“When society learns to see a human being beyond caste, religion, region, family… only then will we truly see each other as human. Until then, we live in frames, in cages, in values imposed on us. Generations drag on, bound by rules made by others. And in the end, what remains? Merely continuing this system, these values, these traditions unchanged?

~*~

Swaroopa…  In life, Saroja wished only one thing for you — that you might once again lift your head high, cast away the shadows of your past, and win your life back. She wanted to stand beside you in that journey. And yet, you… you chose to find fault with her, to hurt her. That was your gravest mistake.

What right did we have to accuse her? What authority to judge her? After living all those years in the USA, how could you, upon returning to India, so quickly sink back into the old beliefs and rigid values?

The day after she met you, Saroja akka called me… and wept. Wept so bitterly that I was shaken. It had been years since I’d heard her cry. This was the same woman who had conquered her tears and her grief, who had freed herself from a sorrow-filled life, who now lived in comfort and spread joy to others. If such a woman could break down like that, I can only imagine how deeply you must have wounded her.

This is the chief flaw in your nature: instead of receiving joy from others, you burden them with your sorrows and gloom. You drain away their happiness, turn their light into shadows. That is why you cannot remain cheerful in anyone’s company. You dwell in the past, trapped in depression.

And the confusion you think you see in Saroja? It springs from you. You have mistaken your own flaws for hers. You avoid the truth, deceiving yourself and others. You live in illusions. And Saroja’s only “fault” was to shatter those illusions.

Swaroopa… People like Saroja, who dare to break the shells of our false beliefs, are the very ones who can free us from delusion. Yet you could not bear to see yourself in the mirror she held up. You could not forgive her for exposing your self-deception and pretence. Even though she wanted nothing but your good, you treated her as an enemy — belittling her before others, feeding your resentment.

It is for this very reason that many, even when they know the truth, step back from speaking it to you. But Saroja did not hold back. She dared to make you see yourself. And you… you blamed her for it.

Her life is hers. Her pain, her problems, her values — all hers. Why should they concern you? Why should they concern me? Why should they become our subject of discussion? And yet you took it upon yourself to prod her with questions, wounding her.

What you asked her were, in fact, questions about yourself. But you framed them as accusations about her. Naturally she felt you were asking only to insult her, to humiliate her. That made her hesitant, unsure of what to say, what to withhold, how you might twist her answers.

Saroja has shaped the lives of many. They respected her deeply, accepted her suggestions, saw her as a guide, a philosopher. And you — instead of learning from her — interrogated her as though cross-examining her mistakes. That was pride, pure and simple. A hunger for dominance.

She remembers everything from her life. But there are things she chooses to forget. Yet people like you… you force her to remember them again. Such forcing is no small wrong — it’s cruelty disguised as sympathy. It wounds a person’s self-confidence, establishes dominance under the mask of concern. To bring up the very incidents she longs to forget is, in truth, a crime.

When you pressed her about her suicide attempt, that was not compassion. It was proof of your sadism.

Yes, Saroja has not told you everything. But if she had — what would you have done? Would you have truly been ready to learn from it to accept her as she is, without accusation?

Then listen. I will tell you briefly about the hardships in her life. Only if you understand why she wishes to forget them will you be free from judging them by the narrow values of society. She is ready to accept every incident of her life as reality. It is you — you, and society itself — who are not ready.

~*~

There are some who carry childhood’s playfulness into youth. Saroja, stepping out of adolescence into the first bloom of young womanhood at sixteen… Satyanand had been following her for six months. He wept, saying he loved her. He laughed. He made her laugh. He teased, he coaxed.

“Swaroopa,” Saroja once told me, “catching hold of him wasn’t only because of him. It was also because of the surge of youth within me. Every film, every TV show I saw… only stirred that interest further. I don’t even blame the movies anymore. Without the natural stirrings of that age, no film could have done anything. Even the animals and birds… do they need cinema to awaken their mating instincts? These instincts arise naturally, with age.”

She believed Satyanand would marry her. But he found another match. When she wept and pleaded, he told her he would keep her — not as a wife, but as a second woman. The sheer helplessness of a woman struck her then, and she wept bitterly. He took that as weakness and, in the name of love — what we would today call blackmail — he played with her life for many more months.

When her second month’s period didn’t come, her mother began to suspect. With nausea starting, Saroja herself felt bewildered. Her mother, fearing scandal, pressed her lips shut — telling no one. Under the pretext of visiting her grandmother’s house, she took Saroja to the district centre and sought out a certain “Sister” [nurse].

