Growing Up, I Rejected Cooking in the Name of Feminism—But What Did I Miss in the Process?
My first feminist rebellion occurred in fifth grade. While enrolled at an all-girlsâ school in a North India town, I was presented with a mandatory assignment to embroider a dining table runner with crimson cross-stitched lilies. I loathed threading the minuscule eye of the needle, and the teacher tsk-tsked at the back of my sample riddled with tangles. A quick check-in with the neighborhood boys confirmed my suspicionâthere were no needlework assignments at the adjoining all-boysâ school. So I refused to embroider, becoming a 10-year-old renegade in the parochial hinterlands ...