Salma Ansari: ‘Scandalous’ necklines and horse-riding sprees that changed a few things at AMU and beyond

Mr Hamid Ansari is sworn in as the Vice President of India for the second consecutive term. I feel very happy. Not because I support the party that backs him. As a matter of fact my reasons to like him are very personal. I am a big fan of Mrs Ansari, a lady who dares to bare: society’s cultural hypocrisy as well as her own matronly yet beautiful back. I remember her as the Vice Chancellor’s wife in AMU, who had visited Abdullah Hall on Founder’s Day to attend Sir Syed’s birth anniversary celebrations. Her shockingly bright silk Saree worn with a fashionable blouse gave the resident girls food for thought, and gossip, for many days to come.

Most of the resident-students were scandalized, for Mrs Salma Ansari was the First Lady of AMU: an institute where parents sent their daughters to receive education in keeping with their Islamic traditions. Where anyone not wearing a shalwar-kameez would be looked down upon as a ‘transgressor,’ to use the most polite and literary term. It was the most commonly used epithet for girls (even the 11-12 years old residents of Sultan Jahan Hostel) who wore jeans and T-shirts. The only time one could paint one’s nails was when the menstrual flow forbade offering of Namaaz. Mrs Ansari, certainly post-menopause, had painted her nails bright red that evening.

I remember each detail of her appearance on the Founder’s Day dinner at Abdullah: the blinding orange and green of her Saree, the size of her Bindi, the colour of her nail polish, the fashionably cut blouse which drew glances and the confidence in her gait. I met her twice again after that first encounter but I cannot recall what she wore on those occasions. Once she had given me a trophy for being the best debater in the university. Next time, she took me by surprise when she entered my room in Old Waheed Jahan Hostel with another smartly turned out woman of her age. The other lady was the wife of the then VC of Jamia Milia Islamia. As it turned out, she had occupied the same room during her student days and wanted to take a trip down the nostalgia lane. This was just before my std 12 board exams and Mrs Ansari asked me what was I going to do in life. I shared my wish to ditch the commerce stream and do ‘English Honours’ from DU. She was delighted, being an English Honours walla herself.

Both of us left AMU in 2002: I got admission in DU, while Mr Hamid Ansari’s tenure as VC ended the same year. We never met again. On the Army Day this year, however, I saw Mr Ansari at the high-tea hosted by the Army Chief. Being a high-profile event, reviving the University connect seemed a little out of place. I wanted to tell him that his wife was a rock-star in true senses of the term. I’m sure he is proud of Al Noor, the educational trust founded by Mrs Ansari in Aligarh. What he might not know is the fact that Salma Ansari made a difference, however small or insignificant, in the way many girls in Abdullah Hall perceived tradition, modernity and religion. My room-mate, for one, decided to stash away her burqa and we went to take a round of the “University area.” An aapa from Women’s College began to be seen sporting large colourful bindis, ignoring all the smirks and dismissive looks that came her way. At the farewell party organized for our batch, I had overheard somebody whispering, “Look at her blouse, toba! Who does she think she is, Salma Ansari?” While the comment may appear regressive, it held some promise. Once you reach Salma Ansari’s stature, you can wear ‘scandalous’ clothes. Earning a right to choose one’s clothing is a great incentive to do well in life. I am neither in touch with the girl who dared to emulate Mrs Ansari, nor the one who passed the comment. I hope the former retained her rebellious streak and the latter made good of her practical cynicism. Mrs Ansari, apparently, impressed them both.   

I wonder, however, what that class-mate of mine would have said to those criticizing Salma Ansari for doing horse-riding in Aligarh. Being the VC’s wife did not exempt her from parochial censure. And yet, Salma Ansari silenced the ‘culture’ brigade by giving them Al-Noor, an idea that she conceived during one of her rides.   

Salma Ansari, an alumnus of AMU, certainly is a worthy bulbul  of this chaman.

Reclaiming the Vagina

(Inspired by watching Scent of a Woman for the millionth time tonight) The other day vagina was trending on Twitter. No, not vagina, but the demand to look for its euphemisms. Twitteratti or tweeps went into a frenzy looking for appropriate substitutes for the vagina. Oh well, anything can “trend” there: people to policies, names to numbers and Jolie’s leg to Sonakshi’s forehead. Vagina also had its claim to fame for a few hours. Tweeple of Tworld were united in finding a new signifier for the “space between a woman’s legs.” There was humour: crass and sophisticated, the characteristic “outrage,” indignations and pontifications amidst the search for a perfect substitute. After the “silencing” of the Michigan representative in a floor debate about women’s health (she used the V word), this was a logical aftermath.

Personally, I have my doubts if anything can substitute vagina. The word works just fine. It is used in clinical sense and clearly conveys what it is supposed to. What further renders the quest for euphemisms and substitutes ludicrous is the fact that even the word ‘vagina’ is a euphemism. Etymologically speaking, ‘vagina’ comes from a Latin word vāgīna, which means a ‘sheath’ or a ‘scabbard.’ So, vagina is something where the ‘sword,’ man’s weapon, is supposed to be kept. The English word, therefore, is a joke unto itself: a canonised euphemism. The prude in us attempts to look for a euphemism for a euphemism. Al Pacino tried to convince us in Scent of a Woman “There's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy.” The very title of the film can also be seen as a beautiful euphemism for the vagina. Pheromones at play! Slangs are easier to use and relate to. The usage of slang-words, however, poses a serious problem when the aim is to sanitize the language. The ‘taboo’ words are replaced with slangs and euphemisms.

Three years back, an ‘English Honours’ final year student of mine introduced me to a silly-sounding word for the female genitals: vajajay. This slang for vagina was first heard in popular TV series Grey’s Anatomy. A little later, the glorified queen of blah, Oprah “legitimized” the word and used it ad nauseum during her talk shows. There are over 1200 slangs for vagina in English language alone. It appears that too much human effort has gone into keeping the little female organ wrapped in a shroud of mystery and secrecy. In the age of information bombardment, however, the intrigue has remained only in the matter of naming ‘it’ and not seeing or knowing about ‘it.’

The recent TV commercials for the vaginal fairness creams are a classic case of cultural hypocrisy. While the cosmetic companies are bringing vagina- the organ to the mainstream for sheer business gains, they are hesitant to use vagina- the word. As a potential consumer, you are made aware of the fact that fairness (synonymous to beauty) is and must not be confined to your face and body. Vagina is brought out of the closet, yet without its name.

My question remains, why don’t we let vagina be? Both, the word and the organ. Almost all the expletives are designed/coined around woman’s body, especially the genitals. And it is perfectly alright to use those words. We may cringe a little and yet do not really hold it against those who use “geni-pletives.” In my hometown, people are comfortable listening to and using certain words as expletives. But the same people find it scandalous to hear those very words in the course of a neutral conversation. Women, unfortunately, are no exception. Their modesty is outraged during such innocent and neutral conversations but not listening to the ‘gaalis’ that people around them keep hurling at each other. And often it is done in “good humour.” Eve Ensler’s 1996 play, The Vagina Monologues, was an attempt to free the word of taboo. The play has assumed a cult status in the discourse of women empowerment. And yet, even after sixteen years the taboo stays. So do the expletives and the euphemisms. The taboo around ‘naming’ the female organ is almost as barbaric as female circumcision. A ploy to subjugate women by denying them the right to use what is theirs, the organ and its name. The vagina is held hostage, now is time to reclaim it.