Red Lipstick

I travel a lot by metro. Yesterday I had to go to Shyambazar to attend my friends birthday party so I took the metro from Garia. From Garia to Shyambazar it is almost half an hour of ride so I took refuge in my favorite passtime-staring at other passengers and observing them. The whole compartment was filled with boring normal people either dozing off or staring back. But I did manage to find a few interesting ones among them. One was this middle aged woman in her forties maybe who was looking strange. Quite a few people were staring at her. Tall, dark and slim, she was dressed in a very unfashionable way wearing an oversized dull colored salwar with a grey cardigan which also was very dull and looked worn out. Her fingernails were black with dirt and in her rough hands she held an old crumpled plastic bag from a local store maybe. Her face was full of wrinkles and she clearly gave the impression that hard work for livelihood kept her away from caring for her beauty. I say strange as she was wearing very showy earrings and her hair fell on her forehead due to a very cheap yet showy haircut. As soon as she managed a seat she took out a lipstick from her plastic bag and colored her chapped lips red. I cant express how odd the whole thing looked. Through those large, brown colored shell framed glasses I saw her eyes covered with dark circles. The intruding stares of her co passengers did not even penetrate her dry, chapped, rough skin to create a stir in her conscience. I sat there an kept wandering where she might be heading and what was in her bag…I don’t know why the name “Maidan” cropped up in my mind. It maybe due to the fact that a friend had told me some strange things about that place a few days before and I have myself seen things there. Then the thought struck me! Maybe I was right. Maybe that justified the get up. Maybe I was guessing it right about what was in that bag. She was sitting beside me. I looked closely at her, at the lines on her face which now looked sad to me. I looked at her unkempt hair and suddenly fell through the outer cheapness and showy dress-up into the sad woman working hard for a living. Not only for herself but maybe for an ailing husband at home and her little children who went to school. I was engulfed by pity towards her and hatred towards our society where thousands of girls spend away their dads money for clothes and shiny shoes in magnificent shopping malls oblivious to the fact that women almost their mothers age have to sell themselves to rouges to raise money for food and maybe try hard to give their children some good education so that they can breathe the free air. They throw themselves in someones bed while girls waste lakhs just to get the attention of a few guys. Whose life do you think is better? These people in posh apartments wasting away their money on alcohol and looks? No. You see they do not have a dream, an ambition, a meaning to their lives. This is the reason girls spend so much just to look beautiful on the outside as inside there is a shallow, selfish person. I saw this woman. She was much more beautiful than the perfect dolls with straight hair, perfect clothes and matching bags. Her eyes held so much depth-they told her story…a story far more beautiful than those kohl covered greedy, boring eyes could tell. Maybe not a fairy tale but more than that…full of sacrifices for loved ones. I felt proud to sit beside her…a strong confident woman who gave a damn about what others thought but maybe was determined to sacrifice her life for a better future of her children. I caught the glimpse of a group of girls smiling to themselves seeing her cheap makeup…the red lipstick that contrasted her face…loudly screamed that she was “different” from us. Someone to be stared at someone to be looked down upon as she was probably there to do something “unacceptable” and “degrading” to our eyes. I felt sick due to guilt I could not look at her eyes anymore. Those strong eyes that gazed at everyone and saw their hollowness and laughed at their prudence as they stared at her judgingly. I felt ashamed to be a part of that society. Yes. I was right. She got down at that station during that hour my friend had mentioned. I never will see her again and she will never know that her red lipstick had touched my life…my conscience…in a strange way…

My first post

I have been thinking about writing a blog for quite some time but never came around to it do to extreme laziness and being sceptic about reactions from readers. So I have finally overcome that fear and so i present to all of you my blog…my views on everything in this world and stories and mainly the flickers of imagination and thought I have about things. I hope you will enjoy it.