I look out of my window, for that all familiar night view of my suburb. Lights making those skyscrapers look like tall matchboxes shining with glow-dents.The only difference between today and my home as always, is that the scant furniture that gave it that ultra-home feel is out. My luggage has moved out. The kitchen is empty but for some plastic bottles that I used to store water. And walls full of memories. Twenty-four months is not a long time...
With a tear in my eye, I moved the last of my belongings from that apartment. From a complete stranger who set foot in the mad city, got overwhelmed by it, hated it, and grew eventually to love it, I have grown many times over in Mumbai.
When I arrived, my neighbours had shut their doors on my face. When I left, I had the same neighbours open their doors to give me that all friendly smile and say those words I love - `visit us when you come to Mumbai' and a bunch of other friends who said their emotional byes. The city does weave its magic! I've moved bag and baggage from the city I grew to adore, rather reluctantly.
Two years back, it was the fear of the new that gnawed me away when I arrived Mumbai. Now, it is fear of the familiar doing exactly that with Chennai.
Very soon, I want to return to Mumbai. For many reasons. One of them, is that Mumbai made me a winner at a profound level.
When I left Mumbai, I no longer felt a migrant. I felt, at home. Mumbai, I salute you!
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Ruchika case: Thank You...
It is with utmost sincerity and deepest regards that I address this letter to the government of India, the supreme power, to the judiciary, the almighty, the politician, who surpasses all these, and the cop, who enjoys the love and benevolence of the politician.
Thank you so much sirs, for telling me, a survivor, what exactly I must expect of the system if I dare approach it for as serious an offence as Child Sexual Abuse. Thank you Constitution, for me not having to deal with those three horrible words at all in law books.
Thank you judiciary. Really, really, thank you! Blessed art thou....need I say more?
Thank you, for thereby allowing millions of offenders out there in homes, enjoying the tender bodies of vulnerable children for as many years as they can. Thank you, for letting them inflict gnashes on the bodies of girls, threatening them artfully, touching them all over, many a time even boys! Thank you, for showing me my place. And telling me that should I commit suicide like Ruchika and should my parents pursue the case as dilligently as her parents did, they would still be hounded by the system that favours the offenders rather than their daughter. Thank you for telling me right away, that at the end of such a battle, it is my parents who will cry still while the offender has the ....last laugh.
Thank you cop. You are the last word around us! You can smile easy when you are faced with a laughable jail term. For all I know, you will get treated like a king out there! After all, have you not been the one in control of thing, right? Unleash your colleagues on us hapless souls. They could satiate their lethal appetite too, and get away with it!
Thank you politician, for blessing the offender with such lovely stars that he can smile away for eternity. You, are the almighty! You walk and the cop follows! You bless and the cop becomes blessed! Bless the cop more, with some more favours for his family members, some more promotions!
Cop, should I understand that you have women in your family too! Probably women who you may in remote possibility, love! And women who you're slapping on face and saying exactly what you'd love to, that you can have your share of fun, others of your breed can have their share of fun, and women, yours or theirs, would have to put up with it!
Thank you Government, I mean, Government of India! Thank you, for doing nothing, nothing at all except for throwing empty words in the air, when it comes to the safety of women in this country. Thank you for telling me, a woman, that I would have been safer if I was not born at all. If I was killed before birth, I would not be lusted after by hungry wolves out there even if I wore a burkha, is it not? And they have a right to touch me at the slightest possible chance! If God never made me, I would not be prone to vultures out there in buses, offices, worse, homes, isn't it?
Thank you for letting me know that your prized politicians will fight tooth and nail against a 33 per cent reservation bill for women, while ensuring that women's safety should only be as far as suiting their sexual and emotional needs, 100 per cent.
Thank you all those families, who've sent out messages to your children, that should they report to you about someone of your ilk molesting them, you WILL NOT believe them. God knows what you will do, but you will ensure IT IS swept under the carpet. And let another perpetrator have his share of lust and beastliness, thanks to your ability to silence your child.
Yours...sincerely..
Thank you so much sirs, for telling me, a survivor, what exactly I must expect of the system if I dare approach it for as serious an offence as Child Sexual Abuse. Thank you Constitution, for me not having to deal with those three horrible words at all in law books.
Thank you judiciary. Really, really, thank you! Blessed art thou....need I say more?
