“So that story which you always tell me is true, right? You’ve always told me my story! No wonder I feel so connected to that girl whenever you talk about her…”

The make-up hid the bags under her eyes, but it couldn’t hide her lack of enthusiasm. She was tired of pretending that the work she was doing wasn’t affecting her.

Pihu, her 12 year old daughter had inherited her mom’s genes and had turned out to be a painter herself. But Anjani had broken the rules- the rules of social class, creed, caste and much more.

“Sia. You have had that gleam in your eyes.... a joy ...You found that one thing that made you more complete, like I do when I tie the ghungroos and dance! Today I can’t bear to look at the sadness in you.”

Who would have thought Aai, that petite homebody, could be so relentless. She was the unlikeliest of feminists, let alone be a gay right champion.