“My Inner Feminist Dies…”
“… and I’m happy I can turn off my brain and run behind Papa.” — My teenage daughter at IGI Airport, New Delhi
My husband left for vacation three days before our 15-year-old daughter, Sivakami, and I flew out to join him.
On the way out, Sivakami and I were flying out of the five-departure-gate Ranchi airport.
Sivakami was proactive in keeping her Aadhar card ready, her boarding pass in hand and her luggage organized for the carry-on and check-in. As two women flying together, we were relaxed and alert.
On the way home, at the far larger Delhi airport, my husband took the lead in finding out our check-in lane number and departure gate.
We three were a bit late and he ran ahead to find out where we needed to be so we could get ahead in line, effectively dumbing down the procedure for the two of us trailing him.
Which is when my daughter said,
I enjoyed flying out of Ranchi independently and taking care of myself.
She paused to catch her breath and said,
“Still, I’m happy to let my inner feminist die. I can turn off my brain and happily and blankly run behind Papa.”
