Reveal n Revel

A favourite pastime of mine is to mindlessly flip through photographs posted by friends on Face book. While feeding my voyeuristic tendency, I realized how dated my notions on fashion were. I don’t seem to have kept pace with the norm or the ‘in thing’ as they say. My view on fashion has been to wear what looks good on you or what suits your body type. Shopping, for me is a time consuming affair as countless outfits get junked till such time as I find the perfect fit. A good fit most definitely means one that hides my flaws. Increasingly I see women and particularly those in my age bracket, wear western outfits of varying shapes and styles. Little wonder then that they look so similar, the only difference being that only some are able to carry them off with panache. At the cost of sounding racist, I feel a flowing fitting gown or a little black dress has a low probability of looking good on an Indian body type and structure, n the same way that a bindi or a saree seems out of place on a blonde. Yet there seems to be a fanatic attempt to don a western attire.  Moreover they seem to hold this deep abiding view that revealing has a direct correlation with looking young. A display of unaesthetic arm pit bulge is acceptable because sleeveless or an off shoulder is what you should be wearing. Looking pretty is not of consequence here, it’s keeping up with joneses that ups your sexy, cool and stylish quotient. Strangely enough the most hideous of pictures on face book manage to get several likes and  “oh you look gorgeous and young” comments. No matter how much one tries to cheat the shutterbugs by posing sideways, ladies, the tummy bulge stares right into it. Pouting doesn’t make them look young, the harsh , 'I have arrived' kind of look is a complete give away. The western dress has clearly trumped the Indian attire to make it look retrograde. Its fashion faux pas of the highest order if one turns up in one at a social do. And heaven forbid if you decide to don a sari, be sure to pair it with a blouse that reveals more than it conceals. Sometimes I wonder if it’s stuck to the bulging body by sheer will power.

40s is the decade when tell tale signs of aging start showing up. The love handles, the sagging breasts, stomach bulges need a clever fix to keep it under wraps. But the bold woman of 40 is unabashed in her display of flesh. Some might say that this exhibitionism is a sign of unrestrained expression of her self.  It seems to me that there is unmistakable denial of age and a desperate and despicable attempt to look 21 again. Peer prodding and appreciation is another reason why she may be emboldened to expand her wardrobe. With youthfulness scoring higher than aesthetics, I question my own notions on dressing. Am I really in tune with the times or am I  fuddy duddy? If a deeper psychological meaning be drawn from this out of sync conservatism, am I hiding something by not revealing? J

Midnight Splendour

For someone who sleeps like she is dead to the world, waking up at 230am is extremely unusual. Last night, when I turned in my sleep, I was awakened, as if by an invisible force, to witness the most spectacular sight. My room was bathed in the golden hue of the almost full moon. It was brighter than never before and I was delighted to be in the centre of its radiant beam. Right above it was a star, the moon’s knight in shining armour, perhaps. They tore apart the dark cloudless sky, with their soft,warm glow, heralding the festival of love. I sprung out of bed and stepped  into the balcony to soak in every minute of this midnight splendor. It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t seen stars in a long while ( no pun intended!) let alone star gazed. As I sat on the balcony window the silence was soothing, goosebumpy and the fading winter cold invigorating. Forty minutes later, a light haze masked this Valentine couple. The strained howl of the neighbourhood pariah dogs jarred the silence of the night. I’m excited about re living this experience tonight and join the dalliance of the magnificent moon and the shimmering star. 

Laili

In the wee hours of a cold winter morning, she knocks vigorously on my door. I stumble towards it in my somnambulist state and she greets me with the most radiant grin. Her hair tied neatly in a bun, her sari draped clumsily around her a good five inches above her feet, she walks in purposefully and then questions with some authority on why I haven’t surfaced yet. Not in a condition to engage in conversation I scurry back to my bed. I catch a glimpse of her do the unthinkable, she discards her woolens like unnecessary baggage and picks up the broom. She seems to be on a mission; quite like Arvind Kejriwal is, armed with the same weapon! I am by now buried under several layers of warmth thanking my stars for not having to earn my bread in such brutal circumstances. Moving rapidly from room to room she enters mine and without any hesitation she opens the balcony. The cold draft that charges into the room makes me dig myself deeper into the layers of blankets covering me as she lets out a chuckle. “ Did you know it rained last night but surprisingly it’s not that cold, I wonder why”,  “today is colder than yesterday, because it’s windy,” “its so foggy today, I couldn’t see my neighbor’s house, but I feel the sun will be out by noon” ,“ Do you think it will snow someday?” Even before I can get to the morning newspaper she has delivered her rustic but reasonably accurate version of the weather bulletin.  In her very endearing way she gets me to peep out of my covers to respond to her. And then just as I am drifting back to catch some more sleep she turns up with the basket of clothes tucked under her. “Only these many clothes for washing?” She asks in a tone of admonishment.  I look at her completely bewildered “More you ask? It’s so cold, why do you want to wash even these? Let it be.” She looks at me equally flummoxed. “No I won’t get time during the day so I will wash them now” she responded.  I ask her if she has been missing sweeping my dad’s room since he is sleeping. “No don’t worry, he wakes up by the time I’m done with the rest of the house.” She has it all worked out. I don’t need to say or do anything. I wake up to a house that’s nicely swept and cleaned and never has a day gone by when I haven’t thanked the Lord for her presence in my life. In the evening on my walk, I’m greeted by the same cherubic smile as she struts swiftly to her next place of work. When the weather clears a bit and I am in a more wakeful condition, I plan to ask her. “Laili, what drives you every morning, to start a day of drudgery and monotony with such unbridled joy and enthusiasm?” I wish I had even half her untiring spirit.