Ladies Special

This is for all the impeccably dressed men with gelled hair and clipped nails, who graced the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival. Irrespective of how they looked or which designer they wore, unfortunately, most went unnoticed. The paparazzi preferred the fairer sex.

Debutante director Ritesh Batra’s film ‘The Lunchbox’ won the coveted Viewers Choice Award, and yet the media was more interested in Vidya Balan’s nose piece than his film. Do we even know who Ritesh Batra is? Or how he looks? No. But we do know the color of Ameesha Patel’s eye shadow.

The shimmy shimmer parade during film festivals and award ceremonies is all about women, glitz and glamour. For some strange reason, the media prefers to talk about Madonna’s conical bustier designed by Jean Paul Gautier she wore in 1991, rather than a film like ‘The Bling Ring’ which won rave reviews.
Come to think of it, the film festivals and other award ceremonies are women-centric fashion carnivals. There is little scope for men to compete. I mean, how many different black suits can you wear? Hundred bucks, if you can tell an Armani from a tux put together by my tailor in South Delhi. (Yeah, I know betting is illegal. My uncle is in the BCCI.) 

So clearly, a man can wear the same suit for all the events and go unnoticed. But imagine the Goddess of red carpet, Ashwariya Rai wearing the same sari on two occasions? All hell will break loose, Ash will be pilloried to pulp and the city of Cannes will  submerge in shame.While women get noticed, they also get dissected for everything from their hairdo to footwear. The opinionated messiahs of fashion have an opinion for every cut and every slit. What on earth was she thinking, the matronly dress added years to her figure, she looked like a headmistress at a prayer meeting, or plain and simple aunty ji (hurts the most).

There is no denying that men  were ignored, no matter what they wore. But there is hope for those who wish to create a red carpet history.

Wear a Sabyasachi Lungi: Remember Anurag Kashyap’s red gamcha at Cannes Film Festival last year? It was more talked about than his film. A brocade lungi or dhoti designed by Sabya can make a mark next year.

Strike the iconic one leg pose: The one bare leg exposed with a

thigh end split is a proven attention grabber. A trouser with a long slit may do the job. For added praise, get a tattoo on freshly waxed legs.

Wear Glitz, Bling: Breaking away from somber black suits, ask your tailor to custom design a transparent sequined coat to go with fluorescent trousers. Had Amitabh not worn that sequined black coat or that belt on his paunch, the media would have given him a cold shoulder.

Lift the lungi/dhoti: If nothing works, lift the damn thing. Irrespective of the merits of your film, you will be the most searched internet celebrity.

Others, like my husband, can happily wear five different white shirts and attend several events ranging from marriages to parties, to conferences to bereavement. No stress.

Love is not Enough

Fiction

How is it possible, I wonder, for a mother to ignore the signs? When it comes to being a parent, love is not enough.  One has to make sense of the sighs, decipher the silences and decode the monosyllables. I think I was a good mother. And if you ask my husband or our daughter, they would agree. I make no excuses for my lapses, but it is also true that the guilt pangs clawing my heart will stay for a long time to come. 

A note from Ananya’s teacher informed that she was bunking classes. ‘She will have to take extra classes after school to cope with the syllabus.’

Ananya, our first-born turned fourteen last year. Mood swings came with the territory. She became a brooder, immersed in books and cocooned in music. Any attempt to share thoughts met with sighs and groans. She seemed to have developed a knack of appearing to listen while she was lost in her world. Worse, she was neglecting studies and there were moments when I caught her looking vacuously at her text books. 

That day, she kept avoiding my gaze and didn’t quite finish her dinner. I peeped into her room. Slouched on her bed, she was lost in a novel. 

‘Ananya… Why aren’t you eating?’

I wondered if I was talking to a wall.

I entered her room, snatched the novel and flung it on the bed. ‘No novels before mid-term. Finish your food. And take out your chemistry book. You nearly flunked this term.’

In a strange way, she looked vulnerable when she looked at me for a brief moment.

‘What is it?’

‘I am not going to school tomorrow.’

‘But why?’

‘I don’t want to go,’ she said defiantly. ‘That’s why.’ 

I walked out leaving behind silence. It was so easy to love my girl when she was a kid. Time was when she shared everything when it came to which dress to wear, how to style her hair, what movies to watch or which cookies to bake. My husband said it was normal for teens to find solace in solitude. I believed him. 

In the following weeks, my girl became a stranger to me. We were drifting apart for reasons beyond comprehension.  I would be lying if I said that I made serious attempts to know what she was going through. Her appetite diminished, and I blamed it on her fetish for a slim figure. She trudged towards the bus stop, and I dismissed it as her revulsion for studies. She continued talking to her friend in hushed tones, and I thought it was girly gossip. 

A day prior to the parent-teacher meet, I received a call from Ananya’s class mate. ‘Did you read the paper aunty? He’s gone. Finally.’ 

I scanned the newspaper with a pounding heart. The small snippet on the second page connected the dots. Suddenly I could trace my series of lapses.

A case of molestation was registered against a fifty year old teacher. The chain of exploitation began soon after he was appointed as the chemistry teacher at a reputed school…

When I entered my daughter’s room she was talking to her friend. Her shoulders were shaking mildly. I could sense that she was sobbing. She saw the paper in my hand, turned her head and looked at me. When our eyes met, I could sense both - her anguish and her relief. She leaned towards me hesitatingly. As I embraced her, she hugged me tightly.  It was as if she wanted to hold me forever. 