Thank you, for thereby allowing millions of offenders out there in homes, enjoying the tender bodies of vulnerable children for as many years as they can. Thank you, for letting them inflict gnashes on the bodies of girls, threatening them artfully, touching them all over, many a time even boys! Thank you, for showing me my place. And telling me that should I commit suicide like Ruchika and should my parents pursue the case as dilligently as her parents did, they would still be hounded by the system that favours the offenders rather than their daughter. Thank you for telling me right away, that at the end of such a battle, it is my parents who will cry still while the offender has the ....last laugh.
Thank you cop. You are the last word around us! You can smile easy when you are faced with a laughable jail term. For all I know, you will get treated like a king out there! After all, have you not been the one in control of thing, right? Unleash your colleagues on us hapless souls. They could satiate their lethal appetite too, and get away with it!
Thank you politician, for blessing the offender with such lovely stars that he can smile away for eternity. You, are the almighty! You walk and the cop follows! You bless and the cop becomes blessed! Bless the cop more, with some more favours for his family members, some more promotions!
Cop, should I understand that you have women in your family too! Probably women who you may in remote possibility, love! And women who you're slapping on face and saying exactly what you'd love to, that you can have your share of fun, others of your breed can have their share of fun, and women, yours or theirs, would have to put up with it!
Thank you Government, I mean, Government of India! Thank you, for doing nothing, nothing at all except for throwing empty words in the air, when it comes to the safety of women in this country. Thank you for telling me, a woman, that I would have been safer if I was not born at all. If I was killed before birth, I would not be lusted after by hungry wolves out there even if I wore a burkha, is it not? And they have a right to touch me at the slightest possible chance! If God never made me, I would not be prone to vultures out there in buses, offices, worse, homes, isn't it?
Thank you for letting me know that your prized politicians will fight tooth and nail against a 33 per cent reservation bill for women, while ensuring that women's safety should only be as far as suiting their sexual and emotional needs, 100 per cent.
Thank you all those families, who've sent out messages to your children, that should they report to you about someone of your ilk molesting them, you WILL NOT believe them. God knows what you will do, but you will ensure IT IS swept under the carpet. And let another perpetrator have his share of lust and beastliness, thanks to your ability to silence your child.
Yours...sincerely..
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Gimme a break please!
Wondering from what? It's from travel that I want a break.
My travel schedule began on November 18 to Bangalore. After a few days in my home city, it was time for a quick stop at Chennai and from thereon, to Hyderabad. Back to home sweet home (wish I could call it home longer) Mumbai in the first week.
In the second week, divine design ensured I did not have enough time to sleep - a quick trip to Chennai for a housewarming, wedding reception, my wedding anniversary and sibling's birthday. Am back in Mumbai, to the warm embrace of these walls going empty soon.
Post-Christmas though, I've to be on the travel mode again - to Chennai for God knows how long. Trust me, travel has meant bus journeys, train sojourns, flights, and taxi-rides, car trips, not to forget the night-marish auto-rickshaw rides (at Chennai). The only mode of transport left, as my sister puts it, is by water. She hit on a brainwave if we didn't get tickets from Chennai to Mumbai - `Let's try the ship!'
Whew!
`You've been more busy on the travel front while out of work than when you were employed!' a friend remarked recently.
Can't agree more! Am praying I get back to that all familiar work territory (career) soon. As for travel....am sleepy, tired, exhausted...no more adjectives in my head. I love travel. After all this travel, I long to laze around at home. Yaaawn!!
My travel schedule began on November 18 to Bangalore. After a few days in my home city, it was time for a quick stop at Chennai and from thereon, to Hyderabad. Back to home sweet home (wish I could call it home longer) Mumbai in the first week.
In the second week, divine design ensured I did not have enough time to sleep - a quick trip to Chennai for a housewarming, wedding reception, my wedding anniversary and sibling's birthday. Am back in Mumbai, to the warm embrace of these walls going empty soon.
Post-Christmas though, I've to be on the travel mode again - to Chennai for God knows how long. Trust me, travel has meant bus journeys, train sojourns, flights, and taxi-rides, car trips, not to forget the night-marish auto-rickshaw rides (at Chennai). The only mode of transport left, as my sister puts it, is by water. She hit on a brainwave if we didn't get tickets from Chennai to Mumbai - `Let's try the ship!'
Whew!
`You've been more busy on the travel front while out of work than when you were employed!' a friend remarked recently.
