spark a negative reaction and push you into darkness.”

Sarala scowled. “You think I don’t know that. That’s what people are like in general. You don’t have to lecture me.”

“Then what’s your problem?” Nirgala threw her hands up in frustration. “Why are you giving them and their words any importance at all?”

“Because I am concerned about you!” Sarala screamed. “My daughter is living alone in a foreign country without a single soul to take care of her, no one to even check if you are doing well or not, to look after you if you fall sick or to even share a meal with you. Tell me, which mother would not be concerned?”

Nirgala stilled. She had heard these words too many times to even count. Sarala would say them at least once a month. Nirgala had always glossed it over by saying she was happy and content on her own.

But this time, she couldn’t stop herself from being a little too honest than needed.

“Do you want to know the real reason mom?” she asked.

“What is it?” Sarala gazed at her with bated breath.

“Because I didn’t want to be you,” came Nirgala’s answer.

“What…?”

“Because I have seen your life as a married woman and didn’t want that for myself. Tell me something honestly mom, have you ever been happy as a woman? Have you ever been happy as a wife? Not as a mother, but as a wife.”