Yesterday, I was sitting next to a girl in the city bus. She was, as all youngsters do perpetually, listening to songs on her cell phone. One of the song videos had a hero in a mythological garb striding towards three voluptuous heroines dancing, standing manly while they gyrated around him. Then he sat on a throne and they slithered on the floor in front of him. Where are the women activists who scream every time something worth screaming about happens? What about protecting the dignity of women onscreen? Do heroines exist only to grab the attention of the machoistic hero and feel grateful? I felt ashamed.
'Caught in a strange land in a net with other butterflies, I'm a caterpillar yet undecided to remain a caterpillar and perish or turn into a beautiful butterfly and live a life full of joy.' Readers don't laugh. But I came up with this one night recently when I was travelling in a train. I tossed and turned, not being able to sleep, upset over unexplainable things and frustrated over events not in my control. Then it occurred to me that our life and its usefulness depends on our decisions -- whether to remain a crawling caterpillar whose existence otherwise is either ignored by all and sundry or who is cursed for just being there and thrown out with a stick, or to develop wings of life and metamorphose into a beautiful butterfly whom everybody adores for its beauty and colour, for its flitting liveliness, for its service to the flower's pollination... I thought that I should be a butterfly, of service to others, but then again I thought, anyway, who really cares?
Comments
Post a Comment