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The colour red has many kinds of effect on women, happy at times, but sad in many others. Hence it cannot be trusted, writes Anindita Nag.
Recently I was reading in Harper’s Bazaar magazine about how Christain Louboutin got inspired by the red nail polish to make all his ladies shoes have the red sole at the bottom. One day he was looking at a pair of black shoes and saw his assistant’s red nail polish lying around by him. He liked the colour so much that he decided to paint the bottom sole of the pair of shoes, he had designed, red.
Today obviously he does not use that same nail polish to paint the bottom soles red, but that is his trademark and everyone loves a pair of high heels with the red bottom. Yes, they are also very expensive, looks so stylish and sexy. Who knew a bottle of red polish could create a huge inspiration for such a famous designer.
In another part of the world, a school girl wearing the white uniform gets a red stain at the back of her dress. Everyone is laughing at her. Her periods had started and that has caused the red stain in her dress. She is ashamed of herself and runs to the school nurse to get another dress. She will never forget the ridicule she faced. And then her cramps and pains start, she bears them all as she knows Ganesh Chaturthi is coming up, and she will have to decorate the idol.
But alas! As soon as her family got to know that she is having her periods, she is barred from entering the puja room, let alone touch the idol. She sat all rejected and alone. Why is a woman considered untouchable because of a natural phenomenon occurring in her body? Is it her fault?
In yet another part of the world, a woman is getting married. Her husband applied sindoor which is red in colour in front of the holy fire and all her relatives. This included her family with whom she has grown up, learned to trust and believe since birth. The relatives also included her new family with whom she will have to now live with, respect and listen to. Everything in a marriage that the woman is doing is to go live with strangers and wear the red sindoor on her head. For the guy, it’s just a ring on his finger and that’s it. Today the woman has attained the status of Lakshmi coming into the house and bringing in good luck and wealth to her new family.
In another part of the world, a woman just lost her husband. She was married only for a few years. Her husband was hit and killed by a drunk driver. This same society now comes and mercilessly wipes off her red sindoor. She is looked down upon by the people. Everyone blames her for her husband’s death. They say she brought bad luck to the family, she killed her husband.
She was at home when the accident happened yet it is her fault. Did they think about her dreams of living a life with this man? What about her life that has been shattered? And the old ladies say that she cannot wear anything red because she is a widow now. In every so-called happy occasion, she will be asked to stand away, separately and no one will ever apply the red sindoor on her forehead.
The colour red drives a woman crazy. At times it brings her joy and also deep sadness at other times. How can we trust the colour red when it plays with our feelings and emotions. I can’t trust the red colour. It will betray me when I need it the most. I shun the colour red.
Image Source – Wikipedia
I love to write on women's issues. I strongly believe that every woman is capable of being more than just a homemaker. They are the leaders of our world. They can multi-task more read more...
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As he stood in front of his door, Nishant prayed that his wife would be in a better mood. The baby thing was tearing them apart. When was the last time he had seen his wife smile?
Veena got into the lift. It was a festival day, and the space was crammed with little children dressed in bright yellow clothes, wearing fancy peacock feather crowns, and carrying flutes. Janmashtami gave her the jitters. She kept her face down, refusing to socialize with anyone.
They had moved to this new apartment three months ago. The whole point of shifting had been to get away from the ruthless questioning by ‘well-wishers’.
“You have been married for ten years! Why no child yet?”
I huffed, puffed and panted up the hill, taking many rest breaks along the way. My calf muscles pained, my heart protested, and my breathing became heavy at one stage.
“Let’s turn back,” my husband remarked. We stood at the foot of Shravanbelagola – one of the most revered Jain pilgrimage centres. “We will not climb the hill,” he continued.
My husband and I were vacationing in Karnataka. It was the month of May, and even at the early hour of 8 am in the morning, the sun scorched our backs. After visiting Bangalore and Mysore, we had made a planned stop at this holy site in the Southern part of the state en route to Hosur. Even while planning our vacation, my husband was very excited at the prospect of visiting this place and the 18 m high statue of Lord Gometeshwara, considered one of the world’s tallest free-standing monolithic statues.
What we hadn’t bargained for was there would be 1001 granite steps that needed to be climbed to have a close-up view of this colossal magic three thousand feet above sea level on a hilltop. It would be an understatement to term it as an arduous climb.
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