My dearest A,

When I became pregnant with you, my third baby, people had a lot to say. “Why a third child? Ah oh, we get it now - your first two are girls, so you must want a son.”

Such comments bothered me.

As a young woman in her early thirties, it had seemed to me that the country was progressing well, and that people were moving to value their daughters. At IIM Calcutta, where I studied management, the girls in my batch were competent and spirited - each supported by their families. In Mumbai where we moved for work, women were respected in a way that never happened in Delhi.

But now it seemed nothing had changed. At Mumbai’s Breach Candy hospital, the nurses proffered their commiserations when your elder sisters were born -”Next time it will be a boy,” they promised.

“I am happy, I’ve always wanted girls”, I’d say to them. But my words seemed to go unheard.

Then you were born and we had our own Little Women family. I stopped paying heed to the consolers and the commiserators. Three little girls growing up made for a lively home, constant chit chat, arguments and laughter. Your very talkative father sometimes grumbled; he never managed to get in a word edgeways! We read everything - traditional Enid Blyton’s where Julian and Dick talked strategy while their sister Anne helped make the beds, we read books about explorers like Amelia Earhart and mathematicians like Ada Lovelace. You three played football and learnt classical singing and dancing.

Now, as you step into your mid-twenties—working your first job, living independently—you’ve faced landlords who refused to rent a house to you because you were not married. You’ve encountered people who have tried to cross boundaries. And yet, you’ve held your ground. I am proud of your courage in calling out injustice, of how fiercely you stand against sexism.

In the years ahead, as you........

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