Which of us hasn’t been tempted to gatecrash a wedding? Surely you must have driven past a decorative arch outside a kalyana mantapa and joked to your family, “Let’s go in and eat a free oota. The bride’s side will think we’re from the groom’s and the groom’s side will think we’re from the bride’s.” There is one deterrent, though (besides your sense of decency): you’re not dressed for the occasion. “Dyani Weds Lovely” picked out in gilt and flowers may not signal the kind of venue where you and your family could blend seamlessly into the background. You have to look the part — wear the right get-up and appear to be a member of the relevant milieu.
It takes chutzpah and a thick skin to be a successful gatecrasher. In my days of active journalism I saw several of them, unfailingly turning up at press conferences to which they were not invited. After identifying and studying the species I divided them into two categories: the Scruffians and the Smarmies. The Scruffian wore shabby clothes and a hangdog expression. He would slink in to the room and try his best to be part of the furniture, springing to life only when time came to feed his face. (It was customary for organisers to offer snacks or meals to what they considered the underpaid, undernourished journalistic community.) The Smarmie would feign acquaintance with every reporter and ostentatiously go around shaking hands with them. This was meant to hoodwink the organisers into thinking he was part of the fraternity, and in the event of their checking his credentials he would fish out a visiting card printed with the name of a non-existent newspaper (no TV channels, those days). If his game was up and he was out on his ear, the thick skin helped.
Don’t imagine that freeloaders exist only among these plebeian imposters. You get the ‘star hotel’ variety too. The dapper gentleman sipping Chardonnay and nibbling on fish fingers, who is he? The organiser has spotted him at every event of this company, but only now does she stop to wonder, is he on our mailing list? The damsels who greeted him with folded palms at the entrance had hardly bothered to check whether he had an invitation card. He is now pointedly talking to the other guests so that the host would think... well, do you notice the similarity? Smoothie here is Smarmie’s twin, only more prosperous.
Actually, we should be taking a broadminded view of these misdemeanours. We should pity the Scruffians whose empty stomachs and pockets oblige them to scrounge for a meal. Smarmies and Smoothies might invite our ridicule, but all they’re doing is trying to fit in. Far worse than underhand inclusion is unjust exclusion. We tend to spend more energy in keeping people out than drawing them in. Our borders are deeply etched, be they of countries, states, sects, clubs or peer groups, and those who decide who’s in and who’s out are not necessarily fair or impartial.
Recently the nation got to hear of a dhoti-clad gent who was barred from a private club that enforced a dress code. It created a furore that led to a proposed legislation — to cancel the licences of clubs, malls, theatres and other ‘public spaces’ that forbid those who wear ‘Indian dress’. Some years ago a law professor in Bangalore was similarly refused entry to “the Club”, as its members refer to it (and if you don’t know which one I mean, you just don’t belong, darling). I thought clubs were private spaces but apparently they’re privately managed public spaces. Anyway, my knowledge of the law being pretty dim, let me focus on instances of unfair exclusion in spaces that are unarguably public.
Neighbourhood parks and the banks of tanks and lakes have become enclaves for walkers and joggers. It’s bad enough that they are closed ‘for safety reasons’ at dusk; they’re not even accessible through the day. One evening I saw a small group of middle class citizens waiting outside a park. The gates were locked. A higher power had ordained that 5 p.m. was to be the official time for an evening walk. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to wander into the park at 4 p.m. and read a book? Why shouldn’t a vegetable vendor park his cart under a tree at 2 p.m. and take a nap on a bench?
The vendor, by the way, would be unwelcome in most parks irrespective of the time. There’s an unwritten rule that discriminates against the ragged and the down-at-heel. I recently sat in a park in an affluent locality, ‘maintained’ by a real estate group. It had ornamental palms, “Keep off the grass” signs, fancy lighting, shiny benches, gleaming play equipment, and a woman in a blue uniform keeping watch. She would surely have shooed away a vendor or an urchin, and so would the guards at malls, retail giant stores and other glitzy commercial spaces.
The most despicable form of exclusion is what the owners associations of some apartment complexes practise. They unilaterally decide not to let out flats to people of lower castes and minority communities. Such people ought to be corralled within a highly secure, public space — a prison cell, if I had my way.
(Send your feedback to ckmeena@gmail.com)
