Lessons from a fancy dress competition
Istand before the bookshelf, scanning its contents, focusing on children’s books as my daughter whines, “You don’t have to look so hard mama, just let me dress up as a princess this time. Half of the girls will turn out in shimmery gowns and they will look pretty.”
We are in the process of hunting ideas for the “Dress up As Your Favourite Book Character” in her school, for her and children of friends who have requested me to help.
I recollect the unconventional choices of characters I made in the past few years. The wicked queen with her magic mirror from Snow White and the adorable old granny of Red Riding Hood in vintage glasses carrying a knitting basket.
“Are we the ones to follow the beaten path, sweetheart? If we are competing, then we’d better raise the bar.”
I turn on the internet searching for ideas when a text flashes on the phone screen from my niece, part of my think tank comprising my sisters, cousins and friends. “How about the protagonist in the book, ‘Calling Sehmat’ by Harinder Sikka? The movie Raazi was based on it.”
This idea touches a chord and we fervently start working on recreating the look, inspired from Alia Bhatt so that the audience can instantly identify Sehmat. Salwar kameez in soft pastels, grey burqa, long hair and subtle makeup. For props, a revolver and a copy of the book are finalised.
She begins memorising the lines I pen down to introduce the characters and practices them in front of the extended family to gain more confidence.
On the D-day, she leaves for school, resplendent in her costume. I expectantly wait for her to return with the much coveted winner’s certificate.
In the afternoon, the class WhatsApp group starts buzzing with texts from mothers whose children have won prizes in the competition. I feel let down not to see her name figure among the winners. As she alights from the school bus a little later, her first words are, “I didn’t win any position.” She scans my face, looking for signs of disappointment. I give her a bright smile and ask, “But we had fun, didn’t we?”
She sees me sending congratulatory messages to the winning mums and is reassured that I am not dispirited by the lack of a prize. Heartened by my response, she starts sharing the happenings of the day in school.
I reflect over the skills my child acquired and little life lessons she learnt in the entire process. She learnt to pay attention to minuscule details, when we refused to settle for a black burqa that was readily available and persuaded a reluctant tailor to stitch a new one in grey, that too in record time, just to stay true to Alia’s look in the movie.
She learnt the importance of innovation and co-operation. She learnt decision-making when we pondered over choices of characters and zeroed in on the one we felt was fresh and novel. She learnt to take a little defeat in her stride, magnanimously congratulating the winners and at the same time looking forward to the next opportunity to showcase her talent.
It is usually little events in life that teach us the important lessons.
ARE WE THE ONES TO FOLLOW THE BEATEN PATH, SWEETHEART? IF WE ARE COMPETING, THEN WE’D BETTER RAISE THE BAR