In those days, abortions were done in great secrecy, with no respect attached in society’s eyes. The Sister agreed, told them to stay the night, and sent someone into the room. Whether he was her brother, husband, or someone else — Saroja never knew. She was stunned. Her mother… could do nothing.

Afterwards, her mother wept and told her that the fee had been reduced out of “sympathy.”

Once Saroja knew the pain of abortion, the playfulness of youth turned into fear. That was when she began to understand life… to realise how deeply her mother loved her and her future. Her father never came to know. For some time, Saroja withdrew into herself, focusing on her studies. She completed her B.Tech, became a software engineer, worked in Bangalore, then switched jobs and went to a larger company in Pune.

In Pune, Saroja became a support to her parents. Whenever the subject of marriage came up, she kept postponing it. Her mother had some idea of why; her father knew nothing.

Anasuya, her mother, once stayed with her in Pune for a few days. Seeing her daughter’s growing confidence, she was delighted.

“Saroja… get married. To a boy you like — any caste, it doesn’t matter. I’ll persuade your father. Don’t be afraid because of what happened. Those matters are known only to you and me,” she comforted her.

But Saroja’s heart did not agree. A fear, a resistance toward men had taken root in her. In public, among groups, she would speak easily to everyone. But alone, in the presence of a man, she would withdraw, avert her gaze.

She lived like this in Pune for some time, then took a higher position back in Bangalore. Within a year, she left for America.

She spent three years in the USA, working. Many proposals came — in India, in America. She rejected them all, each for some reason. Her parents’ distress was beyond words.

In the USA, Saroja began a new life. Her personality blossomed — whole, independent. She loved the freedom of that society. She bought a car — here, you couldn’t manage without one. From her earnings, she sent money home, saved some for herself.

“Swaroopa,” she told me once, “only now am I realising how meaningless the so-called chastity values in India are. In America, people live so freely… If only the whole world could become such a free society, how many problems would be solved!

“In India, in the name of family, in the name of marriage, what continues is nothing but one-sided servitude for women. For men, one set of morals; for women, another. A man can proudly say he’s had affairs with ten women. But if a woman says the same, she is called immoral. Every man calls his wife a pativrata [devoted wife of virtue]. If all wives are truly pativratas, then with whom are these men having affairs?

“A male poet once bluntly said, ‘Men tell, women don’t.’ These double standards give men honour and leave women with shame. Such a system is worse than a prison.

“In the USA, your freedom is respected; no one interferes with your independence. Freedom, self-determination — these are given the highest value.

“When society learns to see a human being beyond caste, religion, region, family… only then will we truly see each other as human. Until then, we live in frames, in cages, in values imposed on us. Generations drag on, bound by rules made by others. And in the end, what remains? Merely continuing this system, these values, these traditions unchanged!

“That means we’ve become machines serving the system, bonded slaves, feudal bonded labourers in life. Where is our freedom in this? Can we even call it freedom? Swaroopa, do you understand this?”

She once spoke like that, very seriously.

“Swaroopa! In America, anyone who watches TV knows Oprah Winfrey. You must have read her books. What analysis! On marriage, on love, on how to separate when you must, on how to fall in love and marry again… She discusses it from so many angles.

“Even after divorcing five or six times, people can still fall in love again, marry again, start new lives — and live happily, intimately. She explains it all so wonderfully. There’s no clinging to the past, no wallowing in guilt, no ‘I made a mistake’ inferiority.

“She gives living examples — their photos, their experiences — of people who didn’t waste life grieving, but built new lives. The confidence it gives! Truly, America owes Oprah Winfrey much.”

Her words showed me the changes growing in her. I did nothing more than listen.

“Ravindra,” she went on, “was a warm, affectionate man. I didn’t see anything wrong in occasionally living together with him. He wasn’t married, so there was no one to accuse or demean either of us. For some time, life was easy and pleasant that way.

“But when his visa expired, Ravindra had to return to India — he couldn’t find a new job there in time. I told him to stay with me until he got work.

“But tell me, Swaroopa… where does the Indian male mindset ever truly go? Ravindra felt small depending on me for his living. He asked me to come with him to India, to marry him there.

“I… have no liking for India. My conviction was strong — that the values there exist only to suffocate a person. I respected and practiced the greatness, freedom, and equality of American society. I wanted to merge into it completely.

“And yet… my upbringing in India planted its hesitations in me like thorns. Ravindra knew that if I returned to India, sooner or later I’d be pulled into its nets — caste, religion, social and cultural rules. I told him that directly.

