Recently when I changed my Whatsapp profile picture, one of my friends messaged: ‘U luk like Indian housewife.’
My mom’s damn sure of my dad and am crazily proud of my lineage and yes I’m a wife at home, I screamed into the mobile, when she pinged ‘let ur hair down, y clip it, u luk old…’ So I let her chuckle and replaced the picture with one where I sported sindhoor on my forehead.
Marriage has this uncanny nature of inadvertent compulsiveness. So for years I wore only pleated pants and skirts because I was made to believe that not all body parts of mine were matured in feminine proportion to hold form-fitting jeans. Until supermodels awakened me when they walked the ramp in my living room and I wondered aloud where their legs ended and hips began. For long I never wore leggings, too, for similar reasons after being made conscious of my disproportionate scrawny legs. Until our family friend, with well-rounded derriere in coloured capris, enrolled for Pilates classes for lean legs.
However, I’m yet to hold a mirror to women. I was diagnosed as having a weak core by a self-obsessed friend, who never tired advising me the importance of gym, pranayams in the balcony and eating greens. “Salads are my meals… I hardly cook…,” she drawled at my dining table helping herself to butter chicken and dal makhani, saying, ‘this is why I loouve coming to your place…slurp’!
Just this morning a self-obsessed cousin took me by my hair. “Gosh this is so not done what the hell was she thinking and you just let her do this even the grocery sachets give better shades omy I need to take you to my stylist ohno this is so dirty red…” when she paused to breathe, I replied, “I’m happy with my new hairdo.” With a shrug, she said, “Whatever, I was on my way to Mrs Kapur. Our new villa interiors I want it Feng Shui proof…”
We continue on our ride thus, even when the tectonic plates choose to pull the plugs from under our feet at its whim. Millions in Nepal and India today couldn’t be bothered of calories on their plates or if their nails are painted. They would only be grateful to be alive, to be breathing, to be holding their kids, yearning to be able to sleep without nightmares.
Feigning ignorance of the fragility of our existence, we forget to let live and all the same profess ‘life must go on’. Whoever coined the quote should have been chronically self-obsessed a person. Time to Google its origin!