Neither did I hear any violins in the background nor did I feel any magic in the air. My chiffon dupatta didn’t float in the gentle breeze. But I still experienced love.
Because my love was different and distinct; it was my love for the word ‘vivacious’. I love the vibration and rhythmic energy the word brings with it when you say ‘vivacious’, true to its meaning. That’s why I instantly fell in love with the word when I first heard it in my Social Studies class in grade 7.
The word belonged to Mrs Mulberry, my SS teacher. For me, she is the OG of the word; I don’t need to look for its Latin, Greek, or French origins.
While my love for words began unknowingly in my formative years, my love for the violin was stirred by the invisible violins that played in the background of some Shah Rukh Khan movies, inspiring me to take violin lessons in my younger days, without considering the challenges of choosing it over other instruments. For almost 2 years, I learned violin only to give it up; I couldn’t cultivate the patience to take me further beyond the famous bhajan Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye…
For want of more patience, I soon realised I had good ears for the music that flowed through the violin, sailing like a chiffon dupatta, even if I couldn’t play it myself. Since then, the instrument has stayed with me as a relic of my past, which I recently dislodged from its resting place, hoping to give myself one more chance at playing it. But after almost 25 years, even after changing the strings, all I could produce was a screeching sound when the bow passed across the instrument’s strings.
I learnt two things: 1. Changing the strings, obviously, cannot change me into a good violinist. 2. I need to change the bow also.
Wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead with my non-chiffon dupatta, I bowed to my violin; I let it return to the case from whence it came, much like a living being returning to the place it originated from.
‘Deep indeed’! I told myself, indulging in some self-praise. How else could I develop the ability and panache to praise others?
Surprised by the depth of my thought, I wonder whether the source of its origin is the ultra-divine atmosphere around me these days — Oh-my-friend Ganesha days, with aartis and bhajans, loud enough for the lady on the 15th floor of the building, almost 150 mts away from my society, just like I hear aartis and bhajans played in her society. And these are played at a given decibel three times a day, presumably prescribed by the OG–Omnipresent Ganesha, I mean.
No one can match the devotion Indians have towards their gods and goddesses. After bidding adieu to Ganesha, preparations will begin to welcome Amba Ma. For nine days, garba lovers will swirl, dance and make merry; for many, garba practice had already begun on the tarmac at the Vietnam Airport, at the Great Wall of China, and other tourist places.
Enthusiasts like these proudly carry their immense love for culture wherever they go, even though many perceive them as uncultured. But isn’t appreciating one’s own culture better than misappropriating someone else’s culture?
This time, the case in point is yet another Italian luxury brand, Fendi. The brand used Indian—specifically, Gujarati—artisans’ traditional mirror, bead, and thread-work embroidery for its handbags. The modest embroidered jholas or handbags, that women carry during Navratri, became embroidered baguettes worth 9.5L each without proper credit, except for paying the craftsmen — the unacknowledged OGs.
The foreign brand’s immense love for traditional Indian craftsmanship, obviously, swiftly gilded like a chiffon dupatta across millions of mobile screens in India; nothing can go unnoticed in the age of social media. Probably, the khaman-dhokla-thepla gang must have been hurt the most, and to avenge Fendi’s cultural appropriation, many would vow to visit famous tourist places in Italy like the Colosseum or the Vatican Museums, and play garba in vibrant chaniya cholis, and kediyas and dhotis embellished with beads, mirrors and embroidery.
While their dance would reflect Indian culture, the ungrateful faces behind foreign brands like these will be reflected in 475 mirrors, recreating K. Asif’s set design for the memorable song, Jab pyaar kiya to darna kya.
*****
Student: The text states that Vasco da Gama discovered the sea route to India.
SS Teacher: Historical misinformation.
Source of the image: https://sl1nk.com/gma9dzm