London, United Kingdom : The Princess
A young woman stepped out of a quaint horse drawn carriage, engulfed in
a cloud of crumpled white. And in doing so gave seed to millions of wanna-be
princesses around the world. This was the complete package. Royal pomp and
ceremony, tradition, stately old courtiers, soldiers on horses, a Queen, a
King, several Princes and Princesses, in a church that inspired as much as it
awed.
She walked on a red carpet, a 25-foot-long swath of white taffeta
flowing like a river behind her. The crinoline dress ballooned around. It had
taken the collective efforts of three coachmen to coax it and the train
into the carriage. The carriage had been built more than a hundred years
earlier and had been designed to accommodate the more modest outfits of the
King's courtiers.
Her diamond crusted tiara winked and twinkled atop her golden hair. A
family heirloom, each jewel in the tiara had an impressive story and had been
handed down through generations of aristocratic ancestors. It would be returned
to her father after the ceremony.
Under the silk dress covered in lace, sequins and more than ten thousand
pearls she wore several petticoats. One of these had an eighteen karat
gold horseshoe sewn into it. It was meant to bring good luck and happiness to
the bride.
Watching the spectacle from the pew, the queen's sister wondered,
"Will it be enough?"
Banaras, India: - The Widow
At the exact same moment, in Banaras, India, another woman stands on the
Manikarnika ghat by the river Ganges. She too is dressed in white.
Her scalp twinkles in theafternoon sun. As required by tradition, her
once beautiful long hair has been tonsured. She stands there dressed in a plain
white cotton sari, her bangles,necklaces, and earrings, nose rings, toe rings
all surrendered to God. The proud red mark on her forehead has been wiped out
to broadcast her widowhood.
The flames of the funeral pyre dance in the afternoon sun. She breathes
in the acrid smell of burning flesh, tears roll down her face. Soon her
husband's corpse will be reduced to a pile of white ash. When the ashes have
cooled, they will offer them up to Mother Ganges so that her husband’s soul can
achieve Moksha or eternal peace and float away like a cloud.
She does not worry about the future. She will live out the rest of her
life quietly and in the shadows. Her son would now shelter and provide for her
just as her husband and father had done at different stages of her life.
Her aunt weeps in the shadows and wonders, "How could she be so
naive?"
Mumbai, India - The School Principal
Sr Maria Rosa was the special guest at the Apostolic Carmel High School Reunion. The crowd cheered as even at 82, she marched to her seat on the stage wearing her uniform crisp white veil and habit. An alumnus from the class of 1974 had won the privilege of delivering the alumni address.
This is what she said. "Over the past 12 months, thanks to social media, I have had the opportunity to reconnect with several of my classmates from around the world, some for the first time since we left school, 35 years ago. They are daughters, sisters, wives, mothers and homemakers. Several are successful career women There are lawyers, teachers, doctors, nurses, executive assistants, airline stewards, mathematicians, musicians, dancers, artists, technologists, even some activists. This school and the teachers have equipped us to handle the challenges and opportunities of our times. Those of us who went to school here in the late 60s and 70s are especially fortunate, for we had Sr Maria Rosa as our principal. Sr Maria Rosa was an innovative, fearless leader. She encouraged us to think out of the box, adapt to the world as it changed around us and pursue our dreams, mindfully yet without the traditional shackles of societal norms. Her energy and enthusiam were infectious, cascading this modern approach to all the students in the school........" The speaker went on to list out various projects and activities and their impact on the students.
She concluded with, "As part of my preparations for this address, I polled my classmates, I asked them if they had any special messages for you Sr. Maria Rosa. From around the world, the answer was unanimous :”Tell sister we love her. We are grateful for what she taught us. We do remember her in our prayers, but more than that, we remember her in the way we live our lives.Thank you sister for leaving such a strong and indelible mark on all of us."
Stepping off the stage, amidst enthusiastic applause, I thought, "Thank God, I was one of them."
London, United Kingdom : The Princess
A young woman stepped out of a quaint horse drawn carriage, engulfed in a cloud of crumpled white. And in doing so gave seed to millions of wanna-be princesses around the world. This was the complete package. Royal pomp and ceremony, tradition, stately old courtiers, soldiers on horses, a Queen, a King, several Princes and Princesses, in a church that inspired as much as it awed.
She walked on a red carpet, a 25-foot-long swath of white taffeta flowing like a river behind her. The crinoline dress ballooned around. It had taken the collective efforts of three coachmen to coax it and the train into the carriage. The carriage had been built more than a hundred years earlier and had been designed to accommodate the more modest outfits of the King's courtiers.
Her diamond crusted tiara winked and twinkled atop her golden hair. A family heirloom, each jewel in the tiara had an impressive story and had been handed down through generations of aristocratic ancestors. It would be returned to her father after the ceremony.
Under the silk dress covered in lace, sequins and more than ten thousand pearls she wore several petticoats. One of these had an eighteen karat gold horseshoe sewn into it. It was meant to bring good luck and happiness to the bride.
Watching the spectacle from the pew, the queen's sister wondered, "Will it be enough?"
Banaras, India: - The Widow
At the exact same moment, in Banaras, India, another woman stands on the Manikarnika ghat by the river Ganges. She too is dressed in white.
Her scalp twinkles in theafternoon sun. As required by tradition, her once beautiful long hair has been tonsured. She stands there dressed in a plain white cotton sari, her bangles,necklaces, and earrings, nose rings, toe rings all surrendered to God. The proud red mark on her forehead has been wiped out to broadcast her widowhood.
The flames of the funeral pyre dance in the afternoon sun. She breathes in the acrid smell of burning flesh, tears roll down her face. Soon her husband's corpse will be reduced to a pile of white ash. When the ashes have cooled, they will offer them up to Mother Ganges so that her husband’s soul can achieve Moksha or eternal peace and float away like a cloud.
She does not worry about the future. She will live out the rest of her life quietly and in the shadows. Her son would now shelter and provide for her just as her husband and father had done at different stages of her life.
Her aunt weeps in the shadows and wonders, "How could she be so naive?"
Washington DC USA, The Lawmakers
The President is delivering the State of the Union address. He sees before him an ocean of dark blues, greys and black, with a blinding big white cloud in the middle. It is a group of women lawmakers who have chosen this occasion to make a statement.
More than a hundred years ago, a group of women had looked into the darkness of a world designed by privileged men and had chosen to fight against it. These women chose to wear white to symbolize the purity of their purpose. The Suffragettes had worked to reverse the law that denied women the right to vote.
The lawmakers are honouring the Suffragette and committing to continue to work for a bright future for women, this time with a seat at the legislative table. In a dark world, they offer hope for a future in which women can take back agency over their bodies, minds and hearts.
I wonder, "Will this really happen in my lifetime?"
Hema, I can’t critique. I don’t have the agency. But I can say I very much enjoyed reading the stories. Marie A
ReplyDeleteWell done Hema !
ReplyDelete