CULTURAL PRIDE

Dress code: Cocktail formals
I’m not sure if this fits the brief, ma.
What if everyone out there ridicules my outfit or worse, what if they don’t let me enter the ball?
My mother quickly puts me to ease as she adjusts the wrinkled cloth and whispers “you look beautiful” in my ear. She holds me by the shoulders as we both stare at my image in the full length mirror. I could easily do with a few changes, maybe remove the excess makeup my mother has plastered on my face. I look like a different person. But she insists everyone will be dolled up and so I cave.
I’m meeting my date to the Annual Sophomore Ball at the event itself, so I can’t double check my outfit with him. I’ll just have to take this leap of faith, I guess. Ma, I’m never talking to you again if this goes wrong. She laughs but says nothing. As if it weren’t bad enough I was one of the last to be asked, standing out like this could culminate into something dreadful.
I take a deep breath as I push the door to the ballroom open and step in. A  mighty staircase adorned with flowers on both sides spans out towards to the dance floor below and as I walk down I can see a hundred eyes fixated on me.
In harmony with my ethnicity and culture, I, Simran, have chosen this blissful moment to dress in a red sari at a ball when everybody else is clad in flowy gowns and slitted dresses. Great.
This sari used to be my mother’s and it is to date her most valued treasure. Simple, yet elegant, it fit me like it was stitched for me. The blouse has almost no back and the mastery with which ma had draped it accentuates my curves. She has applied a bright red lipstick to match the cloth, and eye-shadow to complement my big eyes.
Aaron rushes forward and grabs my hand. He looks flustered and nervous and must have mentioned he likes my sari at least a dozen times. As everybody at the event smiles wide at me and comes over to gush compliments, I tingle with anxiety about the new found limelight. Rachel wanted to know where the sari was from and Sarah wanted my bindi. In fact, all the boys seem to have forgotten their dates and come over to talk to me. Aaron, flushed with excitement, pushes them all away and pride swells in him as he tells me he’d made the right choice asking the most beautiful girl in the room. My cheeks burn as he leads me to the centre of the room and we danced till the last song of the evening played.
I silently thanked my mother who always emphasised that my culture was the very essence of me, that I should embrace it and not avoid it. That my ethnicity would make me stand out and I should not try fitting in with the rest so much. That day I loved myself in my true form more than any other day, and you know what? So did everyone else.