Can't agree more! Am praying I get back to that all familiar work territory (career) soon. As for travel....am sleepy, tired, exhausted...no more adjectives in my head. I love travel. After all this travel, I long to laze around at home. Yaaawn!!
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
For want of a decent bathroom
Half way into an 18 hour wedding event, a minor skirmish broke out between the bride's family and the groom's. The sides avoided using loud voices or bad words, but all the same, it put the bride's family in a spot. And caused some embarassment for the groom's family.
The chain of events that led to it sound ridiculous, but show social insensitivity that could kill when profits, not customer welfare, rule the minds of those in a business.
The problem: An 83 year old matriarch who her family loved dearly, who struggled to make it to her grandson's wedding all the way from Chennai, had to use the toilet, a WC, because of her frail health.
Of the three allotted rooms with attached bathrooms for the groom's family, only one had a WC. As fate would have it, or rather the callousness of the wedding hall management, it went unfit for use on the day of the wedding.
The groom's uncle, who arrived the earliest with his family, noticed it and pushed for immediate repair, before the wedding guests made their entry. The management turned a deaf ear. The bride's relatives were too caught up in other issues in the run up to the event.
It is not as if the groom's family did not inspect the premises earlier.A few days before, the venerable matriarch's son visited the wedding hall, checked the toilets and other logistics. Relieved that she would not have to struggle, the son left. In any case, with the toilet left unusable, all the hard work looked wasted.
The bride's family took it easy too, as everything else was going fine. Meanwhile, intermittent pushing by the groom's uncle for `fixing' of the WC continued even as the guests arrived and the granny too.
A few workers and a plumber arrived after a whole hour of pestering. And realised that the bathroom overhaul was impossible in the next few hours. They vanished feigning false promises of coming back with the equipment in a while.
Winter chill prompted her to want to use the bathroom, two hours into the event. The shy octogenerian tried to hold herself for as long as possible. She did not want to bother her family.
When she mustered courage and decided to ask, all hell broke loose. It suddenly dawned on everyone that another toilet with a WC had to be located. Instantly.
The wedding hall officials were probably around, but who had the patience to `organise' something at the last moment?
The granny's daughter and groom's mother lost her cool . ``Try and understand. She (mother) cannot hold up for long. It's our problem is it not?'' she snapped at the bride's aunt and uncle who were in charge of the event. The groom's uncle who had been after the workers till now, gave them a piece of his mind too.
By now, the grandmother was embarassed, struggling hard to maintain a dignified posture, swallowing her feelings.
Brainwave: The bride's uncle offered to driver her down to his quarters, five minutes away, where some more guests were lodged. After some convincing, the groom's family agreed. Accompanied by her relatives, the matriarch who wanted to hide away in shame by now, walked slowly to the hall's main gate with her stick. Someone else came with the news that she did not have to travel so far after all. They organised the use of a bathroom at the flats opposite the wedding hall.
Putting each step forward carefully over carelessly thrown construction debris that was used to make a pathway near the hall, granny walked through the compound to the apartments block across. The concerned flat was at the rear end of that compound. She walked past strangers in that home, used the toilet and got out as quickly as she could. Once out, she expressed guilt to the bride's relatives to put them through such trouble, only to be hushed by her grandchildren. ``It's not your fault granny,'' they tried to reason.
The bride's aunt apologised about putting her through such trouble too. The matriarch returned to her seat slowly. Time for some lunch. The dining hall was upstairs. Ideally, she would have loved to dine with her family and friends upstairs. The bride's family was wiser by now and organised a few tables and chairs on the ground floor.
If one takes a quick look at this chain of events, it is easy to pass the blame on the people present there. The core issue that went unnoticed was simple: that before an event of this magnitude, the wedding hall management did not bother to set the WC right. Or if it was not possible to set it right in case of some damage just the day before, they did not bother to inform the concerned customers. Any event that sees a gathering of a few hundred people always requires more rest rooms - not taken care of by this hall management.
They probably presumed that like everything else that is compromised during such events, the toilet bit would be swept under the carpet. Wedding halls sure are a profitable business!
More often than not, when such places are designed, the presumption is that any guest who walks in to the hall is able bodied, can put up with shoddy service, climb stairs with ease and still pay up the hefty tens of thousands besides shelling out extra money for related labour charges.
It is true we have wedding halls that are built much better, charge as high as Rs 1 lakh for a day's use as rent, have more guest rooms and look more grand. More bathrooms and clean rooms with storage are a welcome respite. The tragedy: Such halls are less sensitive to the needs of elderly, the wheel-chaired and the sick too. How many such venues for instance, can boast of elevators? Or ramps for easy access from one floor to another?
