‘She’s such a Cassandra,’ Gehna had said to her father after Nina Rai had stormed off. ‘Don’t worry, Dad. This is the best thing you’ve ever—’

‘You’re still grounded for that Goa stunt. Either you’re at work, or here at home. Nowhere else.’

That was fine with Gehna. Carrying an extra eight or ten kilos around meant that she was often tired and perfectly happy to hang at home. Besides, things were nicer for her than they had been before. Druhi fussed over her constantly, making sure there were always pillows and comforters and an ottoman to put her feet up on everywhere she went. Varun had accepted with reasonable grace the family’s decision to stop cooking meat in the kitchen because the smell nauseated Gehna, and he had volunteered to drive her to each of her doctor’s appointments. Even Nina Rai’s insistence that Gehna should eat more—forever more, more, more—felt like being pampered.

The work situation wasn’t as peachy.

BeHive, which is what she had decided to name her co-working space, was in reasonably good shape to begin with as far as basic electricals and plumbing went. But after visiting dozens of online forums to solicit opinions from digital nomads on what worked for them, and what definitely didn’t, Gehna had a long to-do list. She had put in PVC foam board walls to separate the coffee lounge from the meeting rooms on the upper floor, and full-length windows on the lower floor to let in natural light. The entryways and exits were designed to coincide so that members would be forced to interact at least minimally as they arrived or left; without the social aspect of co-working, you might as well work in pyjamas from your bedroom, right?

Workstations had to have built-in socket points, and she tested the ergonomic chairs herself by sitting in one for five straight hours before ordering them. Two separate 4-Gbps Wi-Fi connections with range extenders, a commercial printer and a coffee machine—fresh ground beans only because pods were pure, indestructible evil—completed the essentials. As for the decor, Gehna favoured the friendly over the chic. Warm accent walls instead of exposed brick or concrete, quirky lamps instead of recessed lighting, sheer curtains instead of venetian blinds. Peace lily and aloe vera planters for that urban oasis feel that people living in big cities went bananas over.

Gehna didn’t mind the work, but none of it could happen without interacting with people—furniture vendors, techies, electricians, carpenters, plumbers, painters—and the people were all, without exception, men. Tradesmen who didn’t respond well to taking orders from a girl. They were always either surly, lecherous, or thought they knew better than Gehna. They didn’t want to discuss payment terms with her.

‘Isn’t there someone else at home?’ they would ask, their glances sliding off her swollen belly, basically meaning to ask, where is your husband, where is your father, your brother?

India is no country for young women. It upset Gehna to learn that the politics of gender were clear and present even in a transaction so apparently prosaic as hiring a dude to install your Edison lamp. She didn’t feel strong enough to go to battle every time she wanted any small thing done around BeHive. Luckily, the Yam was back from her internship in London and, most days, accompanied Gehna to the site.