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Gandhiji and the tragedy of getting my clothes ironed


I thought about this some 5 days back.

In my ways of clothing myself, I thought I had reached a Gandhian simplicity. And on occasions I felt proud of it. Yes, thought of matching Gandhiji in matters of fashion can make anyone proud.

So I reached for my lush navy blue Mufti trousers, pulled them on and buttoned myself. And I let my palms caress my butts and feel the freshness of a ironed and washed pair of trousers.

Tragedy has epic proportions and minute ones too. I felt some burnt ends of the stitches that shaped my beloved trousers. For a little moment I felt the pinch of spending yet again, in spite of my simplified wardrobe, on a pair of blue trousers. Oh my Gandhiji!

Actually, Gandhiji surely had it better than I think. May be coz of the environment, or the lack of options available, or pure (intentional or inadvertent) wisdom.

So what if I wear only two colors - white and blue. So what if my trousers are always blue and my shirts always white. My iron-man has a world of options to contend with. My colors and others' colors. The fabric of my clothes and the fabrics of others' clothes. The content of poly-material in my clothes and the content of poly-material in others' clothes. The styling of my trousers and styling of other people's trousers.

And he has to iron them all in a given time to make sure he gets enough to sleep peacefully somehow. He has to show courage and strength to iron them all and feel music in life.

Let's say I want to feel at ease and peace, and also master my skill in the 100 square feet of space I occupy. I would stick to my drum-set. This man sticks to his coals and bicep-exercising mechanical iron. He masters it. He burns whatever comes in the way. He folds them nice and tight. Thinks he has mastered it all. All day long. And sleeps.

I might have to pay a visit to the mall yet again. Perhaps, before that think whether Gandhiji got his khadi ironed or not.

Pics courtesy: laudafinem.com and paulniederer.com

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