They expect us to wear a sari. Nonsense. And if I may be allowed to sound more un-ladylike,
more blip a.k.a what a load of c ! and more.
The others might wish to conform to such stereotypes, which to my mind are nothing more than some ancient sod's drunken excesses splashed all over his excuse of a brain. You may say I'm overreacting, but listen, all my life I've rebelled against dress codes and cultural straitjackets: legendary are the stories of my tantrums, my hangers of unwashed jeans, my tee-shirt with the not-so-subtle admonition plastered all over the front for the world to see. And you expect me to wear a garment, of which the only way I know how to put on is to twirl myself holding it straight, rather than the other way around.
Ok, I wore it at times: the mytho play where I played Shakuntala (difficult to imagine, I know, but hey, I fancied myself as an actress, and the white folds tucked into my waist were very appropriate, not anything like now). Or when I went to meet his parents (this was for the second time; I had made it very clear I wouldn't change myself for the first impression: why go about jerking people, when all I would want to do in their house, when and if I got there of course, was to change from my heavy Kanchipuram with full jarigai into a cool white kurta and my trademark blue jeans). We all know how that turned out, don't we? Look at me and weep!
I don't know why, but all this has meant some sort of undecipherable ire when I see those voluminous things they call saris being paraded in ads, or people saying it is the most graceful and (this is the crux) the safest or honourable thing I can put on my body. Puh-leaase! Have you seen any of Saroj Khan's dance numbers? If someone wanted, they could make peeping Toms cringe with anything they wear, even if it had the surface area of Russia. Anyway, fat use is security to me now. I can't see anyone doing anything to me now!
Another thing that gets my goat is people simply assume I'm the type who loves the night out, just based on my wardrobe. Though I admit I may lead everyone to that conclusion, but hullo, have you heard of the term "beauty sleep"? The odd midnight caper is ok, but I can hardly have that every other day. Dark circles, dear. And do you get cucumbers here? Fat chance. I am not averse to letting my hair down though, something I've always had a reputation for.
I still think I'd not want to draw any attention and just want to go about my business for the rest of my time here. Most of the guys and gals around me seem to have suffered from some sort of attention-deficit disorder all their lives. What else will explain their willingness to dress up and go out there in the middle of all those people? I think I've had enough of being a rebel, I think I just want to sit back and rest my head on my tombstone instead of putting on a white sari, untying my not-so-long tresses just to give some poor soul (or am I the poor soul? ha! ha!) a good scare. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say. If you really want me to do it then, then no saris please. My jeans please, that would make it all normal, and so conversely more frightening. Though these guys would never get the idea of it all. Tells me that I must keep my choices open then, for isn't it a known fact that while here they think of brooms at the very thought, in England they pay money to see the likes of me?