Picture Imperfect: Scandals and all that is left for imagination
We see the unfamiliar dimensions of the world through the only familiar looking glass and believe the distorted images
Sidda always looked shabby. He wore rags and worn out clothes. Children on the street teased and made fun of him. He was not bothered of anything. Neither did he respond to anyone nor did he complain against all this. Small towns are sympathetic. People fed him with leftovers and gave water to quench his thirst. As a child, I loved listening to the flute he used to play.
There were many rumours about Sidda.
This version of Sidda's story gained much popularity. The rumour becomes more interesting when one scandalises a relationship, that too involving a woman in it.
Whenever I think of Sidda, I wonder how his wife looked like. Maybe she was beautiful. She might have dreamt of a life very different but ended up marrying Sidda by force.
Did Sidda treat her well? Being a busy merchant, did he have any time for her?
Did he bring her presents from wherever he went? Maybe he travelled a lot and had an affair with some other
woman living in a far away town. Maybe his wife got to know about this and might have left him. Did she take a revenge on him by doing this? What about the person with whom she is imagined to have eloped with? Did he love her?
Did they ever live happily? Where could she be now?
There can be no end imagination.Social taboos direct and have power over our perspectives about people and situations. Popular beliefs floated in this society control them.
Sometimes those we live with, friends and folks we meet everyday look like strangers. Simply observe faces carefully. They look so different.
A close look into the mirror brings out the unrecognised features of oneself.
On the other hand, strangers resemble people we know. They remind us of someone we had met somewhere that we do not remember anymore.
We have a tendency to imagine stories about people we never know.
While travelling in a bus or a train, while waiting for Godots in public places, government offices or in the bus stops, we have a tendency to imagine stories about people we come across but never know. These stories are along the `moral', `ethical' values set forth in society. Who cares what reality is?
We constantly engage ourselves with imaginations and forget that our backgrounds and the social milieu we are associated with monitor our imaginations. We see the unfamiliar dimensions of the world through the only familiar looking glass and believe the distorted images. I wonder whether the stories generated around Sidda were about him. Alternatively, were they the stories about his wife? Instead, they could be about all wives and husbands. On the other hand, these are the stories about people like us who guard the societal taboo through imaginations.
Sidda always looked shabby. He wore rags and worn out clothes. Children on the street teased and made fun of him. He was not bothered of anything. Neither did he respond to anyone nor did he complain against all this. Small towns are sympathetic. People fed him with leftovers and gave water to quench his thirst. As a child, I loved listening to the flute he used to play.
There were many rumours about Sidda.
The most popular one said that he was a rich merchant who led a lavish life. One fine day, his wife eloped with someone. Sidda lost his mind and roamed around looking for her. Everyone sympathised with him.
This version of Sidda's story gained much popularity. The rumour becomes more interesting when one scandalises a relationship, that too involving a woman in it.
Whenever I think of Sidda, I wonder how his wife looked like. Maybe she was beautiful. She might have dreamt of a life very different but ended up marrying Sidda by force.
Did Sidda treat her well? Being a busy merchant, did he have any time for her?
Did he bring her presents from wherever he went? Maybe he travelled a lot and had an affair with some other
woman living in a far away town. Maybe his wife got to know about this and might have left him. Did she take a revenge on him by doing this? What about the person with whom she is imagined to have eloped with? Did he love her?
Did they ever live happily? Where could she be now?
There can be no end imagination.Social taboos direct and have power over our perspectives about people and situations. Popular beliefs floated in this society control them.
Sometimes those we live with, friends and folks we meet everyday look like strangers. Simply observe faces carefully. They look so different.
A close look into the mirror brings out the unrecognised features of oneself.
On the other hand, strangers resemble people we know. They remind us of someone we had met somewhere that we do not remember anymore.
We have a tendency to imagine stories about people we never know.
While travelling in a bus or a train, while waiting for Godots in public places, government offices or in the bus stops, we have a tendency to imagine stories about people we come across but never know. These stories are along the `moral', `ethical' values set forth in society. Who cares what reality is?
We constantly engage ourselves with imaginations and forget that our backgrounds and the social milieu we are associated with monitor our imaginations. We see the unfamiliar dimensions of the world through the only familiar looking glass and believe the distorted images. I wonder whether the stories generated around Sidda were about him. Alternatively, were they the stories about his wife? Instead, they could be about all wives and husbands. On the other hand, these are the stories about people like us who guard the societal taboo through imaginations.
