One Indian Girl(50)

‘Feminism is a movement that seeks to define, establish and achieve equal political, economic, cultural, personal and social rights for women. A feminist is someone who believes in this movement.’

‘Wow,’ he said.

‘What wow?’

‘The way you said the definition. It’s cool.’

‘Thanks. But are you one?’

‘Never really thought about it. Never faced a situation where I had to be one. But I guess, yes.’

‘You are?’ I said.

‘I think all human beings should have equal rights. It’s not men versus women, it’s human versus human. Feminist is a wrong term. It should be humanist. The right question is “Are you a humanist?” Well, everyone should be,’ he said.

‘True,’ I said.

‘Are you a feminist, Radhika?’

‘What do you mean? I am a woman.’

‘Not all women are feminists.’

‘Really?’

‘Mothers who treat sons better than daughters. Are they feminists?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Women who judge other working women as not being good enough mothers. Are they feminists?’

‘No. I see your point. Yes, I consider myself a feminist,’ I said.

‘Can I say something?’

‘Sure.’

‘I don’t think anyone has to specifically call himself or herself a feminist. If you are a fair person and want equal opportunities for all, that’s a start.’

I looked at him and smiled.

The waiter brought us another round of beer. The sun had vanished, leaving behind a dark grey sky. We watched the waves splash on the beachfront.

‘What else did you do in Goa on your field trip?’ I said.

‘Stuff. Stuff you don’t want to know.’

I got interested. ‘Oh, really. Like what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Try me.’

‘Okay, checking out all the firang women on all the beaches.’

‘You mean leching at them?’

‘Of course not. I would call it more a studied observation,’ he said.

I laughed.

‘Engineers are sick,’ I said.

‘They are. Deprivation does that to us.’

‘What else?’

‘We smoked up.’

‘What? Weed?’

He nodded.

‘You had weed in Goa?’ I said.

‘Yeah. You can get it at Anjuna. There are some shops behind the shack. I don’t know if they still operate. But we scored from there.’

‘Mr Brijesh Gulati, you do have a past.’

He laughed. ‘Most of it is around studying to top the class and get a scholarship to the USA. But yes, we did some fun stuff.’

‘Should we try some?’

‘You want to smoke weed? Now?’ he said, startled.

‘Yeah. Or is it too much for a good Indian bride to smoke a joint a couple of days before the wedding?’

‘No, no, nothing like that.’

‘Too feminist?’

‘No, Radhika. Nothing like that. How can we smoke up? We have all our relatives here.’

‘Not at Anjuna. See if you can get some.’

He looked at me. I gave him a wicked grin. He stood up.

‘Give me fifteen minutes,’ he said.



‘Come behind the rocks. Nobody will see us,’ Brijesh said as I took a drag.

We had left Curlies and come up to a remote corner on Anjuna beach. Brijesh rolled three joints. We started with our first one.

‘You have done this before?’ he said.

‘No, but I always wanted to try,’ I said.

‘Go slow,’ he said.

With each drag my mind became more calm, my senses more numb. The stress of Debu hovering around the Marriott went up in smoke. Brijesh also didn’t feel as unfamiliar.

‘Wow, this reminds me of my college days,’ he said.

‘Bet your parents never thought this is the kind of bahu they are getting,’ I said.

He shrugged.

‘What kind of bahu?’

‘This kind. Smoking up on the beach before her wedding. It’s not what good Indian bahus do.’

‘If their son can do this, why can’t the bahu?’ he said.

‘Now that is feminism,’ I said and high-fived him.

‘Everything doesn’t need hi-fi labels like feminism. Just logic. If I can do it, you can do it.’

‘You are sweet.’

‘Isn’t sweet the word women use when they aren’t attracted to a guy but don’t want to hurt him either?’

‘Smart you are, Mr Facebook. Not too duh about girls.’

‘Well, in this aspect I am good. Been Mr Sweet all my life.’

‘Sweet is good,’ I said and took the last puff of the joint.

He smiled.

‘Shall we head back? It will get late,’ he said.

‘Yeah. Save those two joints for the Marriott. We will need them.’

We rode back on the Activa. This time I held him around the waist. Maybe it was the beer and the joint, but it didn’t feel odd. We passed through the same rice fields, now invisible in the darkness. The headlight of the Activa showed us the road. We stopped at a crossroads to confirm the way.