In my last writing class, we were told that the prompt for this week’s writing would be ‘permission’. As soon as I heard what we had to write about, multiple topics swirled in my mind.
Should I write about giving myself permission to forgive, a topic I could have written about last week, when the topic was erm… forgiveness? I could describe the journey of how I came to forgive the difficult to forgive people in my life. But then a new thought came up- I could write about the time when I gave myself permission to wear a swimsuit as an adult to a public beach. Better still, I could write about the permission I gave myself to not leave the beach when three men moved a bit closer to me, probably because of my aforementioned swimsuit? Or maybe I could write about how my sisters and I along with my niece, allowed ourselves to wear swimsuits and spent an entire evening frolicking carefree on the beach, just last month? It would be a wonderful story of how I once read an Instagram post that water can be best enjoyed only in the least amount of clothes and a swimsuit was best. I had decided to overcome shyness and wear one. And indeed, now that I wore it my sisters wore it too and perhaps one day all our beaches will be full of women, dressed as they like, enjoying carefree in cool waters. Permission begets permission.
Ah, could I write about how I am just gradually giving myself permission to show off a little of my body and cover up a little less? Can I share about my plans to wear a saree blouse with noodle straps, or a low-cut blouse either in the front or the back? What if I make it about Akram Chacha, my favourite non-judgmental tailor who was not in the shop the other day, when I went in with my one-meter by one-meter purple brocade fabric. A young new recruit in his place, told me that 6.5 inches of depth in the front would show a lot of skin. Akram Chacha wouldn’t make any comment about the fit or the cut of a blouse. He didn’t say anything- not when he stitched my saree blouse eight years ago, and he wouldn’t now when I am older. He probably saw me since a very young age and knew that I was able to make my own decisions. Maybe he simply didn’t care. Did I even look like someone who was seeking permission, from just a random masterjee, to wear a blouse that didn’t drown my small frame in meters of fabric?
The thoughts above led me to think that a piece on my evolving sartorial choices, and how the numerous conversations I have with myself to purchase a few expensive clothes would be the ideal topic on permissions. “I waited a year”, “I waited for a sale”, “I have always wanted this”, “it is ethical”, “I am amazed by the craft”, “I love good design”, “I have always loved fashion and clothes”, “good clothes can truly erase all your body image issues” and so on are what I say to myself and others before I buy something pricey but also lovely. “You don’t have to justify your purchases”, says my younger sister. My husband always thinks I should buy that outfit. My elder sister swears she wouldn’t spend that much on any item of clothing. Feeling externally validated and getting permissions- what a fine line there is between them.
Clothes and bodies are so closely related. Maybe I should write about how I am giving myself permission to eat less. I have been falling sick quite often, I know I do not get enough exercise and I am a firm believer of you go big or you go home. Like my younger sister, I also order large of everything, when at our dear old Ronald’s place, Chicken McGrill, fries and Chicken McNuggets- all large. “There is no large Ma’am, in chicken nuggets”, they say. What’s your biggest serving, I ask. Nine pieces. Nine it is.
In a café, I order my coffee with milk and sugar and now that I am already having a small treat, I will add a jam filled donut or a sweet bun. I might also add a savoury cheesy puff or quiche because that umami can balance the sweetness. I can never allow myself to eat less, to let go of the food, and keep it for next time. What if I write about giving myself permission to let food wait. What if I give myself permission to take care of myself, look at my food as helping me build my health in the long term than give me bursts of pleasure in the short term? Why can’t I simply stick to a cup of coffee? What if I allow myself to say no? I might look like someone who cannot afford a coffee, a bun and a puff. What if I come across as someone who is diet conscious? The truth is, I just recently gave myself permission to pile up my plate and it is too early to reverse that.
Too frivolous all these topics are on permission and it is time to get serious. I need to write about women and permission. Or at least something on resisting the patriarchy. What if I write about giving myself the permission to enjoy Holi and all the songs that have been blaring on the loudspeakers all morning? And what if I allow myself a break from thinking about the religious divides, the false equivalences regarding animal cruelty and religions and the water that is going to be used in a water scarce land? What if I allow myself to dance to these beats of Bollywood, that I have come to detest? What if I allow myself to accept that the word ‘gujiya’ didn’t exist in my vocabulary eight years ago and that the patriarchy gave it to me? What if I give myself permission to accept that I dislike gujiya because it erased the solemnity of the Holy Week and expected me to feast during the most holy time of my dwindling faith.
Oh no, I still have nothing and so much to write on permission. My younger sister just called me and told me about the Marathi movie ‘Jhimma’ on a streaming channel. In one scene, one of the protagonists wears trousers and a long shirt for the first time, after years of donning a saree. She expected her husband to reprimand her, on finding out, but to her pleasant surprise, he was delighted and told her to wear it more often. She was not seeking permission but he still gave it, I thought but didn’t say it out loud. The dialogue could have simply ended at, “oh gosh, you look amazing”, why the you should wear it more often bit? Permissions from the patriarchal society are deeply embedded in our minds and we find it hard to even recognize when we give it. It would do us all well, at least, if we recognize it when we seek it.
It's amazing how you have interwoven discussions on sartorial and food choices with the blatant display of patriarchy during Holi. Happy that I could enjoy all these (shopping, eating, discussing gender) with you recently :-) Your point about the dialogue in 'Jhimma' reminds me how such acts often get appreciated and applauded for the "magnanimity" of the husband - long way to go indeed, from de-normalising these "deeply embedded" ideas to problematising them!!