Freedom as a work in progress

Twenty years on, the themes of A Married Woman'—women's lives, agency, marriage and sexuality—feel as relevant today

- Somak Ghoshal

When Manju Kapur published her second novel, A Married Woman, in 2003, India was a different country.

While the Vishaka guidelines had been laid down by the Supreme Court in 1997, the law protecting women from sexual harassment at the workplace would be enacted only in 2013. On its heels came the 2014 general election, a turning point in the nation’s political history. And it would take even longer to read down the draconian Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code that criminalised same-sex love.

Yet, re-reading the novel two decades later, one is struck by an uncanny feeling of déja vu. The three intersecting themes of A Married Woman—the lives of ordinary Indian women, the poison of communal politics and the trials of sexual freedom—feel as urgent and relevant today as they were 20 years ago. The irony assumes a sharper edge when you consider the setting of the story—in 1970s-80s India, reaching its tragic finale with the demolition of the Babri Masjid in 1992.

From the epic first sentence, Kapur establishes her narrative voice, a mix of droll cynicism and pathos: Aastha was brought up properly, as befits a woman, with large supplements of fear.” A critic in a national weekly took umbrage at Kapur’s portrayal of her protagonist, the titular married woman’, who is forever caught between the rebellion simmering inside her and a profound lassitude to act on her desires. Aastha may be the very antithesis of a fiery feminist but in her dilemma, Kapur acutely captured the plight of millions of women.