How many such halls can come any closer to having toilets that suit the needs of the disabled and the elderly? A common grouse among builders who get such halls built is that it is not cost-effective (read profit oriented). Even by their own argument, all it takes is one wedding hall owner to advertise features that are friendly on the elderly and disabled, and it could help kickstart a competition. At this venue too, a ramp would have been ideal for its design.
Moreover, can providing features such as ramps, disabled friendly toilets, and other such help be measured against currency notes that one gets in return?
Most families that organise celebrations on a scale upward of a 100 guests can be assured of at least one or two people for every hundred who need help in climbing, moving about, or even elderly who are forced to stay put in their homes because such venues are less friendly on their needs.
Should we then get stuck up with a convenient mindset that everything comes with a price?
In the Indian tradition, no marriage is complete without the blessings of elders in the family. Would wedding hall owners then want to put a price on the blessings by elderly mothers simply because they became frail rearing their children?
Time to revalue and revamp our wedding venues. After all, for want of a WC, a wedding would have got stalled!
The chain of events that led to it sound ridiculous, but show social insensitivity that could kill when profits, not customer welfare, rule the minds of those in a business.
The problem: An 83 year old matriarch who her family loved dearly, who struggled to make it to her grandson's wedding all the way from Chennai, had to use the toilet, a WC, because of her frail health.
Of the three allotted rooms with attached bathrooms for the groom's family, only one had a WC. As fate would have it, or rather the callousness of the wedding hall management, it went unfit for use on the day of the wedding.
The groom's uncle, who arrived the earliest with his family, noticed it and pushed for immediate repair, before the wedding guests made their entry. The management turned a deaf ear. The bride's relatives were too caught up in other issues in the run up to the event.
It is not as if the groom's family did not inspect the premises earlier.A few days before, the venerable matriarch's son visited the wedding hall, checked the toilets and other logistics. Relieved that she would not have to struggle, the son left. In any case, with the toilet left unusable, all the hard work looked wasted.
The bride's family took it easy too, as everything else was going fine. Meanwhile, intermittent pushing by the groom's uncle for `fixing' of the WC continued even as the guests arrived and the granny too.
A few workers and a plumber arrived after a whole hour of pestering. And realised that the bathroom overhaul was impossible in the next few hours. They vanished feigning false promises of coming back with the equipment in a while.
Winter chill prompted her to want to use the bathroom, two hours into the event. The shy octogenerian tried to hold herself for as long as possible. She did not want to bother her family.
When she mustered courage and decided to ask, all hell broke loose. It suddenly dawned on everyone that another toilet with a WC had to be located. Instantly.
The wedding hall officials were probably around, but who had the patience to `organise' something at the last moment?
The granny's daughter and groom's mother lost her cool . ``Try and understand. She (mother) cannot hold up for long. It's our problem is it not?'' she snapped at the bride's aunt and uncle who were in charge of the event. The groom's uncle who had been after the workers till now, gave them a piece of his mind too.
By now, the grandmother was embarassed, struggling hard to maintain a dignified posture, swallowing her feelings.
Brainwave: The bride's uncle offered to driver her down to his quarters, five minutes away, where some more guests were lodged. After some convincing, the groom's family agreed. Accompanied by her relatives, the matriarch who wanted to hide away in shame by now, walked slowly to the hall's main gate with her stick. Someone else came with the news that she did not have to travel so far after all. They organised the use of a bathroom at the flats opposite the wedding hall.
Putting each step forward carefully over carelessly thrown construction debris that was used to make a pathway near the hall, granny walked through the compound to the apartments block across. The concerned flat was at the rear end of that compound. She walked past strangers in that home, used the toilet and got out as quickly as she could. Once out, she expressed guilt to the bride's relatives to put them through such trouble, only to be hushed by her grandchildren. ``It's not your fault granny,'' they tried to reason.
The bride's aunt apologised about putting her through such trouble too. The matriarch returned to her seat slowly. Time for some lunch. The dining hall was upstairs. Ideally, she would have loved to dine with her family and friends upstairs. The bride's family was wiser by now and organised a few tables and chairs on the ground floor.
