He sat the lone man, on the other side of a long curved desk at the Global Sisterhood Centre. It
was housed in an old bungalow with peeling white-washed walls, old-fashioned flagstone-
flooring, and was shaded by large spreading trees, which were home to a cacophony of quarreling
bird colonies. Five of the most powerful women in the country sat facing Sharmaji, and while
they had all been frigidly polite, none smiled at one of his inane remarks, but acknowledged his
apparent discomfort with a quick compression of lips, and neutral looks.

" Mr. Sharma, it is good of you to come at such short notice. All of us wanted to meet you, and
help, if at all possible," said Professor Radhika, the current chair of the center, but he was left in
no doubt that there was not much likelihood of help from any quarter to a fellow like him. She
was a large powerfully-built woman, dressed conspicuously and plainly in a simple cotton sari,
and gloried in her thick shock of short graying hair, styled in a carefully casual manner. She
shook her head absently, letting thick gold earrings glitter among the gray curls. "We have been
asked by the Ford Foundation to help them assess your work and the work of your Society, to
progress your application for corpus funds ­ we are being very frank about this, Mr. Sharma,
because as you may know the Sisterhood Centre works in a transparent manner. The traditional
male approach has been to play power politics; we oppose such attitudes in politics, in the
workplace, in the home, and in the working of civil society organizations. Women ­ please don't
think I am making an essentialist statement ­ suffering through socially experienced oppression
have learnt to be transparent, to be inclusive, to be supportive. That is why we requested you to
meet with us, so that jointly we may come to an understanding."

Sharmaji with several years of experience in dealing with soft-spoken high government officials
had no doubt in his mind that he was in the dock as an accused, not just in an ordinary trial, but in
an inquisition, in which the least slip on his part could lead to a disastrous fate. Even if the large
funds he had been angling for, for the last few years, could be forfeited, a damning reflection on
his work, casually passed on over a cup of tea in any corridor of power by any of the women who
sat opposite him, would ruin his work for good.

" Professor Radhika, it is my good fortune that you are all taking a real interest in my humble
work," said Sharmaji unctuously. " I am very glad that thanks to Ford I shall receive the benefit
of your advice. I wouldn't have had the courage to disturb you by myself." He laughed
deprecatingly, and saw that he had won no support from any of them.

" Frankly, Mr. Sharma, we have no interest in the working of an NGO," cut in Dr.
Krishnakumari, who would be shortly retiring as Director of the National Education Foundation
of India. " In my opinion, my personal opinion, no civil society organization should be permitted
to receive foreign funds, creating a back-door entry for imperial interests, and destabilizing our
democracy, because frankly, none of you are accountable to the people, are you?" She had been a
card-holding member of the Communist Party of India for over three decades, and had risen to
her high position, partly through her family connections, and partly because her male superiors
dreaded a whiplash retort from her tongue. She was tall and thin, wore thick glasses, and was
defiantly dressed in a rich brocaded silk sari, for as she reminded everyone, she would support
Indian weavers, and she celebrated Indian traditional crafts. " Though I personally have no
expectations of public benefit from the work of NGOs, I do insist that certain minimum standards
be followed."


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Sharmaji was now sure that they were all in the know of some damning incident, some allegation,
some malign rumour, but he was unsure which one, and he started to sweat that he may be unable
to think of a glib riposte. " Mr. Sharma, your style of functioning is unacceptable to us, as a
group of concerned women," said Mrs Janaki Prasad Rao, a beautifully preserved woman, who
gloried in her marriage, her husband's fame as a Supreme Court advocate who took up pro bono
cases in the public interest, her wonderful son's wonderful ad agency, and the intelligence of her
peerless dog. " Women cannot be denied their rights, their right to equality, their right to sit at
table." She wiped away a tremulous tear. " You totally control your organization. You do not
share power with women. You must learn to do this, dear Mr. Sharma, it will do you good, you
will find women so supportive."

Sharmaji heaved a non-transparent sigh of relief. So that was it. He was enough of a politician to
know that an approach had been made. " Madam, I couldn't agree with you more! SERVICE
would have reached the skies under women's leadership! But the work is tedious and humble,
and I have failed in my attempts so far to secure even the passing interest of any lady whose
guidance we have sought. Now that you are taking an interest, my burden is lifted. Thank you!
Any of you are welcome to join the Board, or all of you, why not! I will step back and be happy
to be of any service, at your command."

" We are all very busy people, and we do not have the time to work with any NGO," said
Jyotilakshmi Devi, former minister for women's welfare, and currently a member of parliament
waiting for a berth. By her irritation she showed plainly she understood Sharmaji's game-plan.
She had been whispering into her cell-phone till that moment, and clearly was unhappy with both
conversations. She spoke rapidly, in tones she used to harangue junior bureaucrats: " It is for you
to find suitable women members for your Board, and not to have us solve your problems. Why
have you not done so, so far? All right, whatever the reasons, how are you going to improve
matters in the near future? We have to say something to Ford ­ I would like to say something
positive, for after all it is investment in our State ­ but my hands are tied when you are not gender
sensitive at all! How can you ignore the gender question? Do you know how many dowry deaths
occur every year because men, even top officials, are insensitive to the gender issue?"

Sharmaji's stuttered explanations that all his decisions were taken only after detailed
consultations with village women was brushed aside as of no consequence. The fifth woman at
the table was a young person, a Dr. Sujatha, an anthropologist from Stanford, who had moved
back to India with her American husband, the regional head of Times Warner News. She broke in
rather mutinously: " It is not a question of explanations about past issues, Mr. Sharma," she said
in Americanese, " it's more a matter of taking farsighted action to prevent violence on women.
And when I say violence mean violence. When women are not in power, or even consulted,
violence inevitably happens against women. Even this Centre has lost a member to domestic
violence, despite all the support it offers, right, Radhika?" She reached over and touched the
older woman's hand compassionately.

