I was sitting in Shoppers Stop waiting for my sister to emerge from behind one of those many doors of the fitting rooms that held confused women. Contemplating blue over pink, long over short, this over that and that over another, their minds can never settle on one until the clock cries impatience. Behind one door was a young woman, shopping all alone, who had a confident air and bought whatever she thought suited her best. Her fat purse and constant work calls that disturbed her shopping spree told me she was independent. May be there is enough feminism in the air now and its working. As I was musing over my endless women empowerment ideas, two doors away from my individual shopper there were three middle aged women. Three middle aged women in the same trial room, doing what? That too with open doors…Oh oh oh … In all the noise and lack of space in the small square room I missed out on the poor little girl crushed in between the three. A red party wear was stuck mid way covering half her face as she started squealing in discomfort. One woman shushed her and another said she is going to look lovely. After quite a war the dress was on the girl. She said she hated red, she wanted blue in the short frock. Nevertheless, they convinced her so desperately despite all her efforts to get rid of the long red princess frock. Then came the ultimate tactic. “That aunty at the counter has billed it. If u do this they’ll take all our money and lock you up right here.” The child was successfully silenced and the frock bought. When the successful women left to bill what they loved for their “little princess”, she came out in her short white cotton frocks. She hopped past me like a butterfly and got over her little trauma in the trial room with the smile she flashed at me. I was thinking, I know where I must start feminism from.