When I had read Virginia Woolf’s essay ‘A Room of One's Own’ I had not really understood what the hue and cry was all about… after all what difference could one room really make! I didn’t like the essay and quickly forgot about it…only to be reminded of it years later. I didn’t really want to attend my mama’s wedding, had my parents not forced I wouldn’t have gone. I like my mama a lot but Ii feel that shaadi as a function is not so much about emotions as it is about show-shaw! So grudgingly when I packed my blue and orange traveling bag, I thought if I should carry a backpack along. As I would obviously go with the baraat and would not be carrying my traveling bag with me then, I decided I should carry my cute pink backpack.
So after reaching Kanpur (the venue for shaadi), I realised that we were the second family from our long list of relatives to arrive at the place where all the guests were supposed to stay. For the next three days and even later guests kept trickling in, people hugged each other like long lost brothers and why wouldn’t they? I had seen so many people again after years, some had changed so much I couldn’t recognize them, some I couldn’t remember, and those who I had expected to change still were the same. And with the growing number of people, increased the amount of chatter and along with that came petty fights, bruised egos, and random gossip which sooner or later lead to the formation of small groups, this vs. that. These groups could be based on something as frivolous as - the preference of rice over chapatti, or the likeness of one time over the other for breakfast/ lunch/dinner! =I
So in this atmosphere for a person who is very fond of her relatives and is very social at such extended family get together’s (sarcasm intended) ;) I decided if I stayed in that house bustling with people for long I would go mad with the tittle-tattle or get in a fight with someone who is conservative or a misogynist. I have a flair for getting into fights for someone completely uninvolved. I secretly want to be Dabbang or Singham (take your pick) and often end up in a clash of thoughts and ‘words’ with elders trying to protect somebody else’s idea who at times is not even present during the conversation. :P
So with my bright pink backpack which screams ‘I am a girl’ I would every morning, which would be 11-12 pm, go and walk around the place on foot and discover new things and places. I even got some really nice clicks. :D I hate wasting time and I utilized that time fruitfully thanks to my pink backpack. But for some people that bag become an irritant, why would that bag be constantly strapped on me? For some it was amusing, and for some it was just a part of funny banters and jokes. Some people in fact opened it and ransacked through it to see what was that ‘secret’ something that I couldn’t live without and carried everywhere with me. But being the cool girl I am, I happily showed it to them. Yet there were people, who didn’t even take permission and went through the contents, forgetting in the hurry to keep things back in the right order.
After the shaadi got over, and we got back from Kanpur, the memories which stuck to my head for the longest time were the one’s surrounding my pink backpack. It opened my eyes and gave me a whole new perspective on the essay by Virginia Woolf – it didn’t seem as outdated now, people in general seem to have a problem with anything that a girl owns privately, the society at large has a difficulty accepting a girl who can be on her own, and in fact likes to be alone. ‘A Room of One's Own’ wasn’t only about owning a room, it was about any private space, including a bag which a girl, a woman owns and carries with her almost all the time. Those who are intrigued, interested or even intimated by such a woman want a peek inside her bag, to check if she is carrying weapons for destroying patriarchy, which they love so much. In my case my bag only had – a notepad, a pen, a book and a camera.
