From dukaan dreams to factory floors

As a child my dream was, neeche dukaan, upar makaan. 

Because the story of men around me- my grandfather, his siblings, my uncles, etc.- began with dukaan.

They migrated from Kutch to Mumbai in the 50s and 60s (absolutely grateful to them for this). They set up a dukaan here and the whole family stayed at the backside of the dukaan.

Whoever came from the village was welcomed here. They supported each other to set up their businesses and build homes. 

Although some of them ventured into steel factories. But the story starts with dukaan. 

Just a few days back, some random uncle met my mother on her visit to Kutch and told her he knew my grandfather and was a worker at his factory he had set up in Kutch. 

My grandfather and father have passed away. And never in my lifetime have I heard this story. My grandfather had a steel factory in Kutch.

But the Mumbai migration story starts with dukaan.

Now, we, the third generation of people who courageously migrated to Mumbai are all well-educated. All the women (including the daughter-in-laws) are working. There are many teachers in the family. 

I am secretly proud of the few daughters (including me) who are running factories. 

On thinking more about this, I realised that the ones that were criticised more during childhood, now have a boss chair to sit on. 

Going back to my dream of having a dukaan, yes I still want one. But not kirana dukaan. A bookstore. With a cafe.