ASSOCIATIONS…

Remember the game?  You call out a word and the other person spontaneously responds with the first thought that comes to mind.  ‘Cake?’ and ‘Birthdays’ is a good example. Another is: ‘Ice cream?’ and ‘Yes Please!!’

We have a new maid.  She stepped in clad from head to foot in a burqa with just her smiling face in view.  She seemed to glide forward, every line graceful – she flowed through the house.  Eventually, she removed the burqa and continued her stay in a very homely salwar kameez.  Somehow, the burqa transformed her into someone graceful, even ethereal.  I have observed many burqa clad women and I am drawn to the ones who wear it with dignity and elegance.

I remarked once to a friend that I would love to try on a burqa and see what it feels like.  He exploded, ‘Why would you ever want to wear a symbol of repression?!!’ Burqas are worn by women of one community and one community only.  You see a burqa and you know that the wearer is a Muslim, just as the Cross identifies the Christian. The association is carved in stone. 

I once saw a program on TV.  The woman was a traveler covering the incense trail which naturally took her through very traditional Muslin territory.  On the way, in certain areas, she had to wear a burqa (no matter your nationality or religion, if you are a woman you are required to be covered!).  When she was finally allowed to remove it, she burst into tears.  She sobbed and sobbed bitterly on camera; her explanation was that she felt that a tremendous burden had been lifted from her.  She truly viewed that burqa as a shackle. And yet some Muslim women I have spoken to say that it makes them feel safe, protected.  Some even view it as freedom because they can wear what they wish underneath it, disrobing only at their destination.  Much as one would wear a coat. One of my college classmates used to wear the deadliest minis.  Coupled with her voluptuous figure, her appearance would certainly have qualified as ‘oopmh!’ and she could never have walked freely down an Indian street.  In her burqa, she was armour clad.

So, will I ever wear a burqa? I do not know.  The associations make it an obstacle.  But the desire lingers.  How does it feel to wear another’s identity? Especially when the garment that defines it is obligatory and not optional? Will it affect the way I think, I feel, I talk, my outlook? How will I be viewed by others? How will they react? Do I really need to know?

In the meantime, there are other associations with happier consequences.  Sunday Mass means music and I still carry the song in my heart – I am free, I am loved and I am blessed.

And our Muslim maid looks after my mother with a devotion that is not confined by associations of any kind.