And wildly talking about Indra Nooyi, Nikhil Taneja, and society

We were at a friend’s house once, playing Jenga in the living room. One of us, a short-haired, bubbly girl, picked up one of the blocks that read, 

“What is the one thing in life that you wish you had more of?”

And without a second thought, she announced- “Freedom.”

Many of us still live in a community where the extent of your sleeves is directly proportional to your innocence, and where your education is liable only to secure you a good rishta. You’re allowed to pursue your dreams, but then told to doll up and not work. The pretense? “Humaare ghar ki ladkiyon ko kaam karne ki zarurat nahi hai.” 

Regressive as it may sound, that’s the plight of many young girls today- the desire to not be bound by restrictions, to be allowed to get home a little late, to go out a little more, to dress like they want to, to be allowed to have a choice.

This reminds me of a stellar line from a podcast, The Seen and the Unseen. It’s a conversation (possibly the best I’ve heard in a while) between Amit Varma and Nikhil Taneja about the loneliness of the Indian man. 

“But then kanyadaan happens, one man passes you to another and then life goes on.”

Nikhil Taneja, The Seen and the Unseen

Thanks to very few males ever describing what the pressure of being a “breadwinner” feels like to them, I wouldn’t know. But of women of ambition, we know tales. Tales of quiet lives lived with desperation, tales of crushed dreams, lost hope, abandonment, and lost battles- all signaling you to succumb because the leap to your dreams is either too high, too long, or too sacrificial. 

And that’s where Nikhil steps in, trying to uproot the idea that men must do it all alone. Do listen to the podcast for brilliant insights on this.

The book of Indra Nooyi

Lately, I’ve been reading My Life in Full: Work, Family and our Future, which is the autobiography of Indra Nooyi, CEO of Pepsico. It begins with a picturesque haveli in South India, where she grew up. The dynamic that Indra writes about as a young girl, the role of men in her family, and the societal expectations of parents and friends- it all rings familiar bells- and maybe that’s how I’ve come to respect her so much. 

Here’s an excerpt from much later in the book, when Indra happily comes home to share thrilling news with her mother:

I entered our house through the kitchen door and dropped my keys and bag on the counter. I was bursting with excitement- so eager to tell everyone. Then my mother appeared. “I have the most incredible news!” I exclaimed. 

“The news can wait,” she said. “I need you to go out and get milk.”

“Why didn’t you ask Raj to go get the milk?” I asked. “It looks like he came home a while ago.” 

“He looked tired, so I didn’t want to disturb him,” she said. 

I picked up my keys, went back to the car, drove to the Stop and Shop a mile away, and bought a gallon of whole milk. When I walked into the kitchen again, I was hopping mad. I slammed the plastic bottle on the counter. 

“I’ve just become president of PepsiCo, and you couldn’t just stop and listen to my news,” I said, loudly. “You just wanted me to get the milk!”

“Listen to me,” my mother replied. “You may be the president or whatever of PepsiCo, but when you come home, you are a wife and a mother and a daughter. Nobody can take your place. “So you leave that crown in the garage.” 

With all the ways that it can be analyzed, I also can’t forget who delivered the “crown in the garage” line. 

That night in the kitchen, my mother was the same woman she always was- torn between wanting to see her daughter soar in the outside world and making sure I lived up to my role as a dedicated wife who could be content looking after everyone else. When I was a little girl, she asked me to make speeches pretending I was India’s prime minister. She also worried about finding me a husband.

One foot on the accelerator, one foot on the brake. Go out and capture the crown but leave it in the garage. 

Indra Nooyi, My Life in Full

Ladies First

This also sheds light on something that’s almost never discussed: men come into the picture far later- their effect on women is indirect. Our most significant initial barriers, often, are the females who live with us- the mother who is shrouded in patriarchy and does not know any better, the aunt who’s idealized the thin, pretty female as her standard of beauty and won’t stop taunting you, or the cousin who goes around attributing someone’s achievements to beauty alone. As Nikhil Taneja mentions in the podcast while describing his batchmates in college, 

“In that college is where I got the first sense of deep patriarchal conditioning that happens. These were not evil people, it’s not that they were bad human beings, it’s just how they were conditioned.” 

There’s good, bad, and ugly- all in one person. Call me a cynic, but I feel abolishing these practices will take years. And the reason is people like me, and the presumed hierarchy of power. We could fight patriarchy our heart out on social media, but fear the response we’ll receive back home. Why would I collapse my entire life for a cause that will just get me kicked out of my house?

But for a while, I do not want to know whether Indra lived a caste-privileged life. For a while, I want to shut down that part of my brain that wants to know Pepsico’s environmental stance. For a while, I want to stop googling Indra Nooyi’s negatives, for finding something in her that justifies my stance, my inability or my incompetence. For a while, I simply wanted to believe that she did it, she made it- and that that woman deserves all the credit in the world for that. For simply believing in herself, because if you’ve conquered your mind, half your battle is done for.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get married, or not wanting to. With having a baby, or not having one. With wearing the hijab, or not wanting to wear one. With wanting to work after marriage, or not wanting to work. The suckety-sucking part of it all is: it’s often not your choice. And that’s where I wish to bring about a change.

Maybe you’ll feel stupid and naive when you explain this musing to someone. Maybe we forget the unbearable weight and agony of being crushed by our own desires and limitations, and sometimes by our own people. But isn’t hope what keeps us alive?

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Please note: this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.