The Girl in Pink Shorts : Part I

If I hadn't seen it for myself, I would not have believed it; a girl wearing pink shorts praying in a temple.

Let me start by illustrating how I came to witness this aberration. My mother has always been a super religious person. So much so, that I can totally see her featuring in God’s 99+ percentilers list ordered by faith and devotion. And call it my ignorance or lack of faith that despite such figures to look up to in my own house, I could never adhere to submitting myself to the lord almighty. The one interesting thing that I learnt was that if you’re not an atheist – then you’re in a state of constant faith flux. You just cannot predict what you’re going to head into; which, in my opinion, may not necessarily be bad thing.

The last couple of months haven’t been the best ones. And in hard times, one necessarily finds oneself vulnerable to new ideas, even faiths. The act of giving religion a chance came as a consequence. In a way, maybe I wanted religion to give me a chance. But whatever.

So it was the fourth of seven Saturday nights, I had pledged to go the temple to. It’s an ancient and renowned Hanuman temple, right in the heart of Delhi’s colonial imprint - Connaught Place. It’s the kind of temples that makes you feel that for some families visiting a temple is their chance of getting some time together; like the kind of time a family spends on the dinner table, or watching TV together. It’s bonding time for them. A picnic spot so to say.

A place of worship is the most representative sample of a country’s population which is going through one dilemma or another. It cuts through the social status and wealth. I see the vehicles parked outside; you name it and it’s there. Cars range from Tata Nanos to Audi S3s, two wheelers range from 1980 Bajaj Chetak Scooters to brand new Avengers. I saw the parking spread and realised that rich people have problems too. Call me a sadist but I always find it moderately gratifying to know that.

I stood in the queue outside the temple, thinking what am doing in this place, and simultaneously trying to make the best of the visit, by reinvigorating faith, if any, inside me. And despite best efforts God did not fancy my imagination. People did.

A couple of people ahead of me in the queue was a family of four; dad, mom, brother and sister. The parents were a subtle caricature of middle class parents; siblings looked to be in their teens, the girl being elder. Everything about that family was extremely normal except one (as you’d have guessed); the girl wore pink shorts; the kind of shorts that were certainly not more than three fourths of a foot below the waist. By the power of instinct vested in guys towards spotting such anomalies, it caught my attention.

Not particularly the kind of wardrobe that would suit a temple – I thought to myself. By some telepathic sense, I could hear my mental thoughts resonating among a few others. Prejudice makes one think not so well of a girl who misappropriates her wardrobe selection.  

To Be Cont..