If one takes a quick look at this chain of events, it is easy to pass the blame on the people present there. The core issue that went unnoticed was simple: that before an event of this magnitude, the wedding hall management did not bother to set the WC right. Or if it was not possible to set it right in case of some damage just the day before, they did not bother to inform the concerned customers. Any event that sees a gathering of a few hundred people always requires more rest rooms - not taken care of by this hall management.
They probably presumed that like everything else that is compromised during such events, the toilet bit would be swept under the carpet. Wedding halls sure are a profitable business!
More often than not, when such places are designed, the presumption is that any guest who walks in to the hall is able bodied, can put up with shoddy service, climb stairs with ease and still pay up the hefty tens of thousands besides shelling out extra money for related labour charges.
It is true we have wedding halls that are built much better, charge as high as Rs 1 lakh for a day's use as rent, have more guest rooms and look more grand. More bathrooms and clean rooms with storage are a welcome respite. The tragedy: Such halls are less sensitive to the needs of elderly, the wheel-chaired and the sick too. How many such venues for instance, can boast of elevators? Or ramps for easy access from one floor to another?
How many such halls can come any closer to having toilets that suit the needs of the disabled and the elderly? A common grouse among builders who get such halls built is that it is not cost-effective (read profit oriented). Even by their own argument, all it takes is one wedding hall owner to advertise features that are friendly on the elderly and disabled, and it could help kickstart a competition. At this venue too, a ramp would have been ideal for its design.
Moreover, can providing features such as ramps, disabled friendly toilets, and other such help be measured against currency notes that one gets in return?
Most families that organise celebrations on a scale upward of a 100 guests can be assured of at least one or two people for every hundred who need help in climbing, moving about, or even elderly who are forced to stay put in their homes because such venues are less friendly on their needs.
Should we then get stuck up with a convenient mindset that everything comes with a price?
In the Indian tradition, no marriage is complete without the blessings of elders in the family. Would wedding hall owners then want to put a price on the blessings by elderly mothers simply because they became frail rearing their children?
Time to revalue and revamp our wedding venues. After all, for want of a WC, a wedding would have got stalled!
Friday, 11 December 2009
Auto tales across cities
Mumbai autorickshaws are called `ricksha' by the local commuters.
Chennai rests easy with the name `auto'.
You can hop into a Mumbai autorickshaw in the dead of the night. He will drop you home and give you back the exact change.
You can hop into any autorickshaw whose owner agrees to ply you at night in Chennai, except that you will flag a 100 autos before you get one.
As for the change, forget it. In Chennai you are charged in multiples of Rs 10 for any destination. Autorickshaw drivers are Gods here. After settling for Rs 210 on a distance that could cost you just Rs 100, be sure that about half a kilometre into the designated spot, the guy will start his extortion tactics, saying you did not mention the destination would be so far, or that the distance is a kilometer in excess! He'll make sure he argues with you endlessly.
He will start his emotional blackmail, in the typical Chennai autorickshaw bargain body language. He will make you feel sick, especially if you're used to the no nonsense mumbai rickshaw drivers' business wisdom of being done with the deal and walking off.
Am in Chennai at the moment, and an hour after that argument and hearing abuses from that guy, wondering if I should have slapped him.
He used the conversation I had with my husband in three languages, which meant - Hindi, Tamil and English, against me. It's horrifying to note that what I talk on phone with someone else in the capacity of a passenger could be used like this! I heard words like `people from other cities being a pain on autorickshaw drivers out here'.
Such a far cry from Mumbai autorickshaw rides where I can talk freely while on move! And not hear a word of abuse.
Autorickshaw drivers have magnified the reason I dread Chennai. I feel, unsafe in Chennai - the same city where I spent umpteen childhood summers. The city I was born in.
This city, is where I will move in to shortly, and makes me palpitate in fear.
---
If you ask me why I did not avoid an autorickshaw ride given the infamy that guards these guys anyways, I had less choice - afternoon hunger and exhaustion from a journey prompted me to hire it instantly.
Chennai rests easy with the name `auto'.
You can hop into a Mumbai autorickshaw in the dead of the night. He will drop you home and give you back the exact change.
You can hop into any autorickshaw whose owner agrees to ply you at night in Chennai, except that you will flag a 100 autos before you get one.
As for the change, forget it. In Chennai you are charged in multiples of Rs 10 for any destination. Autorickshaw drivers are Gods here. After settling for Rs 210 on a distance that could cost you just Rs 100, be sure that about half a kilometre into the designated spot, the guy will start his extortion tactics, saying you did not mention the destination would be so far, or that the distance is a kilometer in excess! He'll make sure he argues with you endlessly.
