Hi, I am a bra. And I've something to tell you

 

Hello.

I am Brassiere, call me Bra.

I'm everywhere -- glitzy showrooms, thrift shops, footpaths, flea market. I'm sold expensive, I'm sold cheap and there's a sizeable chunk of human population that won't leave the protection of their homes without me. I'm the first sheath of protection over their hayya.

Which happens to be the second place upon which rests the izzat of a household--a woman's chest. I'm the tight band of discomfort aka laaj lodged on it. Between reminding her of her existence as a female to being the one thing she wants to get rid of--I have the most ungrateful job in this world. I can't seem to find enough people to blame. But that we'll get to on another day.

Big boobs, small boobs, no boobs -I'm the solution. Our relationship begins when girls hit their teens. Many have been bullied over  my size. I mean, I can't be too small because then I'm taking no space; I can't be too big as then I attract too much attention I need to be just the right size-but nobody is willing to give me a concrete answer as to what that is? My life then, is a constant confusion between ideal, sexy, and sanskari. I'm a woman's life in a piece of cloth and it's not all that nice.

And God forbid I sneak out of her T-shirt. Strangers, pados ki aunties, and mothers all enter a state of frantic frenzy when they get a glimpse of me.

I just don't get why they hate me so!

For all the exhibitionism that's part of my life, I'm still one of those things that should not meet the eye. Sometimes, I can't understand this. On a mannequin, I'm out for all to behold.  But the second I'm on the female flesh, I am forced undercover.

During my modelling days, when I was on magazine spreads and billboards, I imagined the freedom and luxury that awaited me on an wearer, only to wake up to the reality that daylight on me is a cardinal sin.

So you can very well imagine the identity crisis I must be going through.

It's a truth universally known that what a woman wants is not how I mostly function. I function, for most part, on what the world wants to see.  Or not. I have been moulded to make breasts look big, small or even to flatten out onto the body. I am the push-up that defies gravity, I go strapless so certain outfits aren't unseemly, and I am the foam that hides the sight of nipples over clothes.  I live up to popular opinion. To hide, to show just enough, and to completely obliterate - that sums up my life.

Things seem to be changing a bit for me. I kind of sneak out once in a while. Some of my owners even stand up for me if they're told I'm a pop of colour showing bright on their skin. It feels nice to finally some of the support I have been giving back. Yoga classes I love the best. I'm out, breathing, and on show like I got nobody to fear. That freedom, that essence of being there just because they want me to, that's all I ask.  After all, none of us like being where we're not wanted, do we? So why I should I be any different?

Also read: Yes they look awesome, but push-up bras are doing terrible things to your body.