Ninu walked into my consulting room with a burst of energy.
She surveyed the space thoroughly, then turned her gaze to me. The whole time her mother was present, Ninu didn’t speak a word. Her mother, obviously upset, asked her worry:
“She dislikes me anymore, I don’t think.”
Ninu overheard her. She laughed.
As soon as her mother left, it felt like a load went off Ninu’s shoulders.
Are you my mother’s friend?” she asked.
I said, “No.”
“Then why did she bring me to you?”
I replied gently, “She feels you don’t talk to her anymore. She thought someone neutral might be able to understand you better.”
Ninu rolled her eyes.
“You think you’ll understand me? If I start talking, you’ll be breathless.”
I smiled. “Let’s start with just talking.”
I reassured her nothing would go to her mother unless it was absolutely necessary and set the boundaries of confidentiality.
She stared me directly into my eye and said, “Spare me whatever it is—Leena does not intimidate me. That’s my mom. I get so angry at her. She thinks she’s all that—so beautiful.”
(Leena was, in fact, quite attractive. Ninu, in contrast, was darker-skinned, with more ordinary features.)
“She goes to the beauty parlour every week. My dad? He’s a big shot—makes shady money. And then these two preach to me about truth, discipline, studies. Seriously? They didn’t even study much themselves. I scored higher marks in tenth grade than both of them ever did. And they’re the ones giving me lectures?”
Ninu’s words poured out, fast and furious.
“They used to worship my uncle’s son—Montu. ‘Look at Montu! So well-mannered. So decent. Such good looks.’
Well, guess what? They hate Montu now. Know why?”
She paused. Her eyes shone brightly with mischief.
“Because I made him my boyfriend. That’s right. They threatened him. Sent him off to study in Ahmedabad. Poor guy doesn’t even pick up my calls now. Doesn’t talk to me anymore.”
She wiped her face angrily. Her voice began to shake.
“Now I’ll show them. I’ll teach them both a lesson.”
Tears finally overwhelmed her rage. Gently, I asked her what she wanted to do. She did not hesitate. “I want to go. I want to get away from both of them.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because since I was little, all they’ve done is criticize me. ‘Sit and study.’ ‘Don’t hang out with this one.’ And Leena—oh, how she pretends to be so goody-goody, but when Papa is home, all she does is complain about me. And Papa bellows and hollers. And all day, he keeps comparing me to Montu. Or to Rinki from next door. He doesn’t know how many guys Rinki’s been around. And Montu’s no angel either.”
She continued without pause.
“They pretend to be so perfect.” But Papa dodges taxes. He gives money to people to spend on his behalf. Leena gossips at kitty parties and observes vrats (fasts). She gossips about my aunt behind her back. And yet, they call me the problem?”
Her pain was palpable. And so was her clarity. Behind the storm of emotions, there were patterns—clear signs of a deep, long-standing disconnect. After that conversation with Ninu, the underlying picture emerged:
- She had been silently observing her parents’ double standards for years.
- Constant comparisons had eroded her confidence.
- Subtle messaging had made her feel inferior about her looks.
- Making Montu her boyfriend was her way of pushing back.
- The rebellion wasn’t sudden—it was a slow build-up of being unseen and unheard.
Comparison, more than anything, had done lasting damage.
