The Father of Three Daughters: A Bag Seller in Bhagat Wasti

Twenty-five years after moving from Bihar to Maharashtra, Mansur Ansari - a bag seller - holds onto one dream: a successful future for his three daughters.

On a warm summer afternoon, Mansur Ansari stands by his shop in Bhagat Wasti, busy selling an assortment of bags—school bags, jhola bags, and vegetable bags. “I’ve been doing this for two years, and it’s the only source of income for my family,” says the 45-year-old. “Working in a company never fulfilled even our basic needs.”

Sonu Electronics, owned by Mansur Ansari, showcases a variety of items—from electronics to backpacks—in a local market setup. Before starting his work each day, Mansur takes a quiet moment to enjoy a cup of tea. "It helps me clear my mind and get ready for the busy day ahead," he says.

Mansur opens his shop at 10am in the morning and works until 10pm. For him, time is crucial.

Every weekend, he travels to purchase the materials needed to restock. “Sometimes, I manage the shop entirely by myself and it gets exhausting,” he says with

a smile. Mansur's wife also helps with the shop when she can. In the evenings, she sometimes takes care of customers while Mansur rests or goes to buy more bags. “We work together. It’s not easy, but we manage,” he says.

Apart from selling bags, Mansur also repairs electronic items—like fans, radios, and chargers.

“Whatever work I get, I take it,” he says. “I’ve learned from experience, not school.” Originally from Bihar, he initially struggled to communicate with customers in Maharashtra. “When I first arrived and opened the shop, I couldn’t understand Marathi,” he recalls. “But I learned it by watching Marathi films.” Today, he speaks the language fluently.

Mansur says that opening a shop isn't just about selling bags; it's also about building relationships. He also observed that his customers who visit his stall often open up to him."A

simple conversation while buying a bag can turn into something meaningful," Mansur says. He truly values the friendships he's made over time. His shop is a space where people don’t just come to buy—they come to talk, laugh, and share.

“Some people come with problems and just want someone to listen. I feel good that I can be that person, even for a little while.”

Despite working hard every day, Mansur didn’t have a strong start in life. In his small village in Bihar, he had to take up responsibilities early. “I had to work when I was still a boy,” he says. “There wasn’t much time for school.” Still, he managed to study till the 10th grade. But life’s demands kept pulling him away from education.

“I never went to college,” he says. “But I learned how to fix things, talk to people, and survive.”

Mansur Ansari’s youngest daughter, a 5th-grade student, confidently explains basic coding to a professional.

At 22, Mansur got married to Chanda Khatun. He and his wife now have three daughters - Sana, Aarsi, and Afrin. “Sana and Aarsi are very sincere in their studies. Afrin is the mischievous one,” he laughs. All three girls study in Pune, and Sana and Afrin go to Avasara Academy, a school that follows the Cambridge curriculum. Aarsi goes to the PCMC English Medium School.

“I didn’t get to study much,” he says, “but I want my daughters to go further than I ever could.”

He talks about their small habits, their strengths. “Sana is serious and hardworking. Aarsi is

soft-spoken and very thoughtful. Afrin keeps the house happy with her jokes.”

Mansur comes from a big family—five brothers and one sister (who sadly passed away). But

even with so many siblings, he doesn’t receive much support. “They don’t help with anything,” he says quietly. “Not even grains.” Everything he has, he has earned through his own efforts.

Over the years, Mansur’s confidence and ambition have grown. He dreams of building a home in Bihar. His eyes brighten as he talks about it. But he’s torn, because he knows that moving to Bihar again could affect his daughters' education. They’re studying in a good school in Maharashtra, and he doesn’t want to take them away from that. He’s worried that if they move to Bihar, their chances for a better future might be limited. For now, he is focused on making sure they have everything they need while they’re in Pune.

Sometimes, Mansur reflects on his life and how far he’s come. “I haven’t done anything big,” he says, looking at his worn hands. “But if people say, ‘This man raised three good daughters,’ that’s enough for me.”

He believes in small things—honesty, kindness, hard work.

“I want my daughters to remember that you don’t need to be rich to be respected. Just live in a way that people remember you as a good person.”

As the sky turns a soft orange and the noise of the street begins to fade, Mansur carefully folds the last bag, closes his stall, and wipes his forehead. The day has been long, but his resolve remains steady. He looks down the road, thinking of his daughters waiting for him at

home—their books open, their dreams wide. “I may not have money or a big name,” he says, his voice calm but firm, “but if my daughters stand tall in this world one day, then it will be my biggest achievement in life."

Written by Amruta Dhuke

Amruta wrote this article as a participant of the Media-Makers Fellowship's May'25 cohort.