“He proposed: ‘Let’s stay somewhere far away from everyone — in Delhi.’

“I said, ‘It’s not so simple. In India, wherever you are, sooner or later relationships and social circles pull you back in. That’s why I’m not coming.’

“Ravindra was sensitive, tender-hearted. He loved me deeply. I liked him very much — the thought of life without him pained me. But still, I didn’t want to go to India. And I didn’t want him depending on me for his living. Besides, he had to send money home.

“He said sadly, ‘If I stay with you, I can live — but I can’t send to my family.’

“Then he offered another proposal: ‘Jessie! Change your mind. Come to India. I’ll wait for you for two years. If after that you still refuse, if you reject my love, then I’ll think about marriage with someone else.’

“Jessie — that was his pet name for me. He thought that in two years, loneliness would surely change my mind. But he didn’t have the nightmare memories my experiences had given me.

“I told him clearly, ‘After two years, go ahead and marry.’ He’d call me and share every detail of the arranged marriage meetings. He said, ‘No one knows you like I do. Your decision is final.’

“From the proposals he sent over the internet, I spoke to the girls myself on the phone and suggested one match. He married her.

“I was happy — happy that Ravindra had respected me so much. Look at the difference, Swaroopa — on one side, Satyanand, who exploited my innocence and blackmailed me in the name of love. On the other, Ravindra, who lived by the highest human values in love and friendship.

“I even sent gifts for his wedding by courier. Our friendship continued — even without the old romance or intimacy. Tell me — is that possible in India?”

She smiled faintly, then said, “Jessie! Even if you find someone you love there, marry him. Don’t just stay unmarried, grieving that our love couldn’t become marriage.”

I told him sharply that if he kept bringing up my marriage, I’d stop answering his calls. Ravindra respected my word. The subject never came up again.

By then, even my parents had stopped asking me about marriage — I had told them long ago that I wouldn’t discuss it.

For some years, my life in the USA went smoothly. Even without a green card, my job was secure.

Then my mother called — my father’s health wasn’t good. I didn’t believe it at first, but when she said he’d had a brain stroke and could no longer move his limbs or speak properly, I spoke to him via webcam… and I had to accept the truth.

As days passed, my mother’s calls were filled with tears. I have immense respect for my mother — after all, who else has stood by me so that I could grow freely, live happily?

I was torn. At the same time, the solitude of life in the USA began to weigh on me. Ravindra came to mind often. I wondered if, back then, I should have gone to India as he’d asked. But I knew that if I went back, sooner or later, marriage would again become a topic — and I’d have to decide how to handle it.

I’d heard that some men and women in India were living together without marriage — cohabitation. That single women were raising children alone while working. And that society was beginning to respect them. That made me happy. Yes — everyone’s life is their own. Two people can remain friends, meet with love and intimacy from time to time. That’s a marriage of companionship. I liked that idea.

It seemed that, though late and small, the winds of new values and culture were reaching India too. And at such a time… I had to return to India.”

“That’s how I returned to India,” Saroja said. “I found a job and settled in Bangalore. I brought my parents there to live with me.

Not long after, my father passed away. We performed his last rites in Bangalore itself. My mother stayed on with me, and we — mother and daughter — began living a peaceful life there.

When Shashidhar came into my life, my mother, Anasuya, welcomed him like her own son-in-law. She was happy, thinking the two of us would unite, even if only through a registration marriage. She hoped for that.

I don’t know what happened — but after some time, Shashidhar was gone from my life, and Vivek began coming instead. My mother accepted that too, thinking perhaps he would stay. She respected him like a son, a son-in-law.

But Vivek valued his career above love or marriage. Chasing promotions, he left Bangalore. For a while, I returned to solitude.

I spoke to Ravindra often on the phone during that time — mixing many topics together. I told him about Shashidhar’s betrayal, about Vivek’s careerism, and sometimes I cried.

But I noticed something — his responses as a true friend were becoming fewer. His marriage wasn’t ideal. Eventually, he said we should divorce our respective lives and be together.

I felt it was better to remain only friends. It didn’t seem right to separate people who were adjusting and making a life together. If he had already been divorced, I would have considered it. So to me, his proposal felt like a ‘time-barred’ one.”

She paused, then continued, her voice quieter.

“After some months, my thoughts began to change. What have I achieved in life? What should I achieve? Why should I live? Is life only this? Is there nothing else? Should I just keep making friends with new people? What if they stay for some time and leave?

