Faqeer stunned everyone with his decision. ‘In my opinion, Umeed Fatima is most elegantly dressed and an extremely beautiful woman not only of Kangal Colony, but of the entire subcontinent’
KANGAL Colony is mostly inhabited by sweepers, semi-skilled workers, labourers, tramps, maid-servants, small-time gamblers, vendors and the wayward. A stinking sewage brook carrying the filth from a couple of phases of the posh Defence Housing Authority flows through Kangal Colony, thus it dissects the slum. To facilitate the communication between the inhabitants in the two sectors of Kangal Colony, an NGO has laid a narrow wooden flyover on the sewage brook. It resembles a catwalk.
The electronic media casts a magic spell of its own as it influences your culture, traditions, values and attitudes. It was after the same NGO built a community viewing centre equipped with a huge television set that the deprived and disillusioned people of Kangal Colony vicariously commenced living other people’s life, and began aping the apes on the screen. It was after watching fashion shows and beauty contests on TV that the slum people nurtured the idea of conducting a fashion-cum-beauty contest for the female folk in Kangal Colony.
They decorated the narrow flyover with colourful buntings and converted it into a catwalk. As I sat by the side of my friend, Faqeer, I saw the slum people throng alongside the nullah, the sewage brook. The reflection of colourful lights from the filthy brook cast a magic spell on the catwalk. Pop songs blurted out at maximum volume from the loudspeakers. The organizers had seated us at one end of the catwalk, the flyover. At the other end of the catwalk, a shamiyana (tent) was erected that accommodated the contestants. The sizable crowd impatiently waited for the show to begin. They whistled and swayed with the rhythm of the music.
A group of press reporters and photographers approached Faqeer. One of them arrogantly asked, “From your attire you appear to be a beggar. By the way, what are you, or rather who are you?”
Faqeer smiled, and asked, “I wonder, what would you have thought of me had I come in a General’s uniform!”
The young reporter was taken aback.
“What we wear doesn’t alter us from within,” Faqeer said. “By putting on a king’s costume we do not become a king.”
“You look like a beggar, but you do not sound like a beggar.” A middle-aged reporter asked, “Who are you?”
Faqeer looked straight in his eyes, smiled, and said, “No one exactly knows who he is, wherefrom has he come, and to what place and whence would he return.”
The secretary of the organizing committee intervened, talked to the reporters, and said, “Kindly take your seats. We are about to begin our show.”
The reporters went back to their seats. The volume of the pop music was minimized. Soon thereafter, a young couple gleefully appeared on the catwalk. They were cheered with whistles from the crowd. The young man had close resemblance to Shahrukh Khan and the young girl was no less attractive than Ashwariya Rai. Like the comperes of popular TV stage shows, the couple cut jokes at each other for about 10 minutes and drew thunderous applause from the huge crowd. They then announced the rules of the game, and said, “There will be no two winners, the most beautiful woman and the attractively dressed woman of Kangal Colony. The judge will declare only one winner who will be attractively dressed and be the most beautiful woman of Kangal Colony.”
The young couple commenced conducting the show. One by one, they announced the name of the contestant, and the contestants began appearing on the catwalk in an attractive sequence. They walked with elegance, turned around seductively, and finally disappeared in the tent erected at the end of the catwalk. Faqeer, deeply immersed in the contest, took elaborate notes, and documented his marks and remarks for each contestant. Repeated appearances of the contestants on the catwalk facilitated Faqeer to firm up his decision.
The comperes announced the cessation of the contest, and looked towards Faqeer to announce the judgment. Faqeer rose to his feet and stunned everyone with his decision. He announced, “In my opinion, Umeed Fatima is most elegantly dressed and extremely beautiful woman not only of Kangal Colony, but of the entire subcontinent.”
Umeed Fatima had numerous scars on her face. Attired in patched and partially torn apparel, she had hardly caught the attention of the spectators. She was neither attractive nor seductive.
The decision of Faqeer was booed, ridiculed and hooted. Suddenly, everything went topsy-turvy. The angry crowd pulled down the tent, stoned the lights and burnt the rented chairs, rugs and the upholstery. They collected old tyres and ignited a bonfire on the wooden catwalk on the stinking brook. Before they could lay their hands on Faqeer, the organizers made our escape possible.
On our way back, I asked, “What made you decide Umeed Fatima was the winner?”
“The deep scar on her forehead made her more graceful than the rest of the contestants,” Faqeer said. “She had sustained it on May 10, 1857, in Meerut. It was the first day of the Indian soldiers’ mutiny against the British. Her husband was killed, and four sons were butchered in the revolt for the independence of India.” He bewildered me.
“Did you see the deep cut on her cheek, lips and chin?” Faqeer said. “It was inflicted on her during the riots of 1947. She was dishonoured and her entire family was annihilated.”
I couldn’t comprehend what was he talking about. I said, “But Faqeer, she had numerous scars on her face!”
“What you saw on her face were not scars,” he turned round and said, “It was our history written in scars on the face of a woman.”
