OF BAUBLES, BEAUTY AND PENETRATING STARES

The train of thought in this post follows something that happened in the supermarket this afternoon—something that has become a regular occurrence in my life. For too long (and yes, I have already started complaining) the only people who have checked me out on the streets, at bus-stops, at supermarkets, once upon a time at the university, and even at my workplaces, have been women. The only exception to this is, of course, Darby (and a couple of insignificant others) and even that is not much of a consolation since Darby is seriously myopic. This basically means that I have to get really close to him for him to see me, let alone appreciate what he sees. And then again, I have no qualms in admitting that I am a ‘certain kind’ of beauty. I could look attractive, but only from…a distance.

Coming back to what I had begun with, I have always wondered why the f… do women stare at me when I walk in to a room or pass by them? I am not a Penelope Cruz in the beauty department and I dress ‘boring’. I recall an afternoon years ago. K and I were walking all the way towards the Arts building in the JU campus, passing by the numerous engineering departments. Seeing the girls looking at us and hardly finding a guy doing the same, the exasperated K had commented that the scene defied all the norms of social behaviour between men and women. She pointed out that one, it was impossible to believe that all the guys around were discussing serious stuff and, therefore, two new birds in the midst had not created a stir and, two, if they were really talking serious stuff, were we then trying to conclude that the girls had nothing better to do but show interest in us? Well, down the years I do not find this scene surprising anymore. Men check out women all the time, covertly and overtly. Women check out men…covertly and, these days, pretty much overtly as well and women also check out women.

Really, there are so many kinds of stares that one woman gives another, the sly glances, the sniggering looks, the awestruck stares…the works. I have always been particularly fond of stare no. 25. This usually comes from the matronly of the species, their knit brows a clear proof of their disapproval of any girl who does not strut the appropriate hemline or neckline. They are the ones who have never quite liked Zeenat Aman, don’t like Bipasha and are, even after so many years, undecided about Rekha. As much as I have been fond of stare no. 25, it has often proved to be my undoing. Stare no. 1 is the most common—the ‘you-check-me-out-as-I-check-you-out’ stare. This stare is usually seen at bus-stops. Imagine the following situation. Two PYTs come from two different directions and wait at the same stop, each eyeing the other with superhuman skill, taking in every detail—from the baubles around the other’s neck to the handbags and shoes. Even as they rate each other on aesthetics, either drawing inspiration or drawing flak, their eyes suffer due to intense staring from the corner of their eyes at the fashionable objects on display. This harmless ocular gymnastics continues until an even more interesting subject interposes itself between the two. The question is…can women really prevent themselves from checking out other women? I would say no. Why? I have no clue. I haven’t really asked any of my boyfriends but I am curious. Do men check out other members of their species in the same manner? Does a man actually remember what his male colleague wore to a Friday night party? I don't know a single man who remembers what his girlfriend or wife wore to a party. And here something else comes to mind. Ages ago, on an episode of ‘Koffee with Karan’ (Oh, I can see that intellect sparkling in the distance!) Mallika Sherawat seemed to have elicited despise-ridden-snorts from Karan Johar because she had actually taken the time out to observe and rate Bongo Bips’s butts as the best in the industry. I wonder how I come up with such fascinating and intellectually brilliant examples! Ignore what this ridiculous episode highlights on the surface. Scratch beneath the surface and you will find a man making defamatory suggestions about a woman who has always/already been considered by both the chauvinists and feminists in India as ‘loose’. Poor woman! She was merely answering an apparently innocuous question that was posed to her by a man who keeps asking the male guests on his show about their favourite sexual fantasies. It is such a pity that in the case of most men, their minds are often found unnecessarily located below their belts.

And now, confession time. This could sound really weird but I love women and I love beautiful women even more. I am unabashed about it. I check out beautiful women all the time—an entirely asexual enterprise that I voluntarily undertake because every time I take in a woman’s beauty, I celebrate women and whatever there is to being a woman, including our fondness for accessories. I won’t lie. I have a pronounced weakness for the likes of Monica Bellucci, Sophie Marceau, Juliette Binoche and Liv Tyler. But I would be unfair if I do not add that women of all shapes, sizes and ethnicity attract my attention more than the men do and yup, it is possible for women to check out men without having sex on their minds. On a lighter note but with a heavy heart I must admit why I added that last bit in the previous sentence. It is a case of sour grapes, you see. The cute men I do check out turn out to be (although I am completely devoted to Darby) either taken, or married and if not so, most definitely gay. Darby dearest, does this ring a bell?