 (This is a contest entry for Indiblogger Colgate Total Contest - My Healthy Speak Blog.)

Moral of the story - Do not ignore the signs whether it is bleeding gums or simmering emotions.

(Image Courtesy: Google Images lifefamilyeducation.com)

The Uncle Factor

Google Images

At a time when powerful maternal uncles have become increasingly indispensable, I miss a benevolent influential one. Since my mother was not blessed with a brother, I don’t even have an uncle, leave alone a powerful one. When I watch the meteoric rise of the accused Railgate nephew  a sinking feeling engulfs me. Imagine the perks of an influential uncle heading a ministry or a resourceful uncle in the sarkari establishment? I could easily bag contracts, promise lucrative postings and jerk around, ‘Kya kar logey? Mera mamu hai na’.

The presence of a powerful uncle does different things to different people. For a struggling Imran, an uncle in Aamir provided easy access to movie directors. In the case of nephew who allegedly ran a cheat micro-financing company, an aunt at the helm of a state provided credibility. And for Emran Hashmi, an uncle in Mahesh Bhatt presented opportunities to kiss and sell.

Is it any surprise that I am tempted to adopt an uncle who can pull the strings in the corridors of power? I am planning to send letters, requesting for adoption to all the reigning deities (ministers and top bureaucrats) cutting across party lines. With the hike in air fares, my first attempt will be to adopt an uncle in the aviation industry. Imagine getting discounted  fares, not having to pay for extra baggage or an aisle seat. Depending on the clout of my adoptive uncle, I am not ruling out a cut in future aircraft deals – purchase and maintenance included.

An uncle in the tourism ministry would provide hassle free visa and an unforgettable stay at the beaches of Hawaii. Come on, it’s not that bad. An all expense paid beach holiday is a small perk compared to the fortunes made by other nephews and nieces, but it’s a good start to begin with.

I also intend to write a letter to the top officials in the  ministry for sports. For all you know, I will be flying business class to watch Olympics along with the Indian contingent. If nothing else, I will get free invites to all the IPL parties where I can shake a leg with Chris Gayle and discuss diamond clarity with Neeta Ambani.

Our Information and Broadcasting minister, they say, has tremendous clout in the corridors of media. If he agrees to be my uncle, I see myself in the DD studious dispensing wisdom on everything - from objectification of women to Talibanization of  society. Courtesy my uncle or his accountant, I can get unsecured loans to start my own news channel. Arnab, calm it down, 'your channel' will have a new rival. Soon.

Since defence ministry is tough to penetrate, I am aiming to adopt one of the top bosses in the armed forces. As defence deals go, a teeny-weeny cut  in helicopter transactions or coffin contracts will ensure bliss for my forthcoming generations. And how comforting is that!

Mamu, where art thou?

To Kill A Rocking Word

Words can kill as good as a gun, but we seem to be killing words minus guns. While most kosher words are dead, others have lost meaning. Some have been mutilated so badly that they have become jokes. For example, look at what we have done to the word enquiry. ‘An enquiry will reveal all’, says supremely efficient Shinde in his signature bumbling style. Hello sir? Even the most naïve in remote Jharkhand is aware that an enquiry equals sham. Despite the grammar and spell check, if any worthwhile fiction is being written today, it is in the fact finding reports of investigations.No wonder people are on the streets and justice is gasping for breath.

Then we have more than generous sprinkling of secularism. Notwithstanding the thesaurus definition, secularism today means appeasement. “We will not allow ‘sampradayik takats’ to come to  power,” say the champions of secularism. Those singing the siren song of secularism have shoved such huge amounts of secularism in our eyes that we are now semi-blind with deceit.

This brings me to another dead gem - Principle. “Those are my principles, and well, if you don’t like them…..I have others,” said Marx. Did he have a premonition or what? The word has been trampled and mutilated so often, that it is officially buried. Try using the word in your speech and I promise you a Lok Sabha ticket from any constituency.

Accountability passed away recently. It was killed with help of a remote control. Accidental leaders say ‘Power is poison,’ and yet continue to hold the remote and drink copious amounts of poison. Since accountability died, we must be the only country headed by a silent man of honor presiding over the most inept government.

Debate is not dead. Yet. But it has lost meaning. Debate is synonymous with trading accusations, ending on a note that several wrongs make a right. If you hear a citizen laughing hysterically, he is either watching a debate in the house or on prime time.

The lashings of morality and integrity are the worst. Morality died decades ago, but has become a joke posthumously. When was the last time someone said, ‘I resign on moral grounds’? According to the contemporary thesaurus, morality equals total, unadulterated, hypocrisy. Try using the word in your daily conversation. People will think you are either an alien or Sherlyn Chopra.

Is it any surprise that after the demise of principles, enquiry, and accountability, governance is missing in action?

While kosher words are dying, rogue words stay true to their nature. Scam, injustice, rape, barbarism, brutality and terror are alive and kicking. Scam being the most popular, it is raining scams. Left, Right and West Bengal. Is it any surprise that the met department has promised a normal monsoon?

Why did we allow this to happen?

We can debate the issue. Or maybe an enquiry will reveal all.


Picture Courtesy: Google Images (www.someecards.com)