Remember that famous tagline Reliance Industries used for Vimal saris in the mid-1970s? That came from advertising legend Frank Simoes who also crafted some absolutely stunning visuals to go with that it. Simoes, one of India’s best copy writers ever, died about ten years ago but his tagline continues to manifest itself in various ways.
Well, women, despite the odds, do find ways of expressing themselves when given a chance. Of course, most men do know (or don’t they?) that women are loving and caring, they go out of their way to please people they really like (parents, siblings, children) as well as those they don’t much care for sometimes (husbands, mothers-in-law).
And that they are generally more genuine in their affections than men are. But what most men may not know as well, or give credit for, is the fact that women are extremely good at multi-tasking, displaying an amazing reservoir of energy. What they love doing, given an opportunity, is freaking out or letting their hair down and having a ball.
The pleasure they derive from small things, a man can never understand and at times it may even seem stupid to some men. And when women let go, there’s no stopping them.
At a local do recently, I couldn’t help but notice the coordinators, making up an all-woman team, determined to have fun even while focusing on a serious issue such as heritage. There they were all out in resplendent attire — from jeans and Capri to Kanjeevaram silks and Garden chiffons, from 24-carat (or was it 18?) gold to funky jewellery — dressed to kill. They found time for the personal niceties, too. I overheard one woman asking another while one of the speakers was rambling about heritage conservation, where she had got her low-cut blouse stitched. And then I noticed her draw up her friend’s sari pallu ever so slowly to closely examine the beads that hung from those blouse sleeves. I almost winced.
There were only a few men who dared enter the packed hall; there were quite a few outside swaying their heads from side to side to catch a glimpse of the goings-on. And the few who were inside comprised a motley group of two photographers, a husband who was called to judge a ramp walk, and three grandfathers.
Speeches over, there was music and dance, singing aloud, and a variety of games that saw paper cups, buckets, glasses, water and biscuits being used liberally. It was a pleasure though, seeing women in their 70s jiving and keeping pace with those in their teens and early twenties. There were times when I almost burst out laughing, like when a 71-year-old said she wanted to sing for her 78-year-old husband (he was at home) and when she cracked up after dishing out hardly a line of legible poetry. It didn’t take very long for her to go wild on the dance floor as if there was no tomorrow.
The ramp walk brought up the finale. I saw women clamber up the stage one after the other and strutting about a little, swaying to the music, bowing and exiting. They didn’t need a Sabira Merchant, a Queenie Singh, an Anupam Kher or a Shiamak Davar to train them. Each one was a winner. In a way, I felt humbled by the experience, the sights and sounds of which filled my senses for a while thereafter. More power to such women.