He will start his emotional blackmail, in the typical Chennai autorickshaw bargain body language. He will make you feel sick, especially if you're used to the no nonsense mumbai rickshaw drivers' business wisdom of being done with the deal and walking off.
Am in Chennai at the moment, and an hour after that argument and hearing abuses from that guy, wondering if I should have slapped him.
He used the conversation I had with my husband in three languages, which meant - Hindi, Tamil and English, against me. It's horrifying to note that what I talk on phone with someone else in the capacity of a passenger could be used like this! I heard words like `people from other cities being a pain on autorickshaw drivers out here'.
Such a far cry from Mumbai autorickshaw rides where I can talk freely while on move! And not hear a word of abuse.
Autorickshaw drivers have magnified the reason I dread Chennai. I feel, unsafe in Chennai - the same city where I spent umpteen childhood summers. The city I was born in.
This city, is where I will move in to shortly, and makes me palpitate in fear.
---
If you ask me why I did not avoid an autorickshaw ride given the infamy that guards these guys anyways, I had less choice - afternoon hunger and exhaustion from a journey prompted me to hire it instantly.
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Kids today....did you say?
Am in the middle of backstage madness at my cousin's wedding, splitting hair over the non-stop movement through the door and keeping an eye on some jewellery camouflaged in messy old travel bags.
Guests, mostly women, are moving in non-stop to change into sarees, while some need to use the bathroom. Still others need to dress up their children.
The sight of two pretty little girls waiting to get dressed for the wedding is not just soothing in the middle of all the rush, but a welcome respite. They are my nieces who I am not in touch with.
I offer to dress up the seven year old niece, yearning to know the seven year old I have not met since she was a few months. Between a polka dotted orange salwar kameez and a simpler looking pair of clothes, I suggest the former for her. She listens to every word I say to her mother, about the dresses. And insists on wearing ornate orange over a duller red!
``Wear this later, the other dress will look good on you too,'' her mother tries reasoning.
My venerable little niece puts her foot down.
``The other dress is not tight enough! I need a tight one!''
I am stumped. Whoever said figure consciousness is for 16 and 18 year olds!
I offer to give a touch of kohl to her eyes, and hear those all familiar words `I too want kajal!'
It's not her, but her kid sister, all of four years!
Just like her elder sister dresses up well, the doe eyed kid sister wants to look her best too, and will do anything to compete with her sibling!
After every dash of kohl in their eyes, each of these sisters rush to the dressing table, take a close look at their eyes and clothes. Their attention to detail could give models a run for their money.
For the younger sister, I suggest she can continue wearing her existing traditional paavada or the South Indian skirt paired with a red choli for a while, and switch to her pale copper sulphate blue chiffon ghagra choli later. Am relieved that she does not protest. Her mother and I hope she forgets about the dress bit in the excitement of group games outside the Green Room.
An hour later, am still monitoring the movement of people, clothes, beetel leaves, turmeric and kumkum that need to get distributed, savouries that need to be packed, gift-clothes, and the likes.
The younger niece and her mother return.
``She hasn't forgotten the other dress in all her running around! Made it a point to come and remind me about her blue dress..," her mother sighs.
Kids these days did you say?
If four year olds can become so conscious about their looks and beauty, imagine the kind of damning impact that our popular media imagery has done to them! Print, electronic or online, ads, films or serials, they are such powerful weapons to discreetly thrust stereotypes and shape popular notion about beauty!
Would the two kids have been so particular about the clothes they wore if they were born about 20 years back?
Guests, mostly women, are moving in non-stop to change into sarees, while some need to use the bathroom. Still others need to dress up their children.
The sight of two pretty little girls waiting to get dressed for the wedding is not just soothing in the middle of all the rush, but a welcome respite. They are my nieces who I am not in touch with.
I offer to dress up the seven year old niece, yearning to know the seven year old I have not met since she was a few months. Between a polka dotted orange salwar kameez and a simpler looking pair of clothes, I suggest the former for her. She listens to every word I say to her mother, about the dresses. And insists on wearing ornate orange over a duller red!
``Wear this later, the other dress will look good on you too,'' her mother tries reasoning.
My venerable little niece puts her foot down.
``The other dress is not tight enough! I need a tight one!''
I am stumped. Whoever said figure consciousness is for 16 and 18 year olds!
