It was one of those high profile events honouring high profile women from a high profile city. The lavishly mounted function was at Pune’s most luxurious hotel. The glittering ballroom was packed with accomplished ladies in designer wear. As I was coming down in the elevator, an NRI–type asked in heavily accented Americanese, “Is there a wedding in the hotel? I’ve been watching beautiful ladies in amazing clothes heading somewhere...” I was about to mislead him by saying, “Actually, it’s a Bollywood shoot…. Those gorgeous ladies are movie extras…. Wait till you see the star!” Instead, I grinned and told him it was better than a wedding—it was an awards function. He looked suitably impressed and said, “Wow! You women are really getting ahead, huh?” Right. So we are. Or must be. Or should be. Or ought to be. Whatever. Idiot!
I was mentally geared to go through the long, predictable morning in robotic mode. This is when I press a button inside my head and switch to cruise control. I say all the right things, smile broadly at everyone, present dozens of awards mechanically, remember to congratulate winners, pose for selfies and look enthusiastic, too.
Three hours on, I had gamely sat through endless speeches, clapped on cue, and suppressed countless yawns. Just as I was about to stagger off the stage and grab a glass of water, I heard the announcement that was meant to signal the grand finale. By then, nearly everybody had rushed off to attack the buffet. It was a life-time achievement award. And the recipient was a 90-year-old lady. I had spotted her, sitting quietly in a corner, paying close attention to the tedious happenings on stage. She was dressed in a simple, white, hand-spun nine-yard sari, worn the traditional way. Spry and frail, but mentally alert, she had been waiting patiently for her turn. This was the main award, to cap the event. An elaborate audio visual of her contribution was about to be screened.
Illustration: Bhaskaran
The attractive compere, clad in a black lace gown (don’t ask!), announced the audio visual and requested the audience to clap. To my horror, I noticed there was hardly anybody left in the cavernous convention hall, that had been packed to capacity minutes earlier. The organisers, sensing the lack of interest and noticing the near-empty hall decided to cancel the audio visual. The lady was instructed to come up on stage (unescorted.... even though there were several volunteers around), and collect her award.
Without displaying any disappointment, she clambered up the steps laboriously and accepted the hastily offered citation and trophy. Humbly, she asked whether she could say a few words and thank the organisers for honouring her. Brusquely, she was told the function was over and they had run out of time. I heard her pleading for just two minutes to say something. At this point, I sort of lost it! I pointed out to the organisers that the elderly lady was being insulted, and it was not acceptable conduct coming from them. Reluctantly, she was given a mike and asked to ‘hurry up’. She pulled out a short speech she had written and proceeded to read it out—even though there was no one left to listen to her. Those over-dressed ladies were busy chattering outside and congratulating one another. I nearly wept.
Later, I found out she was a Gandhian, who lived in the Gandhi ashram where her own parents had worked closely with the Mahatma. She remains a staunch follower of the Sarvodaya movement and runs ‘Charkha’. She can be seen walking through the streets of her hometown, dressed in khadi, but wearing sturdy sports shoes (“for better grip’’). Offer her a ride, and she firmly refuses, urging the person to walk with her instead. In her youth, her humble home functioned as an open house, where she offered food and shelter to one and all, irrespective of political affiliations. Even though she lives and breathes Gandhi, her outlook is refreshingly modern.
