In a politically correct world, there is no room today for criticising anyone if they are scrawny or fat, dark, wheatish or fair, short or tall, dressed to kill, or, killing with their dress sense!
Yeah! It is all very good to not calling anyone names or even endearments of yore like Kaalu, Moti, Bhains (cringe), Paetlu, Dhepsi (overweight), Lambu, Gattu, and the more relevant in this context Chammakchchallo or someone inappropriately or gaudily dressed, not necessarily a bimbo or a petit-maitre (I am not quite sure how politically incorrect I am being here). But I do wish to ruffle a few feathers.
And even as I write I wonder why can I not think of many examples of a dandy — I am talking here of men in our milieu and not the stars of the glitzy world. The average Indian male has taken to colours, thanks to a brand that rolled out all hues sometime mid-millennium — from pastel pinks and yellows to reds and purples, the florals and paisleys too having nudged in to occupy some shelf space. There’s also a lot of (muscular) cleavage baring, and of course the biceps and triceps posing.
What about us women? I love the choices we women are spoilt with, be it backless cholis, deep vees, spaghettis, noodle straps, minis, corsets and whatever else. But is there an unwritten code of conduct on what to wear, when and where, and who should wear what and how?
For instance, not wearing blood red while attending some death ceremony, and in a similar strain choosing not to wear a mini or a cold-shoulder when the folds of fat and skin may not appeal to any aesthetic, or a scrawny pair of legs in a painful thigh-high jumper.
Again, it is all very good to say: “My body, my choice”, but if there ain’t any rule etched in stone, there are reasons plenty to dress right.
I will look forward to your views on this.
