Is
she the New Woman?
AS
I watched her, I realised she embodied India's upwardly mobile women on the
move; the aspirations of the young and ambitious. She sat opposite me, on this
Eid morning, and I could not help looking at her closely. She was well dressed,
a light pink 'salwar' suit, with a sprinkling of silver stars on the yoke of the
georgette, and edge of the 'dupatta'. A fine dusting of powder lightened the
ebony of her face, and her generous mouth wore well-defined lipstick in a rich
maroon, which though applied lightly and without a gloss, proclaimed its
presence all the same.
AS
I watched, she opened her handbag, took out a tiny glass bottle and began
painting her nails. Her left hand, I noticed, had a model's nails, perfectly
shaped and long and as she layered them with a violent purple enamel, they
gleamed richly in the flashing sunlight. Job done, she tightened the lid of her
bottle, flung it into her purse and splayed her fingers to let the polish
dry.
I
MUSED over what she represented. Somewhere, she had assimilated the rudiments of
good grooming, there was enough of the new and sophisticated in her to raise her
above the other women in the compartment... There were many of better
backgrounds - economically perhaps - than hers, as their confidence and
deportment proclaimed, but they had thrown their clothes together in some
matter-of-fact manner, many just deigned to wear lipstick, and none of them had
colour on their nails. Beyond the corridor was a bunch of women in new clothes
with henna on their hands, looking colourful and pretty, but I was not sure the
dressing up would be with the same care once the Eid festival was over.
THIS
girl was different. She had the will to acquire a look, and the wherewithal to
make it happen.
AS
we neared the city, she reached back and pulled the grip out of her hair. Her
bag yielded a comb, which she ran repeatedly through her hair, which I could see
now had been coloured in streaks, and conditioned. It shone under her
ministrations, and finally, she got the blunt cut but slightly turned-up edges
to bounce with a life of their own.
SATISFIED
with the response, she put away her comb, ferreted away her hair clip into her
bag, and got ready to get off.
'DUPATTA'
neatly rearranged over her shoulders, she slung her bag on her shoulder, then
remembering something, took it down again, and rummaged in its
interiors.
I
COULD imagine she was looking for loose change, for the bus ride ahead, or
ascertaining that her pass was at hand should the ticket collector materialise
on the platform.
I
FELT a certain kinship with her, this meticulous, professional young woman, who
took pride in presenting a groomed look, and boosted her self esteem in the
process.
I
IMAGINED her at work, either behind a receptionist's table, or in a busy
office, conducting herself with decorum and poise.
SHE
had found what her fingers had been seeking. She pulled out a sweet. Uwrapped it
and popped it in her mouth... As she got up and turned towards the door, her
balled fist released the crumpled wrapper, flinging it carelessly down the
aisle.
THE
train stopped.
SHE
stepped off, munching her sweet.
MY
dream shattered.
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