How long can one change partners the way one changes jobs? What have I truly gained from this so-called freedom? What does marriage offer that I don’t have? Is my freedom real freedom? Is the protection in family life real protection?

And anyway — once middle age comes, where do marriage matches come from in India? Especially for a woman who has lived in cohabitation — how easy is it to find a good, understanding husband?”

She sighed. “I thought about all this in many ways.

Distant hills look smooth… but when you come close, they are all ridges, valleys. It’s not only Ravindra — so many people I knew, their lives weren’t truly happy. Marriages full of quarrels every day.

Why such forced marriages? It’s like being locked in a prison, told to live this way forever.

So I couldn’t decide.

And in a moment of weakness… in a wave of depression… I attempted suicide. If my mother Anasuya hadn’t noticed in time, you wouldn’t be talking to me today. I wouldn’t be here as the CEO of a company.”

“After I recovered physically from the suicide attempt,” Saroja said, “and regained my mental strength, I decided I would spend the rest of my life doing something good. I wanted work that would give me good company, that would keep me engaged, that would feel meaningful.

I was willing to invest my financial resources generously into it. That’s how I became close to many people through friendship. I became part of their lives, an intimate confidante.

I saw the disturbances in their families, understood the causes like a mother, like Oprah Winfrey herself. I counselled them, showed them how to live happily again.

At the same time, I noticed the insecurity in some wives — afraid I might ‘attract’ their husbands. It made me smile inwardly. Still, it hurt to realise that even another woman would suspect an unmarried woman. Over time, I grew used to it. I set boundaries for myself so as not to invite such suspicions.

From the Buddha to Jiddu Krishnamurti, great thinkers and meditators have said: don’t cling to the past, let it go, live in the present. That idea deeply attracted me. I studied it in depth.

Growing that way, I began to bring light into the lives of others who had faced hardships like mine. I encouraged them, like Oprah Winfrey, to marry without fear. When problems came, I helped them solve them through counselling.

Now, no one knows my past. No one knows why I didn’t marry. Even if someone says I’ve been with someone, people don’t make a big deal of it. I have grown into a personality of dignity and stature.

All these are memories I have forgotten — or chosen to forget. And you… you jabbed and prodded until you stirred up the mud at the bottom of clear water, making it murky again.”

Her eyes sharpened. “You know I’m now the CEO of an organisation. Many men would come forward to make me their first relationship, even now. But I’m not thinking about that. There’s no greater goal for me than shaping lives like yours.

The desire for motherhood — I let go of that long ago, when I was in America. I could have children now if I wanted. But I choose to devote my life, my personality, to the growth of this organisation and the welfare of people like you.

My realistic outlook on life… you cannot accept it. So you twist it into ‘confusion,’ into accusations of having no values. You’re the one confusing me, not the other way around.

And then — you fear I might be a lesbian. Do you know? The very questions you asked made me wonder if you were one. See, Swaroopa — when we don’t speak openly, misunderstandings grow.

When you came to her for help, your duty was to tell her everything, to take her suggestions with respect. Not to wound her.

You don’t know how to live joyfully! You don’t even want to. You can’t take inspiration from those who are happy. You only know how to turn their joy into sadness.

That’s why Madam Saroja, who has shaped so many lives, ended up weeping because of you.

I was angry. I thought, ‘She’ll never change.’ But still, I couldn’t abandon you. I also couldn’t bring you close.

And here you are — you hurt the very CEO who wanted to help you with an elevated heart.”

Her voice softened. “Swaroopa… imagination is one thing, reality another.

“Swaroopa! you think Madam Saroja still lives in dreams? Perhaps I think so too. But for her, it’s not a dream. Not an ideal. It is her reality. We are the ones calling it ‘imagination.’

Her mother is proud of her even now. That’s a mother’s heart — love beyond all values, unconditional forgiveness.

Now tell me — what are values? Which is greater — a society whose values give people the chance to win back their lives no matter how they’ve fallen? Or a society whose values make people suffer all their lives for one mistake?

Swaroopa, when we force our own values on someone else and see their personality only through that frame — isn’t that just looking through our own tinted glasses?

Her past is your present. Understanding Madam means understanding yourself.

The past is past. There’s no gain in reviving it to suffer again. Forget it. Win your life back. Your life is yours.

Come back to America! India doesn’t suit you. Here, you won’t find the chance to free yourself from old mindsets and values again. Only in the USA can you do that. If you meet someone like Oprah Winfrey, you will escape this problem, this depression.

But… I leave it to your judgment, your decision. Will you stay in India? Or return to the USA? That is up to you.”