My "Modern" Neighbours

The concept of " being modern" seems grossly misinterpreted in this country of ours. Having lived in metro cities across the country, I have been exposed to a major faux-pas in the way women from the upper middle-class and in their 30's interpret the term " modern".

Is being modern all about wearing western outfit? Is being modern all about speaking english even if you donot know its "this" and "that"s?? Is modernity all about going to late night parties, not caring about your aging in-laws and innocent kids? or, Is it about spending hours over the phone either bitching or bragging?

My answer to all these above is an in-your-face NO!!

Before I go further, let us take a moment and analyse the story of these so-called "modern" women.

Most or rather almost all of them have graduated from some local college in their neighbourhoods. They have never had a "life" outside home and college. They have all been married off at an early age and have husbands who earn much more than they actually need. Thanks to their husbands jobs, these women have migrated to the metro cities and live in neighbourhoods where the women in other families share a similar story.

Post this migration to metro cities they find themselves suddenly free, free to do anything and everything they feel like. The poor husband is too pre-occupied with work to monitor his wife. The aaya takes care of all the household chores and her kids spend a major part of the day in school. She is left with immense free time and complete freedom. Indulgence is the only activity that strikes her.

So she gathers all her new-found like-minded friends and plans a lunch, sometimes a brunch. The only thing these women discuss at these get-togethers is clothes, make-up and accessories. They all complain how wearing a sari or a salwar suit bores them, how it doesn't go down well with their status to turn up in a saree and, voila! they all decide to shun them- the Indian dresses!

And thus begins the saga of misinterpreted,misread and misconstrued trip down the road to modernity.

I have seen women in their early 30's shop for mini-skirts. Well, no harm in that but lady, look into the mirror atleast sometimes and realise that your unshapely legs, bulging tummy and hips do not grace that skirt. You are in a way only mocking yourself.

Even the likes of Rekha and Hema Malini, inspite of having a perfect body make it a point to turn up in a saree. Why then does an ordinary woman like you despise saree, our national identity?

A Reality Check- this is what these women need. I wonder what kind of an example these moms are setting for their kids. With time, tables shall be turned. It is then that these self-proclaimed modern women will realise that attire and self-indulgence do not define modernity. It is ones morality, knowledge, outlook and realisation of responsibilities that decide whether one is truly modern or no.

　

　

　

My second holi with friends! Was crazy to speak the least. I was never a Holi-person. My entire childhood is full of only observations of people playing with the colors. I always liked to maintain a distance, and watch.

Earliest recollections are of my parents and a whole lot of their friends. They would all come to our place in a car. Dad, in white kurta-pyjama would go with them somewhere.  Couple of hours later when they returned , dad would look like a ghost! His white kurta-pyjama now with patches of red, pink, green and blue colors all over. His chappals and feet smeared in abeer, applied by his junior colleagues as a mark of respect.

Then came the tussle. Mom wouldn't let dad enter the house in his "ghastly and colored" state. Dad, in turn would pull mom out of the house and overturn a packet full of abeer over her. Other friends would join, as I watched, sometimes from the balcony and sometimes from a distance somewhere.

One of dad's colleagues (we called him 'tauji')  would live in the same building as ours. I very vividly remember how dad hurriedly took us (my sister and me) to the balcony one Holi morning, himself carrying a bucketful of colored water. Tauji, all bathed and beaming in his new, sparkling white kurta-pyjamas was standing downstairs just below our balcony.  With a startling splash, the entire bucketful of water was dropped onto tauji! Bewildered, and with water dripping from all over him tauji looked up, and we all screamed in unison, "Bura na mano Holi hai!!" With that, all our mischiefs were pardoned.

That's the magic of Holi.

Smeared in color, everybody appears the same. Nobody is rich, nobody is poor. They are all red and blue and green.