18-04-2026, 08:59 PM
Chapter 3: Sisters' Taunts
It all started the day my three elder sisters got married one by one to rich, well-settled men.
The first sister married a software engineer who owned a flat in Koramangala. The second got married to a businessman who had his own textile shop and a big house in Jayanagar. The third sister’s wedding was the grandest — her husband was a doctor with his own clinic and a luxurious apartment in Indiranagar.
Every wedding was celebrated with great pomp. There were hundreds of guests, expensive silk sarees, heavy gold jewellery, lavish food, and shiny cars parked outside the marriage hall. My sisters looked like princesses in their bridal attire, smiling proudly as they stood beside their rich husbands.
I attended all three weddings wearing the same simple saree I owned, standing quietly in a corner. People would look at me and then at my sisters and whisper. I could clearly hear their words: “Poor Sudha… she chose a rowdy and ruined her life.” “Look at her sisters… all settled so well. And she is stuck in the slum.”
After each wedding, when we returned to our small single-room house, the contrast hit me hard. My sisters now lived in big, air-conditioned houses with servants, cars, and comfortable lives. They would send photos of their new homes, their shopping trips, and their vacations. Every time I saw those photos, something inside me burned with pain and shame.
Here I was — living in a cramped room where we slept on the floor, cooked in one corner, and bathed in a tiny bathroom with a broken door. My husband Rajesh would come home tired and drunk, bringing whatever little money he earned from rowdy work, while I struggled to feed our three sons properly.
I started feeling very low. Every night, as I lay on the floor beside my sleeping husband, the same thoughts haunted me:
Why did my sisters get such good lives while I got this?
Was choosing love really worth losing everything?
Will my sons also grow up in this poverty and shame?
That feeling of being seen as the “failure” of the family slowly grew into a deep ache inside my chest. I decided I could no longer live like this. I wanted to change our lives. I wanted my husband to quit rowdy work. I wanted my sons to grow up rich and respected.
This was the beginning of everything.
One evening, the news spread like wildfire in our slum.
Reddy Sir had given a gas agency to another rowdy named Muthu, who was just like my husband — same background, same level of loyalty. Within a few months, Muthu’s life completely changed. He bought a new bike, started wearing better clothes, and his wife began wearing gold earrings and silk sarees. Their children started going to a decent college. Everyone in the lane was talking about how that one gas agency had become a cash cow, bringing in steady, heavy money every single month.
That night, I could not sleep.
I kept thinking — if Muthu could become rich with just one gas agency, then why not us? If my husband got even one agency, we would become richer than not just my three sisters, but richer than my entire family — both my father’s side and mother’s side. We could move out of this tiny single room, buy a proper house, give our sons good education, and finally live with respect.
The next morning, I told my husband firmly.
"Rajesh, you should go and talk to Reddy Sir today. Ask him for one gas agency. Muthu got one and see how his life has changed. That agency is like a cash cow. If you get it, we will become richer than all my sisters and even my entire family. I will help you run it. I am educated. I can manage the accounts and everything from behind. You just need to get it."
Rajesh listened to me and nodded. He genuinely wanted to make me happy. That afternoon he went to meet Reddy Sir.
When he returned in the evening, his face was calm and accepting.
"I asked Reddy Sir for the gas agency," he told me. "But he smiled and said the money he gives me every month from the rowdy work is more than enough for us. He said he will take care of our sons’ education too if needed. So I agreed and told him I am happy with whatever he gives."
He smiled at me innocently, kissed my forehead, and went to take a bath.
But I stood there burning inside.
I knew the truth. Reddy Sir was giving gas agencies to his favourites and making them rich. I also knew that I was smart and educated. If I got my hands on even one gas agency, I could run it quietly behind Rajesh’s back — handling the customers, the accounts, the deliveries, everything. I could turn it into a goldmine for our family.
My husband was too simple and loyal to fight for it. But I was not.
That night, as Rajesh slept peacefully beside me, I made up my mind.
