When did we lose the ability to think for ourselves? Kareena Kapoor Khan wore a bindi and posted a photograph of herself. NDTV felt it was national news. Now all eyes are focused on the little black dot between the celebrity eyebrows. The world of the impressionable turns on these fashion breakthroughs. It was swept up in a henna wave when Madonna waved her henna decorated hands in the air bringing the almost only-for-brides body decoration into deep focus.
Today Rudyard Kipling, if alive, would realize that east is east and west is west but the twain can surely meet over fashion trends: if a celebrity endorses it. It’s globalization wearing its best avatar. To get back to the bindi. From being a symbol of the power of concealed wisdom that was said to reside between the brows, the bindi became a fashion statement. Powder bowed out to make way for liquid which in turn gave way to the sticky velvet dot in a variety of hues. The era of perfectly coordinated bindis left its mark on many a forehead, with the gum leaving many an itchy reminder of the effects of unsafe substances on the skin. Exit the bindi.
Thus relegated by the modern urban woman to ‘special occasions’ such as weddings and religious rituals, the bindi was exiled to the hinterland where traditional norms continued to hold. And now, one wonders what avatar it will come back as. I can see the creative marketing mind, fresh back from Harvard, already looking at a market where the pennies will gross up to pretty millions. I can see home-grown jugaad magicians preparing to ride the crest of the wave. And the simple-colored dot finding itself mass-marketed not just in many shades, but in futuristic forms that go beyond metal and Swarovski Crystal.
Nothing women love more than a new way to show off their fashion edginess. So, that’s what fashion is. To see what an idol likes and adopt it. No harm in that. It’s the most harmless of fallouts of the ‘copy cat syndrome’, which hurts nobody, if you don’t count the pain inflicted by some sartorial boo-boos. It’s the syndrome itself one has issues with. Because it extends way beyond fashion into all spheres of life.
Making celebrities of ordinary people, giving them a voice that is inversely proportionate to their ordinariness. In this tweet-Instagram-happy world, it’s easy to become a celebrity, and speak loud and clear on anything. The soap box orator risked his crowd wandering away if it rained or his throat ran dry; the tweeter, the influencer, and the celebrity have a phone-addicted generation as captive audiences. Perhaps this is a fallout of our score-by-rote education system.
Which teaches that mugging and repeating gets the best results. Dulled into an inability to think for oneself; forced to fear the teacher as punisher who will turn nasty if the beaten path is abandoned, the mind grows a woolly protection. All it wants is an anchor, a star wagon to hitch itself to. The celebrity, the influencer, the loudest tweeter are easy victims. I say victims, because they fall victim to the same game, feeding off their own status, completing the circle. The aura that we gift to our idols—stars, politicians, godmen, or savants—can be comforting. It ensures one never has to think for oneself.
Sathya Saran
Author & Consulting Editor, Penguin Random House saran.sathya@gmail.com