The Emporium
By Lokanath Mishra
Badrinath, a man known for his eccentric and often ludicrous business ideas, had spent the early months of the pandemic obsessively researching historical oddities. He stumbled upon a strange tidbit about Qing dynasty marital customs—a detail so peculiar it sparked a truly bizarre idea. He’d open a business, not selling goods, but something far more personal: husbands.
He called his venture “The Husband Emporium.” It wasn’t just a gimmick; Badrinath invested heavily, taking over a huge, six-story building in the city market and outfitting it with expensive decor. Word of the project spread, and by the grand opening, a massive queue of young women snaked around the block. They weren’t just curious; they were eager, excited, and holding their official IDs. A large, gilded sign laid out the rules:
Entry: Women must be beautiful and between the ages of 22 and 30, unmarried, and have at least a graduate-level education. A non-refundable entry fee of 5,000 rupees was required.
The Floors: The building had six floors, each offering a different type of husband.
The Path: Once a woman chose a husband or advanced to the next floor, she couldn’t go back down. Her only options were to continue or exit.
Among the hopefuls was Binny, a 24-year-old marketing graduate. She had followed the story online, half-believing it was a joke. But here she was, in line, her heart a mix of nervousness and anticipation. She paid her fee, received a small, numbered ticket, and stepped inside. The doors closed behind her with a hushed finality.
The First Floor was bustling. A sleek digital sign above the entrance read: “Husbands here are well-employed and noble.” Binny saw men in crisp suits, chatting politely in staged meeting areas. They were handsome, respectable, and looked like a safe bet. It was a solid start, a good deal. But Binny had paid 5,000 rupees; she wanted to see what else was on offer. She walked past the displays, heading for the stairs to the next floor.
On the Second Floor, the sign promised more: “Husbands here have good jobs, are noble, and are also good with children.” Here, the men were interacting with smiling kids in a mock-up play area. It was a heartwarming scene, a clear upgrade from the floor below. A man who was a provider and a family man? That was tempting. Binny watched for a few moments, a small smile on her face, but she felt a familiar tug of curiosity. What if the next floor had something even better?
She ascended to the Third Floor. The sign proclaimed: “Husbands here have good jobs, are noble, are good with children, and are also handsome.” Binny’s eyes widened.
These men were a different caliber altogether. Their features were chiseled, their smiles disarming, and they exuded a confident charm. She paused, the thought of finding a man who was everything she wanted flashing through her mind. But a small, nagging voice whispered, “What about more? There are three floors left.” She took a deep breath and continued her journey.
The Fourth Floor was an even bigger surprise. The sign now read: “Husbands here have good jobs, are noble, are good with children, are handsome, and also help with household chores.” Binny’s jaw nearly dropped. A man who not only provided and was good-looking, but would also share the burden of daily life? It felt too perfect. For a moment, she was sure she had found what she was looking for. She reached out, almost touching one of the men, but her hand froze. What if the fifth floor held the ultimate partner? She let her hand drop and, despite her better judgment, continued on.
The Fifth Floor was the most crowded yet. The sign listed everything from the previous floors and one more crucial detail: “Husbands here have good jobs, are noble, are good with children, are handsome, help with household chores, and love their wives.” Binny’s heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. The perfect man—a provider, a partner, a true companion. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to take this opportunity before it was gone. But her heart, consumed by the same relentless desire for more, urged her on. What could possibly be better than this?
With a final, decisive step, she found herself alone on the Sixth Floor. A large digital screen lit up, but there were no men. Instead, a message appeared: “You are the 12,35,500th girl to come to this floor. There are no husbands here. This floor was built only for dissatisfied girls to realize that it is impossible to satisfy a woman completely. The exit stairs are to the left.”
Binny stood in stunned silence. The floor wasn’t a marketplace; it was an empty room, a mirror reflecting her own relentless pursuit of an unattainable ideal. She had passed up good, great, and even perfect options, only to be left with the bitter realization that her own dissatisfaction was the real barrier. As she walked down the exit stairs, the truth settled on her, heavy and unyielding. The emporium wasn’t selling husbands; it was selling a harsh, but undeniable, lesson. Like the countless women who came before her, she walked out into the world, unable to explain her experience to anyone.