" Nothing could be done to help Mythili," said Professor Radhika with another impatient shake of
her head, which shot light off the gold earrings. " She was obsessed with her man! I warned her
how it would be. I told her to leave him immediately, and we would form a support group to fight
the divorce, custody of the child, money for maintenance, everything. But no! She wanted to give
him another chance, a third chance. Some women just crave to be objects! Nothing can be done
for them, we just have to move on."

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Dr. Sujatha would not let go. " Well, I don't know. Women also have a right to love, and some
men are weak, they need support too. Maybe if some of us had stayed with them, while they were
going through their crisis..."

Dr. Krishnakumari burst in with an incredulous look. " Who has the time, my dear? We all have
our own hassles in our own homes, we just sweep it under the carpet and carry on. There are the
larger public issues to contest, like enveloping globalisation. My God, it is wrecking the country,
everyone is all that much poorer than ever before, and in the middle of all this, we cannot be
perennially babysitting a stupid ­ I am sorry, but I must say it ­ a stupid woman!"

" Though none of us can sit in on your Board, Mr. Sharma, perhaps, we can recommend one of
our subordinates," said Jyotilaksmi Devi with decision, switching off her cell-phone. " I think
Vijaya could monitor gender concerns in your organization. Call Vijaya!" An attender women
hanging about near the door scurried away. In a few minutes, Vijaya, a thin middleclass woman,
in a cheap blue printed nylon sari, came in and stood nervously before them. Professor Radhika
explained what was required of her in measured tones. Vijaya said meekly that she had two small
children, and having to go all the way to the SERVICE offices would add two more hours of
travel daily, and she wouldn't be able to manage. No, her husband could not take turns, since he
was a clerk in a machine tools factory and left home at six in the morning.

Professor Radhika smiled across the table at Sharmaji. " You see, how the system traps a woman
into nothing short of serfdom, with husband, family, children, and then the man nowadays
expects her to bring in a second salary! What can one do? It's so disheartening. Right now I am
working on a paper I expect to read at the Tokyo Conference next month which I am calling `
Sisterhood: Hearing the Truth; Responding with Commitment!" The attender came in carrying a
cell-phone and said it was from peddamma. With a frown Professor Radhika picked up the
phone, and appreciably raised her voice:" Amma! I cannot do anything, right now! I'm in the
middle of an important meeting! No, I can't leave and come home! You have had these pains
before, that's because you eat too much. You must begin to remember that you are in your
eighties, and not eat pickles! Well, what do you want, pain or pickles? All right, when I come
home this evening ­ it will be late ­ I will bring home some fresh curds, yes, I was in a hurry and
I upset what we had. Or... get up, slowly, and set some for yourself!"

Professor Radhika gave her gold earrings another shake through her curls. " I cannot stand it!
That's my mother-in-law! It's really a power game she plays with me, but I give it back to her tit-
for-tat. The old goat can very well look after herself, but she never tires of trying to make me into
a docile bahu, Me?! You know why she is playing all this drama? She overheard me, I am sure,
say I was planning to go and see this new Aamir Khan film. Well, I will see the film, and she can
wait, she and her pains!"

Jyotilakshmi Devi turned to the waiting Vijaya. " Remember the first discussion we had when we
employed you? You are required to be of general assistance at the Centre in developing platforms
for Sisterhood. Working in Mr. Sharma's office develops such a platform, in a new area. You
accepted the job, and you have got to do what we tell you. It is your responsibility to solve your
household problems. Understand?" Vijaya nodded uncertainly.


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Mrs Janaki Prasad Rao got up and embraced Vijaya tenderly. " My dear, remember this is
`sisterhood,' and we think only of your good. Mr. Sharma, Vijaya will bring her children along
with her to work, that's all right? I knew it would be. Make available a cell-phone for Vijaya, Mr.
Sharma, so if she misses the bus she can call and you can send round your car. Remember, Mr.
Sharma, though Vijaya is junior staff, she is from the Global Sisterhood Centre, and she should
receive all the respect you would show to one of us!" Vijaya hung her head. Sharmaji assented
with a bland smile.

"These simple middleclass girls, they are such gems," said Mrs Janaki Prasad Rao, after Vijaya
had left the room. " Girls like Vijaya personify the eternal values of our culture. Modernism has
had a disastrous effect on what we as a people have stood for, for the last five thousand years! If
Urmila were not my son's wife, I would throw her out of the house in a minute. I tell her, `dear,
feminism is not infantile disorder.' Feminism respects the deep values we as Indian women have
inherited ­ I am sorry, but I am an essentialist woman, I glory in our essentialism! Urmila wants
the dear boy to cook her breakfast himself and serve her in bed. Where does he have the time?
And all the money he makes for her, does she think it grows on trees? It's infantile sex play,
nothing else!"

Dr. Sujatha was frowning, and said somewhat churlishly she wished she had thought of having
her husband cook her breakfast, but he made nothing but boiled eggs. Mrs Janaki Prasad Rao
flew to embrace Dr. Sujatha and said they both could teach dear John how to cook real Indian
food. Professor Radhika said, please, Janaki, teach my mother-in-law some good recipes, so she
could have something interesting to eat when the cook went on leave, and Jyotilaksmi Devi
cutting in acidly that it would be far more useful to teach the parliamentary cooks something
decent. Sharmaji gingerly took leave of them all, and made his escape from the Global Sisterhood
Centre.





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