Tuesday, August 15, 2006

On Independence Day

Not too long ago, on an Independence Day, a white sequined salwar kurta was worn.
How many ironies, you will not know.

P'haps the thronging crowds and countless netas with their even more countless chelas may have been a nuisance. In public spaces that didn't need more dirt or paan stains- their commemoration for our svatantrata. Freedom to be a pain.

P'haps the squished, the torn, the held, the adorned, marigold garlands may have been pathetic to look at. For flowers to be plucked for such futility.

And p'haps the cliched North Indian heat was unbearable and oppressive. Smothering its heavy hand over our mouth and noses. Nary a breath be taken.

But a white sequined salwar kurta was put on.
Sequined. White. New.

Too many ironies for one to count.


Incense clung to it as chhaunk stings your nose. It was used and then thrown.
Like a widow put aside from one's eyes for the misfortune to the family she has shown. To wither but away from your sight. To lament and cry but away from your eyes.

For someone ought to have said,

A white salwar kurta must never be owned
For if it's been made, it must be worn.

4 comments:

deepak said...

mayb its the sleep deprivation...will be back again tommorow and try again...

Sriram said...

reminds me of a particular dialogue about a bridesmaid's dress : "Its a bridesmaid's dress. someone loved it intensely for one day. And then, they threw it away."

Deepali said...

deepak: must have been some fun you had today :)

sriram: err I was oblivious to that line. Or connotation.

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