The Police Commissioner of Guwahati, Mr Arjun Rathore leaned back into the plush seat of his chauffeured car and sighed. Thickly wooded slopes whizzed by as the car twisted and turned up the dizzy gradient. He was going up to Cherrapunji.

Shruti, his daughter studied at an exclusive residential school in Shillong. The holidays had begun and Shruti was spending some of it at her friend, Ridalin’s home in Cherrapunji.  Ridalin and Shruti were best friends since class three. Many a time, Ridalin had invited her friend home but Shruti’s parents did not approve of her staying with friends. Until now…

Shruti and Ridalin had been promoted to class IX this year. So Mrs Dokhrut, Ridalin’s mother suggested that the girls were old enough to spend a few days together. Shruti’s parents had reluctantly agreed. Mrs Dokhrut assured them that she would keep an eye on them. The fun days sped by and all too soon it was time for Shruti to go home.

Shruti was the apple of her father’s eye. Arjun couldn’t wait to see her after an absence of several months. He should have been cheerful and smiling. Instead he looked anxious. The reason for his agitation was a letter from Shruti. He retrieved it from his pocket and read it for the hundredth time as the car swerved up the hilly road.

Dear Papa,

I hope you, Mummy, Granny and the brat, Rohit are fine. I’m okay.

Last night on the phone, you said that you were missing me. I miss you too and want to go home. Yet there are times when I don’t feel like going home. I know that sounds crazy, so let me try and explain.

Papa, Ridalin’s family and our family are as different as chalk and cheese. The Dokhruts belong to the Khasi tribe who are very progressive and flexible. Ridalin’s mother, Persara Aunty is the District Magistrate of the East Khasi Hills District and her father, Mr Dokhrut runs a TV channel. Her mother is a well-known person here just like you are in Guwahati. Whenever we go out together, I see people running to greet Aunty, opening doors for her and clicking her photographs. Everyone respects her because she does a lot of good work in the district.

What surprised me is that she is respected as much outside as inside her home. Mr Dokhrut’s mother lives with them just like our Granny does.

When Aunty is home, she manages the entire household. But when she is in office or touring, Ridalin’s grandmother stands in for her.  But I have never heard the old lady complain. I don’t remember Ridalin’s grandmother scolding or even raising her voice when speaking to Persara Aunty. I have always hated it when Granny shouts at Mummy. And many a time without reason.

Besides Granny says it’s a tradition that she and Mummy eat meals only after you, Rohit and I eat. Not only that, she doesn’t let me take an extra helping of any dish until you and Rohit decide whether you want any of it or not. I feel that is unfair but Granny says, ‘Boys come first.’ Why, Papa?

Here we eat all our meals together and nobody comes before anyone else. Despite being females, Ridalin, her grandmother, Persara Aunty and I can eat whatever we want and how much we want. In fact, Dokhrut Uncle has arranged football coaching for Ridalin and her brother during the holidays. Uncle will put them both on a special diet of fruits and milk to build their stamina. But our Granny gives me just one glass of milk so that Rohit can have two glasses. She believes Rohit needs to become tall and strong. What about me?

During mealtimes, I have often heard Dokhrut Uncle ask Persara Aunty’s opinion about many things. Sometimes, it is about a political party or a news story his channel is airing or just about whether they should buy the latest TV model. Why don’t you ever ask what Mummy thinks or wants? After all, she is a graduate and has won awards as a designer before she married you. I am sure she has her own views. Don’t you want to know them? I do.

I have always wondered why you did not let Mummy open her jewellery boutique. After all she spent two years qualifying for jewellery designing. Yes, I did hear her pleading with you one night about it. But you told her if she got too busy, Rohit and I would be neglected. Now Papa, that is wrong. You know we are quite capable of looking after ourselves. Besides I’m away at school and Rohit is becoming lazy and spoilt. He should be more independent. Let Mummy follow her dreams, Papa. I will learn to follow mine from her.

Did you know that when Persara Aunty married Uncle, she was still studying in college? It was Uncle’s parents who encouraged her to complete her studies and sit for the IAS examinations. When she passed and had to go to Kolkata for her training, Ridalin was a baby. It was her grandmother who looked after her while Aunty finished training. I can’t imagine Granny looking after me! She would scold me so much that I would run away.

And that’s the point. Today I feel like running away… from our home, from our family. What should I do, Papa?

In school they tell us girls are doing better than boys in every field today. But I feel that girls are neither better nor worse than boys. All I know is we cannot be called the weaker gender. We are half the world’s people. So we deserve our share of half of it.

Not as much as our fathers, brothers, husbands and sons think we should have. No. Today’s woman must have her share… her half of the world. You must be puzzled…thinking what is Shruti saying. I mean, we should get …

 Our half of the space, even if we have to grow flowers in rocks.

 Our half of what the world gives and what we give back to the world

Our half of the food on the table and our half of all duties

Our half of rights; to speak up for our beliefs even if we are proved wrong

Our half of opportunity to education and career and whatever we make of them

Our half of making decisions and taking responsibility for those decisions

We want our half now. We have waited too long.

I think when men all over the world learn to relinquish our half of it, this will be a truly happy world…the kind of world I have seen in Ridalin’s home.

Papa, why can’t we have a home like that?

Your loving daughter,

Shruti.

That night when dinner was laid, Arjun helped his surprised wife and mother into chairs at the table. He served them food before filling his own plate. The family ate in splendid harmony and every morsel tasted heavenly. Finally, when they were too satiated to eat even one more spoon of the excellent kesar halwa, Arjun turned to his wife and said, ‘Why don’t we open that boutique of yours?’ Granny’s eyes nearly popped out but Shruti’s face split into a wide smile. Our half of the world…., she mused, thrilled.