We see this as self-care: Now—Dhingra ensuring that future—Dhingra can experience motherhood, if she chooses. We’re not asking the clichéd question: Why is this successful, self-made woman single? We are asking—because we’ve known her for a while—why no man has levelled up to match this woman, who is committed to self-growth, happiness, and leadership with a steely moral nerve.

Pooja Dhingra

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Let’s address the elephant in the room: It isn’t Dhingra’s body type, as much as aunties and uncles will have us believe. There are as many flavours of desire as there are people; the variety of erotica available is testament to this. Look around the mall, at your family wedding—we are a legion of curvy people—all sexes—happily partnered.

“When I turned 36 last year,” she tells us, “I started thinking about having a baby. I knew at 19 I wanted to be a mother. Of all my friends, I am the most maternal.” She thought about it for a whole year, speaking to people who had done it, researching the cost, logistics, and process before going for it. “I wanted to give myself the option,” she said. “And that’s the thing—I have a good life. I love what I do; I wake up excited. So, maybe I don’t get everything together. Maybe I have a different path.”

Dhingra is lucky to have a rare gift that tilts her in favour of bringing a baby into, what comedian Hannah Gadsby calls, “the mass extinction event we are”—a happy family. She is close to her mother who has pushed her to achieve everything she wants. Her breakfast and lunch still come from her parents’ home kitchen in Lower Parel. She lived with them until two years ago, and when they move nearer to her in Bandra, her dinner will be sorted too.

“The thing is,” she says, “I have got very good at reading my life and pivoting. When COVID came and the business suffered [she had to shut down a few independent outlets and a cherished café in Colaba], I was very open about it. But then I saw the opportunity to go into packaged products that overrule the limitations of fresh eats. And now the business has expanded.”

The other thing Dhingra offers up on a cake stand is vulnerability. “As I was going through the painful process [oocyte cryopreservation], I thought to myself, why am I doing this alone? At least this much [companionship] is promised to a Punjabi woman—at least an arranged marriage. But then I thought about the love I receive from friends. When I had to go for a trigger shot at 2.30 am to a medical centre in Kandivli [a hormonal injection that ‘triggers’ your eggs to mature and burst out from the ovaries so they can be captured by an egg retrieval procedure] my friends came with me and we had a ’90s party in the car. I have all this love from my friends.”

Dhingra is present on one dating app, but only because a certain international talk show host is there too. Otherwise, she prefers meeting men through friends and acquaintances; and like many of us with a vocation, most of them she meets through work… which can be limiting. And like us, she often hears, “You are intimidating” and “You seem like you don’t need me”.

We both throw up our hands and sigh dramatically. Women like us didn’t survive infanticide and stand up against dowry systems, to carefully build a behaviour that doesn’t unnerve the men. Or anyone else. The consequence of this is that many women, your girl here included, let out a slow trickle of information when we meet a suitor. A man would boldly tell you how many people he employs or which part of the city he owns a home in. Until the third or fourth date, I don’t let men know my designations (I am fortunate to enjoy two self-actualising vocations in my early 40s). The fact that I speak four languages fluently (plus two dialects), have an entry level degree in another, converse in one more, and understand a smattering of another two… has never come up. Look at this way: I am the partner who knows how to mindfully build a rich, fulfilling life and does not want to live vicariously. It’s something we could do together.

And the other accusation, it’s called being a functioning adult. Women have learnt to secure and plan financial futures, hone their leadership styles (Dhingra is part of an annual programme where she assesses her traits and goals), self-reflect and extend their personality to get what they want. We [women] may no longer want you to craft a place or role for ourselves in society, but isn’t it flattering that we want you anyway—For emotional sustenance, physical warmth, and some general fun while we both individuate? We understand that men are raised to feel needed, but we can both learn to need each other in new ways, without being co-dependent. Surely, you can overcome this.

Dhingra hasn’t put a timer on parenting, and is open to adopting. She sees her profession growing in a new direction with a child: A range of child-friendly treats, books of recipes you can make together…  We are curious to know her child’s sugar quota. What if, gasp, s/he doesn’t like chocolate or sweets!

In a partner, it has to be one who shares equal responsibility. Again, look at it as having the fun together, not the work. There’s a book she is reading right now, Calling in the One. It theorises that you have to list the qualities that you want in a partner and then embody them. We both agree it’s too much work.

In a man, she’s looking for kindness and generosity of the gift of attention, time, appreciation, affection. That’s what you wouldn’t mind giving a woman whose business machinery involves 100 employees, five independent outlets, six cloud kitchens and a retail network of packaged goods. “When you grow up around men whom you see doing this, it becomes your baseline,” she says. The baffling thing is she is also surrounded by men, in the form of friends, who want such partnerships. Then why the gap? “I don’t know, ya! It’s a global problem. My friends in Germany, Europe, New York, all face it. That’s where your real story is.”

Dhingra had a long, deep love in her life when she started Le 15 13 years ago, and when that ended, she dug deeper into her work. When she finally came out for breath, the game had changed. There’s a customised painting in her office by Kalakaari Haath, with elements of Japan and Paris—everything she loves and wants. It’s right opposite her desk. There’s a heron top of Mt Fuji, which she’s currently training to trek to this August, meditating on top of a pagoda (she hopes to do a yoga training course some day), the Eiffel tower, cherry blossoms, a patisserie… and though she didn’t ask for it, a man outside it sipping coffee…  

“Please don’t make me look like a bechari,” she tells us with a laugh. She is a woman content within herself and the life she has built. She is a catalyst for any man to have that too. Here’s our dream for her: A kitchen, a child and his/her parents, all laughing and baking together.