Inside the exclusive world of women!!

Since the day I landed in Ludhiana – the ‘Manchester of India’, on a transfer from my City Beautiful some 2.5 years back, I have often been told about the club culture of this typically Punjabi city.

Though not the one to probe into such “womanly” matters, I found myself to be absurdly excited one morning, when, during the usual office meeting, a colleague mentioned about his “weird” assignment at one of the innumerable ladies’ clubs of the city which was holding the last meeting of its session before it broke for a month.

The assignment was a ‘sifaarish’ from one of the top bosses, rued the photographer somewhat grudgingly, for being sent on a fool’s errand which was not of any use to a newspaper with a serious reputation.

Struck by a sudden and equally strange urge to explore the inside of the women’s world, I offered to augment the colleague’s work for the day with a suitable mood piece about the event. The guy jumped with glee. After all, it was perhaps the first ever time a reporter had offered to write about as "frivolous" an event as a ladies’ club meeting (by newspaper standards). “The write-up will ensure that my pix get published,” he murmured to himself in excitement at the prospects of a fruitful day ahead at the club.

In almost no time, I found myself at one of the most plush city hotels – the venue of the club’s last meeting, with a super excited photographer in tow. And in as much time, I realised what grave mistake I had committed by landing there – amid a host of publicity hungry women, dying to see their names and war-painted faces in the next day’s newspaper.

But, bound by duty, more so by the poor colleague’s desperation to have a bodyguard around to save him from the “camera-stuck” ladies, I decided to hang on.

After being nearly mobbed to death by the heavily perfumed women, I managed to convince them that their faces will be there on tomorrow’s front page provided they let me be. I knew I was lying but had no way out of that choking madhouse.

With great difficulty and heavy hearts, the women allowed me to take a seat in the corner of the room while the photographer clicked away to glory from various angles – his models for the day posing like professionals.

I sat down to observe the proceedings of the event with a faint hope in my heart that a well-written feature might attract enough of the boss’ attention to make way into some remote corner of the newspaper’s lighter supplement.

I looked around with eyes and ears wide open, not for any professional reasons though. It was the very first time and perhaps the last that I was witnessing such an extravaganza. The club meeting was no less than any well-observed Indian festival.

The atmosphere was charged. Colour and glamour defined the mood in the large room occupied by women of all shapes and sizes. The last meeting of this session of Laxmi Ladies’ Club was in progress as was the variety programme organised “for the members, by the members”. A noisy chatter filled the room.

Small groups of matronly “aunties”, all dressed to kill, sat in rows; sharing room with the younger women, decked up to celebrate womanhood.

A careful glance across the room revealed the distinct characteristics of every club member; each different from the other, yet same in many ways.

The senior club members, well into their 60s, enjoyed the privileges that went with age factor. They did mind being labeled “old” though, but of course, the term gave them the power to get away with almost anything - crude jokes at the expense of the younger lot; the right to meddle in the affairs of the club and the code of conduct to be adopted by the members or whatever they deemed fit to be expressed.

“These silly girls pounce at the slightest opportunity to show off their bodies and the so-called talents!” remarked the 50-something woman seated in the second row as the young members took to stage, dancing to the tunes of Bollywood hits. The rest of her contemporaries, seated around her, nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, the younger lot had their own interests. However, even they did not forget to pass an occasional remark on the others, their dresses and make-up and how “the one in pink had behaved with me the last time”. Like the old ones, they too, did not fail to avail the freedom of commenting freely.

But young or old, each one of them was out to have fun with friends, away from husbands, kids and household chores. For them, the meeting was an occasion to relish – great food, good music, clean, simple fun – a perfect girls’ day out.

“Look, her sari is so beautiful.” “How is my hair do?” “Oh! My husband was so glad to see me in this sari this morning. He brought it from Bengal on his last trip.” “You look radiant. What have you been up to?” … And so went the chatter!

“Ladies, ladies… May I have your attention, please?” announcements intercepted the “girl talk” every now and then. The compeer kept reminding the women to maintain “some order” in the room.

The crowds looked a tad uncomfortable as they had to sit through a lecture on garden care. Listening to what their “gardeners do very well” was certainly not their idea of fun. There were definitely better things to talk about!

Backstage, there was a frenzy of activity. Last minute frantic efforts to make sure nothing went wrong - putting in place a piece of jewellery, or sari, or rehearsing a step.

The “performers” made a pretty picture - a kaleidoscope of colour and fragrance. The “dancers” hardly seemed to be mothers and housewives. Such was the enthusiasm that made them look like Bollywood beauties, sans the Victorian waists though.

“Oh I am so nervous!” the next performer uttered a silent prayer, as another one entertained her friends on stage with “Jhumka gira re”.

The melodious strains of popular old melodies filled the air. Old and young members shaking a leg on stage on thumping beats of “O mere sona”, “piya tu ab to aaja”, “babuji dheere chalna”, “chahe koi mujhe junglee kahe”, won hearty appreciations from the audience.

Then it was time for the favourite item of the programme – a performance by the senior most members of the club. All in 70s, the old beauties mesmerised one and all with their charming moves and grooves on “abhi toh main jawaan hoon” and evoked the loudest cheers.

Fun games, sumptuous lunch, exchange of pleasantries and legions of smiles followed as did rounds of gossiping, sharing information and friendly complaints.

The cheerful women now seemed oblivious to my presence in the midst of them. The smiling, painted faces prepared to depart the fantastic world of the ladies’ club after a wonderful day, away from the drudgery of daily existence, but not without promises to reunite, rejoice and relive “one of the best days” of their lives yet again – at the onset of the club’s new session in the coming month.

With a fair hint that the piece, even if penned, would never see daylight in the conservative newspaper I work for, I prepared to leave.

Surprisingly, I walked out of the room in a daze – having just been a witness to one of the most glorious days of the hundred-odd club members’ lives. Also, the awareness that this was once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a club-shy person like me, thrilled me to the bone.

I returned to office with a broad grin on my face which stayed put all day long – only regret wrenching my heart was that all those lovely, lively women will wait to see themselves in tomorrow’s paper.

Wish I could tell them how much the boss loved the club piece but still could not publish it due to the newspaper’s conservative policy.