Dangers Of A Single Story

If you were to ask me to close my eyes and imagine a woman from a rural Rajasthan, I would perhaps envision somebody wearing a ghaghra, decorated with beautiful embroidery and mirror work. It is perhaps black in color. Along with it, she will wear a red choli that covers most of her torso, and a bandhani odhni, which she will drape over her head and shoulders. Her face is not visible under her ghunghat. Her white and silver jewellery will twinkle under the sun- Thick big kadas on her feet, bangles, and a large nose ring.

She will be holding a matka on her head, skilfully balancing it as she walks back from the village water source (perhaps a well), or she will carry a basket filled with crops she has just harvested from the fields-sweeping the roads with a broom. Sometimes, she will be holding a walking stick, guiding her goats or cattle through the arid lands, or a small bundle of firewood collected for cooking at home.

In her TED Talk The Danger of a Single Story, Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie addresses how limited narratives, often driven by stereotypes, can dangerously shape our perceptions of people, cultures, and entire societies. These stories are frequently based on stereotypes, which, as Adichie points out, are not necessarily untrue, but are incomplete. They create a distorted view by focusing on only one aspect of a people or culture, ignoring the diversity and richness of their experiences. In her TED Talk, Adichie recounts her experience with her American college roommate, who had a narrow view of Africa. The roommate assumed that Adichie, being African, must have lived in a rural village, struggled with poverty, and listened to tribal music. This was very unlike the life Adichie had lived.

I too made a grave mistake, not too unlike Adichie’s roommate.

But when I was in the village, I met Chitra didi*. We were exploring the village when I encountered her. She was sweeping the road outside her house and we stopped to get directions from her. After some small talk, she mentioned that she is a teacher in a school in the nearby village and that she had received great job offers post her graduation but chose not to pursue them to fulfill her dream of teaching and enabling the next generation. It was quite clear. She was not just a passive participant in her household; but an active agent of choice. Didi took active interest in local and state politics, had learnt how to invest money, and loved working in her office place.

She had managed to slowly increasing her family’s income and elevate their status within the village.

I realized that the image I had held—the rural woman walking with her matka—was not inaccurate, but it was incomplete. Yes, Chitra didi would fetch water or sweep when necessary, but her life also revolved around her students, navigating the challenges of a workplace and dealing with the co-ordination of a daily commute. Regardless of the odds, she resolved to educate not only herself but also ensure that young girls in her community were not forced to drop out of school due to early marriages or familial responsibilities. It was the story of a strong-willed woman who, with great determination, was trying to achieve financial independence.

This was a far cry from the quiet, modest woman I had envisioned, hidden behind a veil, passively fulfilling domestic duties.

Yet another woman I encountered in Madar was Suman*. Meeting Suman was a chance encounter. We had heard of a lovely lake close to the village and wanted to see if we could spend some time near the lake after our day was done. Suman approached us, curious about what we were doing and where we were going. She was young, just touching her twenties, dressed in a crisp black T-shirt and light blue skinny jeans.

I asked her if she knew where we could buy some jewellery. She said she knew someone and guided us to a shop. She introduced us to traditional jewellery of the Rajput community. To explain the attire better, she showed us some reels of her and other women she knew in the attire. I was surprised that she had a phone and the liberty to make reels and dance on social media. Noticing the surprise on my face, Suman quickly laughed and said,

“Time hota hai toh yeh hi karte hai, ekdum influencer ki tarah” (This is what I do when I have time, just like an influencer)

An influencer was not part of the image I had in mind when I envisioned the women of Madar. I did not see women having access to technology, to agency and to choice. But the women I had met, whether they were building businesses or advocating for education or creating content on social media — revealed the richness and diversity of their lives.

They were balancing tradition with modern aspirations, something that my single-story perception had completely overlooked. They embodied both the past and the future of rural Rajasthan, navigating a complex social structure where patriarchy, caste, and economic opportunity intersected in intricate ways. As I reflect on my time in Madar, Badgaon, it’s clear that the women I met—whether teachers, entrepreneurs, or social media users—embodied lives far more complex than the singular narrative I once envisioned.

Challenging the single story is crucial, not just for understanding others but also for how we engage with them. Adichie reminds us that rejecting oversimplified narratives opens the door to a richer, more empathetic view of the world. My experiences taught me that behind every cultural symbol, like the ghaghra or the matka, are women whose lives defy simple categorization.

*Names changed to protect identity