Of vaginas and their stories...

So I finally watched it. Not quite as scandalous as was portrayed by some news magazines, or reports, or as perpetrated by culture-vultures around the country. Funny, poignant, disturbing, entertaining are some of the many adjectives that can be applied to The Vagina Monologues. But I think that the most important one-word description would have to be ‘provocative’. That one word is enough. One of the best performances I have watched in recent times, the true work of a well oiled professional machinery, an instrument tuned to such precision that one can not but stay glued to one’s seat. It, no doubt, requires a very oppressed, very disturbed person on the verge of a emotional blow-up to write such a script, but it requires even more guts to perform it in a country like India, a place where a woman’s body is still supposed to be considered a sacrosanct temple, to be seen and touched with utmost reverence, a sanctuary from the realities of life ( I do not wish to overlook all the atrocities against them here, but check the sentence – it says ‘supposed to be considered’, not ‘is considered’). The identity of a woman is a blur, a smudge which gains its colors, shape and style in terms of the length of her hair, the color of her saree, the bangles she wears in her hands, the anklets around her feet, the nose-ring that pierced her nose when she was but a few hours old, the red or black dot on her forehead, the toe on which she wears her toe-ring, and most importantly, the presence or absence of the vermillion powder in the parting of her hair. That, still, is the woman; supposedly, the eternally pure essence of life. Against such a background, the word ‘vagina’ is the first slap into reality that one gets as the performance begins. Vagina. A scientific term, actually, but somehow, for the first time, it gave an edge to the identity and a smart crimson outline to the genre ‘Woman’ and the idea of ‘Womanhood’. It kick started the feeling that should be a part of every girl’s life – of her childhood, her teenage, her youth, her prime and her old-age as well – the feeling that she isn’t just a blur, an adornment in someone’s collection of priceless curios – the feeling that yes, she does indeed have an identity. Many of us go around posing (I use this word intentionally, and with full knowledge of its meanings as well as connotations), so, as I was saying, many of us go around posing as successful authors, pilots, waitresses, cooks, actors, managers, businesswomen, students, entrepreneurs, researchers, executives – in short, career women, and yet, the society in general and we in particular refuse to darken the edges, clear out the smudges and for once paint a stark picture of what we really are, of every line on our face, every mark on our bodies, every scar, every wound and every shadow of love that makes us what we really are. Women. Yes, we avoid this even in this time and age. Bordering on vulgar, these monologues still manage to bring out the true image of a woman through her own unique heart, a crimson heart that feels, throbs, loves and hates for her, bleeds for her, lives for her and gives life through her... a tiny cusp of life within itself.
There has been a lot of criticism of the play, but the way it has empowered women of all ages, races, from all walks of life in America as well as around the world is more than commendable. The most important positive point it has (as far as its audience in India is concerned) is that it still has a surprise element. A majority of the audience has no clue as to what it should/ could expect from a play of such a name. The other very important point is that the play is performed in English. It requires guts to be aware of the most public private part of the most coveted possession – a woman’s body – in a world full of desperados and even more guts to speak openly, freely about it in a country filled with millions of ‘closet-connoisseur-yet- staunch-cultural-guardian(s)’ of the female body. I would have loved to see this play performed in other Indian languages, but I know that it will take limitless courage and an insane cast and producer(s) to even begin rehearsals of the play in places like say, Gurgaon or Patna or Bellary or Surat or Hyderabad etc. in the local language(s).
All in all, The Vagina Monologues is something that should not be missed. It should be made a compulsory viewing, at least for the female students of all colleges. In my experience, all beings of all nationalities and all genders in the audience had gradually, albeit imperceptibly found their vagina by the end of the performance. Simple, realistic, true to life and yes, oh yes, absolutely provocative, The Vagina Monologues is a must for every woman to understand and accept herself as well as other women in her life, and every man who wants to love, understand, respect and most importantly pleasure the woman/ women who indubitably form the core of his life…