Women at the Wheel v/s Women at the Wheel

Now we have all read and thought about how women drivers on the road are often ogled at, bullied at whim by the ‘dudes’, overtaken by bus drivers and the very clichéd ‘women can’t drive as well as men’ statements…. But what we really miss out on is the attitude women drivers have towards one another – an interesting psyche and well… pretty much a far cry from the tolerant, gentle and accommodating nature the fairer sex is regarded to possess.

Men on bikes will almost always share a nod of understanding with their fellow men waiting with them at the red light. Even the 4 wheel wielding gentlemen will once in a while admire the ride beside them. But when women drivers face each other at crossings or at the red light, it’s a different ball game altogether!

First rules first-thou shall not admire the ride of a fellow fairer sex, rule 2 – you can always drive better than ‘her’, rule 3 – heads held higher give you a better view in the mirror to make sure your hair looks better than hers, rule 4 – louder than the ‘daali boy’ decibel of music shall prove that you handle torque better (I unabashedly have my music loud to block the traffic noise – so what if people think I’m a loony)

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I’m sure, many women enjoy their rides as much as me and do not follow the rules mentioned above. Nonetheless, as I sit down to write this piece and observe the behavior of women drivers on the road (I do also drive you know, not just observe) I can’t help the title track from ‘The Good, Bad & The Ugly’ play in my mind and visualize the scene as 2 cars with women drivers come to a screeching halt at the red light. Vehicles side by side, bated breaths, manicured hands on the gear instead of a pistol (thank god!), eyes fixated on the countdown timer at the signal, a look of ‘cat’s whiskers syndrome’ stuck tight on the face – she who accelerates shall excel!

Well, atleast men apologise when they accidently nip your rear view mirror. Some women on the other hand, pretend their cars are sponge cakes and simply drive away. One such incident happened with me a few days ago and that’s what has made me write this piece and that’s what put me in the ‘If looks could kill mode’ that morning. I do love my vehicle, and I do not like someone just missing scratching the paint off, especially when there are no apologetic nods offered. And so started the quest for redemption. The ‘goggled’ lady was hence not allowed to overtake my car, so what if I insisted on sticking to a speed of 30 on a relatively empty road and when she was given space to pass ahead, the tail the target move proved useful (it was quite a lot of help that we both were headed to the same parking lot). Finally, as we both reached the parking area and stepped out, I ask ‘I think you just almost nipped my car’ in the most sweet tone ever (read threatening) and I hear the magic words. 

The Noncommittals!!

They will tempt you, they will lure you and yes, they WILL make you spend and  moan in a few. For heel's sake, I'm talking about shoes! Perfectly lined up along the shop windows, with the oh so inviting words 'Sale' printed along the glass door... they entice you to forget the last tantrum you had with them.

Now i always thought i never had a fetish for shoes. But as it turns out, when i did sit down to finally clean the shoe rack, i had more than just a dusty experience - i had a realisation - that even though i did have a more than necessary collection of the 'footnotes', it wasn't really sufficient. Well, because every pair i picked up either had a heel broken, a hole for the street pebbles to find their way in, a missing strap, an uprooted sole, a pinchy side concussion..... in a gist - the shoe rack looked like an infirmary full of injured soldiers who forgot to load their guns!

Brought with the wide grinned promise of the shoe salesman of them being (un)comfortable, (non)soft,(uncomfortably)high, (1 day)sturdy, (pebble hole)flat, (peeling off)shiny, (in)famous brand, these shoes now seemed like a love affair gone sour. But then there is someone smiling in a corner - the hubby who would always nod in disapproval on seeing the 'going to buy that oh- so beautiful pair' look on my face, but would have to give in at the thought of dealing with my emotional turmoil at not having bought the 1500 bucks pair being offered at 250 bucks (now i know why the economics was defied).

So there i am with a cupboard full of shoe pairs where if lucky one would fit perfectly, while the other, well is as bad as an illegal immigrant put through torture. But then there is always the cobbler - ohhhh yes! I shall contribute to my share of increasing national income - by getting those umpteen pairs repaired ... and then make a promise to myself not to fall in the sale trap again ... or maybe after this very well known shoe shop offers its season ending stock...

Blouse blues

Intimate details too many? No way – when the world likes to stare and the world likes to post photos in the elegantly draped meters of flowing cloth- why not know the woes of a blouse bearer!  Most women self train towards that perfectly worn Indian sari that is both elegant and elusive at the same time-but what well literally holds things together is – the blouse!

Too tight and the flesh handles peep out, too loose and the straps escape- the perfect fitting is an art that can only be truly appreciated by a woman who has had to experiment with innumerable tailors – their tailoring skills I mean, to produce a creation that is a perfectly fitted piece of clothing that barely covers one fourth of the body, but is the most important. 

The worst thing to do I have realized is to have a long distance professional relationship with the man who stitches the seams and rely on an old singular blouse in your possession couriered to a relative in the hope that the cumbersome task has been passed on. Beware my friends – you are in for an unpleasant surprise. No doubt all the gyming has paid off (or so the trainer says) and you have lost an inch at the waist, but let us not forget the weight training that has now made you the proud owner of mini miniature biceps. Nonetheless, the blouse has been made to fit and when you eagerly try it on for the function the coming week – you have a stuck at the arm situation! Tugs, pulls , cringing, breath holding – all shall go in vain and you shall have to let go.

And so, the besotted blouse and your bruised ego head together – packet full of the ill-fitting artifacts in hand , to the neighborhood tailor – as fate would have it !