What would we do without Salman Rushdie, our favourite punching bag for all seasons and reasons?
I love the man. Yup. Even after his rather gauche comments on why women marry. Come on, you big, fat, sulking baby – admit it – you were dumped by a sleek and successful woman, and you can’t take it! So, what do you do? You trash all women and reduce them to simpering stereotypes who love playing ‘dress up’. Especially if the costume happens to be a wedding dress.
Is that really what you believe Mr. Rushdie? That women in this century are suckers for weddings? That all it takes to get them to the altar is the promise of a fabulous trousseau? Perhaps you know something on the subject considering you have escorted four brides (and still counting?), to that wonderful spot, at various stages of your colourful life. This is just the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. We must get ex-wife Padma’s take on it, but my guess is she’s far too busy playing arm candy to her latest sugar daddy to bother about your rather silly views on the subject.
What makes men like Rushdie come up with such sweeping judgements and generalizations? Or are we foolishly giving an off hand, light hearted remark a lot of undue importance? Was Salman being facetious and characteristically wicked? Or reacting in the manner of a thwarted lover getting his own back on a luscious wife who waltzed away with a brand new suitor?
Rushdie has pronounced the death of marriage. He’s a fine one to talk! Been there, done that, buddy. What does he care? He claims he’s through with that part of his life. I’m putting my money on an announcement in the near future that will unveil the latest Mrs Rushdie to a rather bored world. Salman is a serial husband. Like Elizabeth Taylor was a serial wife. He has liked marriage enough in the past to have gone for it four times. So what has changed all of a sudden? The new lady on his arm looks pretty fine. In fact, she looks a lot like the one who left him! Is she merely dreaming of a fantastic wedding at which she’ll wear the most ethereal gown and feel like a fairytale princess? Rushdie would have us believe it’s every woman’s fantasy to be the glittering star at her own wedding. It’s only about the trimmings … the fuss, the jewels, the guest list! Nothing more. How he downgrades himself by saying that!
I asked a bride-to-be if that was what the whole thing was about. If so, why not host a fake wedding in which she gets the starring role? Why get stuck in a relationship, when what she was supposed to be lusting after was the gauzy veil? She looked at me like I was seriously nuts. I quoted Rushdie. She told me he WAS nuts. That still didn’t answer me. Why on earth was this attractive, accomplished young woman opting for marriage, considering she had been living with her partner for over two years?
She wiggled her eyebrows and said she liked the idea of marriage. Really? And was she dreaming of her wedding dress more than of her husband-to-be? She vigourously nodded her head. She was. I painted an exaggerated picture of the elaborate ceremonies, the sangeet (de rigueur, these days, even Goan brides have succumbed), the mehendi, followed by cocktails … and then tra la la, the nuptials with a lavish reception to follow. Is that why she was getting set to tie the knot? She looked away dreamily and described her bridal outfit in loving detail. She went on to describe a whole set of ensembles she’d been planning for the big event over the past six months. Then came some more laborious/tedious descriptions of all the related functions and more importantly, what she planned to wear to those. Not once did she mention her bridegroom’s attire or talk about their life together as a newly minted couple.
I was beginning to get worried. Her moony expression was reserved for vivid descriptions of her ‘amazing’ wardrobe. Finally, I asked her what marriage meant to her. Can’t say I was caught off guard when she happily (and candidly) replied: ‘Clothes!’
Oh my God! Maybe the much-married Salman was right after all. Marriage is for the birds. Free birds. And clothes (not the husband) maketh the modern bride. Tell me I’m wrong, someone.
And that Salman’s opinion sucks!
***
Oof! And oof, again! Fourth time unlucky?
That’s what it looks like for poor Salman Rushdie, going by the buzz doing the international celeb rounds. His latest wife, the luscious and very ambitious, Padma Lakshmi has left her newly-minted Knight, and Sir Salman is heart broken. Boo hoo! When Allah gives with one hand, he sometimes takes away with the other. Just as Rushdie was getting ready to enjoy the next phase in his life, this time as a Knight of the British Empire (surely a cruel joke, worthy of a scathing Rushdie essay – what ‘empire’, which ‘knight’?), boom went his marriage.
‘Boom’ has played quite a significant role, at least in Padma Lakshmi’s life in the fast track. It was the title of a disastrous movie she’d acted in … the film tanked. And now, so has the marriage. Salman joins the ranks of serial spouses, who go smoothly from one blazing shaadi to the next, only to emerge none the worse for all the wear and tear that lesser mortals experience. Will this be Rushdie’s Last Sigh? I seriously doubt it. At 60-plus, Salman may have propelled himself into a fresh league – men of means, who collect wives like other men collect art works or pocket watches. It works well for both – the pocket watch…errr, trophy wives, and the balding, portly men who acquire them.
In Padma’s case, Rushdie may have made a fatal mistake and actually fallen in love with this hot house bloom, known for her steamy performances, on and off camera. Friends insist the man was smitten … and is therefore heart broken, now that she has waltzed off to pursue other dreams and suitors. Who is the bigger loser? Or is it a win-win situation for both? Because, if nothing else, Rushdie may get another book out of this ill-fated alliance. He will convert his personal loss into a best seller …. And countless fans will identify with the writer’s tragedy. What will Padma do? As a Power Couple in New York, they were media darlings, courted and feted at high profile events, at which Padma greedily walked off with goodie bags stuffed with pricey gifts. Gossip had it she cashed in on her status as Mrs Rushdie to demand assorted privileges from event managers, including fancy designer frocks and blingy baubles. If that made her sound like a tacky, money grabbing society hustler, she obviously didn’t care. She was far too busy grabbing!!
At a really intimate sit down dinner in their honour (before they married), hosted on the terrace of a five-star hotel in Mumbai, I was seated to Rushdie’s left, with Padma right across the table. Guests were horrified by her brattish behaviour that night, particularly when she all but dragged Salman from his chair to give interviews and sound bytes to waiting journos in the lobby. And this, right in the middle of dinner! It didn’t end there. At one stage, she came up to me and purred: ‘Would you mind switching places? I hardly get to spend time with my boyfriend …’ I purred back that I most certainly did mind, but her boyfriend was free to move if he so desired. Rushdie stayed put, while Padma stomped off to sulk, making it very clear she was miffed and keen to leave. Salman, being better mannered, didn’t insult his hosts and was at his most gracious, charming best till the end. He showed his class …. And she betrayed hers.
To those of us present, Padma came across as a spoilt, selfish, immature creature, desperately seeking attention, while Rushdie displayed the hard-to-miss signs of puppy love. He was attentive and adoring towards the crass, badly behaved woman he’d marry soon after. And then divorce also ….
It was obvious to all but Rushdie that Padma was using him as a stepping stone to international fame. Today, her game plan is there for all to judge. Rushdie has his knighthood, and Padma, several lucrative deals. She no longer needs Rushdie. As for him, well, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Padma’s successor is already waiting in the wings, perhaps someone even younger and hotter. Women love titled men in that sort of society. Look at Lady Nadira Naipaul who has not stopped basking in Sir Vidia’s glory, insisting on people addressing her by the title, even as her husband squirms uncomfortably. Pity Padma will never be a Lady. Yes, that’s a loaded statement. But she may go on to mint money selling the rights to her Salman Saga. From Midnight’s Children to Midnight’s Monsters, such a sad journey. The ground beneath his feet must indeed be shaking. Poor Moor! What a life … of never-ending fatwas and troublesome talaqs.
But what the hell … at least it isn’t boring!