Scene
1: Abu Dhabi, 01:30 PM, 45 degree Celsius
Women
(and all those metrosexual men out there) beware! In climatic conditions such
as the one mentioned above, neither your Raybans nor your sunblocks can be of
much help. I had already lost enough colour having traversed the deserts of the
Sahara (not really, just a fun desert safari) to have discomforted my long-dead
grandmother (who boasted of the most gorgeous milk white skin tone) and my ‘at
the end of her wit’s mother’ whose primary concern after my return from Dubai
has been the restoration of my skin tone by applying layers of curd, peels of
tomatoes besides other elements of nature. It’s not a great idea to have a
daughter of marriageable age (I had'nt yet met the 'sheikh of my life' till then) looking like the latest Fair and Lovely model you
see(the before version, just in case you were confused). Anyway, having
battled the excruciating heat on the hills of Jabal Hafeez, we appeared before
the hallowed portals of Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque, the largest mosque in the
UAE. Knowing my love for posing for the shutterbug, my fellow colleague (a very
talented amateur young photographer) had zeroed in on the most flattering angle
to capture my moderately pretty face against the silhouette of the grand
structure when I was ‘politely commanded’ (how oxymoronic) by one of the mosque
sentinels to don my headscarf before I could continue my endeavour at being
Miss Photogenic Face of the year. That taken care of, I now
proceeded to make my way towards the main mosque building when Commandment
Number 2 was issued to me: Please put on your ‘abaya’ before proceeding
further. Now, where was this mentioned? No signboard pointed this out anywhere
either within or outside the premises. With thoughts such as these in my
literally ‘garam dimaag’ I put on the ‘abaya’. Not the best thing to do for the
following reasons:
Reason
No 1: I was a puny little 157 cms sized woman donning a piece of garment meant
for a Naomi Campbellesque or atleast a Deepika Padukonesque frame.
Besides, grace has never been one of my favourite companions. Result, I
end up personifying ‘clumsy’ like only I can in the midst of some of the
prettiest women that I have been ever surrounded by.
Reason
No. 2: The entire notion of the oriental versus the occidental is slowly making
my insides irritable. While I am struggling with the heat, the abaya and the
thought of my wheatish complexion turning into a dark chocolate brown, I hear
stray phrases such as ‘This is so exotic’, ‘I feel like the Queen of Sheba’
doing the rounds amongst my Western counterparts.
Reason
Number 3: I see all my male colleagues walking around without a care in the
world. No ‘abaya’ business for them. No headscarf either. One of them refuses
to recognize me for around 30 seconds before realization finally dawns that I
am not Salma Begum but their very own Sreejita Basu. Another colleague of mine
questions, “Is it really uncomfortable? . “No”, I replied with a wry smile
around my lips, “It’s the comfort of Levi’s jeans, the style statement of
Versace and the ethnic elegance of Ritu Kumar all rolled into one”.
Scene
2: Jumeira Beach Park, 4:30 PM, 38 degree Celsius
A
complete contrast to Scene 1, Jumeira Beach Park is the ideal destination in
Dubai for a dip in the sea. Add to that, the chance to catch a glimpse of the
beautiful sunset while being surrounded by gorgeous men and women from almost
every part of the world. After my experience of donning the ‘abaya’, one would
have thought that the idea of sporting a bikini (you have to be dressed in
proper swimming gear to be able to take a dip, no salwar-kameez business here)
would have been my perfect idea of empowerment (even I thought so). But wait a
minute...what about those ‘larger than life’ love handles? Or the untoned
torso? The not-quite-perfect arms or the chicken-pox scars on my back?
While I was still pre-occupied with such insecurities, I noticed a 70 something
white woman heading towards the beach. Wrinkled skin, sagging breasts.
Like any other 70 year old. Beach-hat and bikini in place, her wobbly legs
displayed the most confident strides I had seen in a long long time.
Although I did manage to take the dip (in my modest swimwear, no bikini
business), I had not quite been able to shake off the self-doubts in my head.
So,
here I was, not quite sure of my own stand. Not quite comfortable covering up
my body in the flowing abaya. Not quite comfortable showing it off in the
bikini. And I am not too surprised. In a society where the chance
occurrence of your bra strap playing peek-a-boo from your top still raises
eyebrows and your clothes are the biggest catalyst for you getting raped, I
cannot help getting drawn towards the middle path.
I
had always propagated the idea of feeling beautiful and appreciating my own
self in spite of its imperfections. I still do. Like any other woman I crave
for the perfect body (although I make no efforts in that direction). I like
receiving compliments and I know when men are checking me out. I hope I can say
the same things with the same amount of confidence when I am 70 something. And
feel stunning in spite of the wrinkled skin, the grey hair and the
not-so-perfect waistline.
 |
| At Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi.Don't miss out on the green sneakers playing peek-a-boo from the abaya |
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