I live in a society that rejoices in stripping you of your right to choose. From what you wear, to how you dress, to the car you drive, the interests you pursue, and the person you marry … all these decisions are mostly governed by the society, the community, the neighborhood, the clan, the nosey aunty who lives next door, the chai wallah, the doodh waala … anybody except you.
When Amrita Arora shook her hips to the song that paid tribute to “Dilli ki sardi” (translated, the Winters of Delhi), two thoughts struck my mind. One, “What a God awful song that is!” and two, “They are dragging the wrong season into limelight.” If there is anything that is dreaded about Delhi (apart from the startling increase in the crimes against women) and the tomfoolery that passes for driving skills in this city, it is the duration between May and September.
As a society, we love judging people. In fact, that could probably be our national pastime. We judge people on what they wear, don’t wear, eat, don’t eat, do don’t do, buy, don’t buy. How high we turn up our noses is directly related to how good we feel about ourselves. The more we squish someone’s self-esteem, the better human beings we think we are.
As a kid, I was brought up on a staple and wholesome diet of Enid Blyton books. From Famous Five to the Five Find Outers to Secret Seven and the Malory Towers series …. I loved every story written by her. But my all time favorites were the ones where she had an interesting line up of magical characters.
Women have always fascinated me, especially the kind who believe their looks, beauty, clothes, style, makeup and accessories make the world go round; those who are of the opinion that they’re God’s gift to mankind. Let me change that – they firmly believe that they’re God’s gift to mankind. After all, opinions suggest that they can be changed, but beliefs … in India? Ha ha ha, good luck!