"Happy Married Life, Shivya Pathak" I weakly smiled seeing my condition, mangalsutra dangling in my neck, vermilion in hair and both hands filled with gold bangles.
"Come out quickly or do you want me to break the gate," my husband knocked again...
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"Bhabhi... Malik does not say anything to you when you wear clothes like this?" Gauri asked hesitantly, unsure that it almost disappeared. She looked around instinctively after asking, as though even the question itself might be considered improper if heard by the wrong person.
Shivya frowned faintly and lowered her eyes to herself. She was wearing nothing unusual only a simple brown kurti and black palazzo, there was nothing scandalous about them. Yet Gauri's tone made it sound as though she had arrived in something improper.
"Clothes like this means what?" Shivya asked, seeing the nervousness on Gauri's face, she moved down a few steps and sat beside her so they would be eye level instead of mistress and servant standing apart.
Gauri immediately became flustered. Her fingers twisted tightly in the edge of her dupatta, winding and unwinding the fabric as she searched for words. She had not meant to offend her. Curiosity had escaped before caution could stop it.
"I mean..." she began softly, avoiding Shivya's eyes. "Now you do not wear sarees all the time, and you do not keep a pallu over your head either. Does Malik never say anything? Does he never get angry with you?"
At the mention of Vedant, Shivya's expression softened despite herself. A small smile touched the corner of her lips before she could stop it.
"No, he says nothing," she replied calmly. "And even if he did, it would still be my choice. This is my body, so I will decide what I wear. I do not tell him how to dress, so why should he decide for me?"
She paused, then her smile faded into something quieter and more thoughtful. "Dadi never liked it," she admitted. "She told me many times that a daughter-in-law should wear sarees only. But I have only one life, Gauri."
Her gaze drifted ahead, distant for a moment. "If I spend this entire life living by everyone else's rules, then when exactly will I get to live on my own terms?"
Gauri lowered her eyes and nodded slowly, though confusion and years of learned obedience still clouded her face. "You are right," she said quietly. "But my mother also used to say that married women should wear sarees, stay dressed properly, and live according to the rules made for wives. She said respect comes from behaving the right way."
Shivya turned fully toward her now, one elbow resting against her knee. "But marriage does not happen with only a woman, does it?" she asked gently. "A man gets married too. Then why are all the rules only for women?"
"Why are there restrictions only on what women wear, what they eat, what they say, where they go, how they laugh, how they sit, how they speak? Why are men never measured the same way?"
Gauri fell silent. She stared somewhere beyond the courtyard, her eyes dimming with memory.
"I once asked my mother-in-law the same thing," she said after a moment, a sad smile touching her lips. "She became furious. She insulted me badly and said traditions that have existed for years should never be questioned."