I would go and meet Reddy Sir myself.
It all started the day my three elder sisters got married one by one to rich, well-settled men.
The first sister married a software engineer who owned a flat in Koramangala. The second got married to a businessman who had his own textile shop and a big house in Jayanagar. The third sister’s wedding was the grandest — her husband was a doctor with his own clinic and a luxurious apartment in Indiranagar.
Every wedding was celebrated with great pomp. There were hundreds of guests, expensive silk sarees, heavy gold jewellery, lavish food, and shiny cars parked outside the marriage hall. My sisters looked like princesses in their bridal attire, smiling proudly as they stood beside their rich husbands.
I attended all three weddings wearing the same simple saree I owned, standing quietly in a corner. People would look at me and then at my sisters and whisper. I could clearly hear their words: “Poor Sudha… she chose a rowdy and ruined her life.” “Look at her sisters… all settled so well. And she is stuck in the slum.”
After each wedding, when we returned to our small single-room house, the contrast hit me hard. My sisters now lived in big, air-conditioned houses with servants, cars, and comfortable lives. They would send photos of their new homes, their shopping trips, and their vacations. Every time I saw those photos, something inside me burned with pain and shame.
Here I was — living in a cramped room where we slept on the floor, cooked in one corner, and bathed in a tiny bathroom with a broken door. My husband Rajesh would come home tired and drunk, bringing whatever little money he earned from rowdy work, while I struggled to feed our three sons properly.
I started feeling very low. Every night, as I lay on the floor beside my sleeping husband, the same thoughts haunted me:
Why did my sisters get such good lives while I got this?
Was choosing love really worth losing everything?
Will my sons also grow up in this poverty and shame?
That feeling of being seen as the “failure” of the family slowly grew into a deep ache inside my chest. I decided I could no longer live like this. I wanted to change our lives. I wanted my husband to quit rowdy work. I wanted my sons to grow up rich and respected.
This was the beginning of everything.
One evening, the news spread like wildfire in our slum.
Reddy Sir had given a gas agency to another rowdy named Muthu, who was just like my husband — same background, same level of loyalty. Within a few months, Muthu’s life completely changed. He bought a new bike, started wearing better clothes, and his wife began wearing gold earrings and silk sarees. Their children started going to a decent college. Everyone in the lane was talking about how that one gas agency had become a cash cow, bringing in steady, heavy money every single month.
That night, I could not sleep.
I kept thinking — if Muthu could become rich with just one gas agency, then why not us? If my husband got even one agency, we would become richer than not just my three sisters, but richer than my entire family — both my father’s side and mother’s side. We could move out of this tiny single room, buy a proper house, give our sons good education, and finally live with respect.
The next morning, I told my husband firmly.
"Rajesh, you should go and talk to Reddy Sir today. Ask him for one gas agency. Muthu got one and see how his life has changed. That agency is like a cash cow. If you get it, we will become richer than all my sisters and even my entire family. I will help you run it. I am educated. I can manage the accounts and everything from behind. You just need to get it."
Rajesh listened to me and nodded. He genuinely wanted to make me happy. That afternoon he went to meet Reddy Sir.
When he returned in the evening, his face was calm and accepting.
"I asked Reddy Sir for the gas agency," he told me. "But he smiled and said the money he gives me every month from the rowdy work is more than enough for us. He said he will take care of our sons’ education too if needed. So I agreed and told him I am happy with whatever he gives."
He smiled at me innocently, kissed my forehead, and went to take a bath.
But I stood there burning inside.
I knew the truth. Reddy Sir was giving gas agencies to his favourites and making them rich. I also knew that I was smart and educated. If I got my hands on even one gas agency, I could run it quietly behind Rajesh’s back — handling the customers, the accounts, the deliveries, everything. I could turn it into a goldmine for our family.
My husband was too simple and loyal to fight for it. But I was not.
That night, as Rajesh slept peacefully beside me, I made up my mind.
I would go and meet Reddy Sir myself.
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