The film crew followed Olivia and her entourage as they moved through town. Navya carried a basket with the pads wrapped inside. Olivia carried Jaanvi, delighted the little girl continued to allow it.
Ms. Vanya took the lead. Everyone seemed to know and like Ms. Vanya, and Olivia completely understood why. She felt a strong connection to the older woman, deepened by their working together on getting this new business off the ground. Her gratitude for the support only grew as they made their way through town. The film crew and the presence of foreigners in general raised some concern and made a few women downright skittish. But mostly the women were willing to hear them out, and she knew that was entirely due to Ms. Vanya’s presence. Doors opened to them that would have remained firmly shut thanks to the woman’s intervention and everyone’s trust in her.
As they passed Meena’s house, Olivia shook her head and clicked her tongue, disappointment, frustration, and anger at the situation swirling into an ugly emotional cocktail that rolled around in her stomach and made her queasy. She wanted to march up to the door, take Meena by the hand, and lead her away. But she couldn’t. That was Meena’s home and at the end of the day, she had to be able to return to it and live in peace. She could offer Meena a job, income, financial security. But in this culture, no woman could cut all ties to her family. Meena would need their approval, especially the male members, before she could agree. Olivia hated that but understood it.
And suddenly she also understood why her mother had not immediately acted to throw out her abusive father. The hard anger slowly calcifying inside her softened a bit, as she recognized the issue was not as black and white as she thought. Women who came to depend on men for support, whether it be emotional or financial, needed that element in their lives. Her mother must have grappled with the ugly truth that she’d married an abusive man and struggled with what to do about that. Olivia wondered what their lives would have been like if Mom had chosen a generous and loving man who doted on his wife and daughter instead of one who beat on them. But they would never know. That wasn’t what happened. She also wished her mother had found the strength sooner to get rid of him. But she hadn’t. Though her mother’s situation hadn’t been exactly the same as the women she was trying to help, Olivia could see that, without family to help her, her mother had no one else. She’d had to maintain a peace of sorts until prepared to throw her father out and make a life without him.
And if she hadn’t been raised in that toxic environment, would she have married Scott? Would she have been blind to the insidious control he exerted over her, as Tisha had pointed out? She didn’t want to believe she’d married an abuser, as determined as she’d been to find a loving man and enjoy a happy marriage. Over and over, she’d told herself she would not repeat her mother’s mistakes. Scott didn’t hurt her physically, but he’d squashed everything that was her. And she’d let him.
Ms. Vanya called out to a cluster of women on the street, possibly en route to the market. “Hello, sisters! We have something to show you.”
Curiosity drew them in, but at the sight of pads they drew back. Every one of them averted her eyes while Olivia explained Navya had made these by hand. She used important-sounding business phrases like “locally produced” and “completely sanitary” and “support your hometown’s economy” and yet didn’t seem to impress any of them as she expected. In fact, they stared at the ground or the sky, much as Mukesh had predicted. They also stole furtive glances at the cameras, clearly discomfited by their presence. And perhaps by the men who operated them.
She gestured to Navya to pick up the conversation and make a sales pitch, but the young woman looked as if she wished a hole would open up in the ground and swallow her. At a loss, Olivia reached into the basket and held out pads to each of them. If she couldn’t sell them, perhaps at least she could convince the women to examine them. But no, the horrified women leaned away and were clearly done with the conversation.
“We’re also looking for more women to work the machine, making and selling pads. It pays well,” she ended lamely as the women sidled away.
This wouldn’t do. What good was a pad machine that sat idle with no one to work it and no one to buy the pads? Mukesh successfully set up machines in other small towns, resulting in thriving businesses, employment opportunities, and improved female health. His model worked. But not for her. What was she doing wrong? Was every pursuit she undertook doomed to failure? Mukesh probably regretted working with her. After all, he’d assured her clearly and repeatedly that he stayed at each site until an entire cadre of women had been successfully trained, not only in production operations but also care and maintenance of the machinery.
“Madam,” he’d told her, “no more difficult than a sewing machine. All parts on the outside. Easy to repair.”
Sure. Easy. If you could find women interested in learning. But with her at the helm, they might as well all be on the Titanic, blissfully unaware she steered them toward disaster. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. What would she do if no one ever came to work? Navya simply could not operate the entire process alone. Ms. Vanya depended on her to make this happen for her daughter. Every eye looked to her for their next direction. She couldn’t let all these people down, but she didn’t know what to do. She blew out a deep breath. Ms. Vanya patted her.
She sighed. “We’re getting nowhere. Let’s go back and rethink our strategy.”
Noah lowered his camera. “Bummer.”
The single word got under her skin more than any lengthy criticism he could have mustered. Flippant and self-centered, he somehow managed to make this all about him and his documentary. He didn’t care about her investment, how much she stood to lose, or the women and girls whose lives she hoped to improve. He was bummed he didn’t get any good footage. She could hear it in his tone. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit back the harsh words she longed to hurl at him.
The guy was starting to remind her of Scott, self-centered and completely assured of his amazingness. She’d spent so much time wondering what Scott had seen in her and questioning if she was good enough for him or could measure up to him and his accomplishments. Now as she saw him reflected in Noah, she wondered instead what she had ever seen in him.
She turned on her heel and headed back to the school and housing compound, utterly discouraged.
But one young woman from the last group they’d spoken with dashed back and snatched a pad from the basket. Startled, Olivia blinked as the woman hurried away with it, tucking it out of sight.
Well, okay. Not what she intended or expected, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that spread over her face.