I offer to give a touch of kohl to her eyes, and hear those all familiar words `I too want kajal!'
It's not her, but her kid sister, all of four years!
Just like her elder sister dresses up well, the doe eyed kid sister wants to look her best too, and will do anything to compete with her sibling!
After every dash of kohl in their eyes, each of these sisters rush to the dressing table, take a close look at their eyes and clothes. Their attention to detail could give models a run for their money.
For the younger sister, I suggest she can continue wearing her existing traditional paavada or the South Indian skirt paired with a red choli for a while, and switch to her pale copper sulphate blue chiffon ghagra choli later. Am relieved that she does not protest. Her mother and I hope she forgets about the dress bit in the excitement of group games outside the Green Room.
An hour later, am still monitoring the movement of people, clothes, beetel leaves, turmeric and kumkum that need to get distributed, savouries that need to be packed, gift-clothes, and the likes.
The younger niece and her mother return.
``She hasn't forgotten the other dress in all her running around! Made it a point to come and remind me about her blue dress..," her mother sighs.
Kids these days did you say?
If four year olds can become so conscious about their looks and beauty, imagine the kind of damning impact that our popular media imagery has done to them! Print, electronic or online, ads, films or serials, they are such powerful weapons to discreetly thrust stereotypes and shape popular notion about beauty!
Would the two kids have been so particular about the clothes they wore if they were born about 20 years back?
Saturday, 5 December 2009
I Found my Indian Meera
My quest for an Indian Meera has ended. In my blog post dated November 8, I had spoken of the disgust at finding Meera figurines imported from China.
During my sojourn to Hyderabad this week, a quick trip to Shilparamam, the permanent crafts bazaar threw up the Meera surprise. I got the statuette at half the price quoted for Chinese make figurines. The Indian made piece has its little defects, but looks Indian, and feels homely, unlike the Chinese make Meera. At the moment, she sits pretty in my studio room.
The tourist spot is a good getaway for those in need of home shopping, ethnic wares and some fun. My only disappointment was with the artists who were doing spot portraits. It's hard to digest a piece of low quality sketch from an artist, who insists he can do a better job if you cough up Rs 100 more!
Am still wondering, would the Chinese buy Indian make figurines of their saints and deities if we dumped the products on them?
During my sojourn to Hyderabad this week, a quick trip to Shilparamam, the permanent crafts bazaar threw up the Meera surprise. I got the statuette at half the price quoted for Chinese make figurines. The Indian made piece has its little defects, but looks Indian, and feels homely, unlike the Chinese make Meera. At the moment, she sits pretty in my studio room.
The tourist spot is a good getaway for those in need of home shopping, ethnic wares and some fun. My only disappointment was with the artists who were doing spot portraits. It's hard to digest a piece of low quality sketch from an artist, who insists he can do a better job if you cough up Rs 100 more!
Am still wondering, would the Chinese buy Indian make figurines of their saints and deities if we dumped the products on them?
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Wonderment
Is when a toddler who can barely speak words, walk-dances the street outside your home, and gets excited when he looks at the daylight moon.
It is as if moon is his friend he wants to converse with, or that ball he could play with.
He stretches his arm out in the moon's direction and tries hard to ....Catch it!
Yes, he thinks he can catch the moon! Yet, when the faraway `ball' stays elusive, he does not feel disappointed. He continues trying.
And with no sense of failure whatsoever, he half-screams in delight. No words to aid his amazingly expressive ecstacy. No sulking over not being able to get what he wanted. Only pure joy of knowing that the other exists out there. That friend. That Moon.
He holds no reserve in communicating to you about his `friend' though. He looks at the moon, at you and nods his head in a way that you understand it just right.
Sometimes, life's lessons come in packages a foot and half high.
It is as if moon is his friend he wants to converse with, or that ball he could play with.
He stretches his arm out in the moon's direction and tries hard to ....Catch it!
Yes, he thinks he can catch the moon! Yet, when the faraway `ball' stays elusive, he does not feel disappointed. He continues trying.
And with no sense of failure whatsoever, he half-screams in delight. No words to aid his amazingly expressive ecstacy. No sulking over not being able to get what he wanted. Only pure joy of knowing that the other exists out there. That friend. That Moon.
He holds no reserve in communicating to you about his `friend' though. He looks at the moon, at you and nods his head in a way that you understand it just right.
Sometimes, life's lessons come in packages a foot and half high.
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