She stayed up into the early morning hours catching up on tutoring and brainstorming. Somewhere around midnight she decided the first change she would make when approaching the women in town was to bar Noah and Jack from accompanying them. Emma could record, and as surreptitiously as possible. The more she thought about it, the more she realized no men could accompany them, not even Chris and Mukesh, even though they weren’t offensive in any way. Local women simply could not discuss such intimate and personal matters in mixed company.
Around one in the morning, as she stretched and rubbed her eyes, finally finished with the last essay she needed to proof, she decided to host a group presentation. Door to door, approaching the women individually seemed to catch them off guard. The large group of them could certainly be misinterpreted as ganging up on and pressuring local women. If she brought everyone together, so that the local women could find solidarity in numbers and familiarity, then have Ms. Vanya and Navya present the innovative product and the reason it would improve their lives, then perhaps no one would feel threatened. After all, the closest thing they’d had to success resulted from the cluster of three women, when one felt emboldened enough to take a pad.
And that led her to the third idea: free samples. She had a plan, finally—a presentation, followed by a side-by-side demonstration comparing their far superior product to local options, then distribution of free samples to every woman in town (or at least whoever would come listen) to try for herself. Yes, she would rather the women pay for the pads than hand them out free, but she needed to convince women to take a chance. Besides, she remembered as a child the thrill of receiving a free sample when she accompanied her mother to the store. A free thing of her very own had always made the day exciting.
In for a penny, in for a pound, as Delilah would say. Chris was right. Delilah spouted cliches at least as often as literary quotes.
The next day, she caught Mrs. Gupta between classes and explained about the meeting she hoped to host. The school headmistress already had Mukesh and a British film crew staying on site for the project. She seemed to deliberate a bit.
“It will be educational,” she reminded the woman. Unclear who exactly Mrs. Gupta was accountable to, she hoped none of her activities could be deemed a dubious use of the facility.
“Yes. Okay. Meena can help. She has taught here. She can speak to the children. Give them personal hygiene lectures.”
She hadn’t considered that. But a health presentation to the female students would be beneficial as well. Perhaps if they planted the idea early, it would not feel so strange to the girls when they started their cycles. They could present the pads and introduce them to the idea and explain why they were a better option. Maybe someday, the general attitude would shift. She beamed at Mrs. Gupta. “That’s a great idea! Thank you!”
She worked every minute she could spare with Navya in the little building. She learned to make pads and soon could produce them almost as efficiently as Navya. Quality control would not be an issue—Navya, a perfectionist, crafted perfect pads every time, and even scrutinized Olivia’s to ensure they met the required standard. Mukesh laughed and clapped the first time she carefully turned over a pad Olivia produced, eyeing it for defects. She laughed along. The young woman taking such a strong stake and caring so much was the best possible outcome she could hope for. Mukesh continued to praise Navya, about her work ethic and her excellent craftsmanship, and even with a veil hiding half of her face, Olivia could tell she smiled, glowing from the praise.
One afternoon after classes, a particularly warm and humid day, she hurried into the building and discovered Navya had removed her veil, presumably to breathe more easily, and worked bare faced.
At the sound of her footsteps, Navya spun and gasped, then fumbled to replace her covering with trembling hands.
She stopped but held out her hand to the younger woman. “No, please. Please don’t cover up. Not for me.”
“But I am ugly.” Navya slumped forward, her shoulders shaking.
She crossed the room and hugged the woman. “You are not ugly! You are talented and brilliant and you have the sweetest daughter in the world. You are beautiful. Anyone who can’t see that is blind. And anyone who tells you you’re ugly is a jerk and completely wrong.”
The woman’s hand drifted to her scarred cheek. “People stare. They whisper.”
“Let them stare. Who cares?” Fury fired her once again. Her hands balled into fists. “Your husband, the person who hurt you, he is ugly. He is ugly inside and out, and I wish I could punch him in the face for what he did to you.”
Navya cracked a smile. “You would hit him?”
“I would hit him!” She held up her fists and scowled.
Navya giggled, but tears coursed down her cheeks. Olivia threw her arms around the woman again. It was her turn to laugh and cry. Nothing she could say would take the pain away. But she could hold Navya and let her know she cared.
Navya swiped the tears off her cheeks. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She looked her directly in the eye. “From now on, don’t wear the veil in here. I like to see your face and your smile. Don’t cover up, okay?”
Navya nodded.
Chris walked in. Navya jumped but Olivia squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. You don’t need the veil.”
She stared intently at Chris, who looked momentarily confused, but then the pieces seemed to click together. “Hey, Navya. How’s it going?” He lifted his chin at her in greeting and remained completely chill like, no big deal. Exactly as she’d hoped. His emotional intelligence rated through the roof. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to do and say. “Olivia, I came by to make sure you’re about ready for the big presentation.”
“Are you gonna help us make pads, Chris?” She grinned at him, moved by his unflagging support.
“Heck, yeah. If you need help, I’m your man. I told you this stuff doesn’t bother me.”
But it bothered Navya, who flushed and turned away, hurrying back to her machine.
“We’re on track to be ready. And we’re just packaging them in plain wrappers. Navya and her team will name their product line and design a wrapper once we have a few more people. Unless you just want to choose, Navya.”
The younger woman shook her head, refusing to look up from her work. But she hadn’t replaced her veil, which Olivia counted as a win.
“Later then. And thank you for the offer of help!”
“I’ll bring the car when you’re ready to move the samples to the school. Anything you need, just let me know.”
If only he could produce another six to eight women eager to work with Navya. Alas, that was not going to happen. But maybe the meeting would help. She could only hope.