The middle ages

Sometimes it is better to embrace the ageing process rather than fight it endlessly

 

If you have watched Mare of Easttown (and if you haven’t, well, what are you waiting for?) you will know that Kate Winslet has deglamorized herself completely to play the detective in the title. She barely wears any make-up, her hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a brush in days, her facial warts are completely visible, and her fashion sense doesn’t seem to extend beyond plaid shirts and hoodies (though she does clean up nicely for the occasional date).

 

Winslet says she was determined to portray a middle-aged woman as they really exist in real life – with broadening middles, less than luminescent complexions, and wrinkles that hint at a life lived fully. So much so that when the director of the show offered to edit her ‘bulgy’ bits in a sex scene, Winslet refused to let him do so. That was her body in her mid 40s. And she wasn’t going to pretend it was any different. 

 

The result is an authentic portrait of a woman in middle age: a little battered around the edges, a wee bit worse for wear, but magnificent in her authenticity. 

 

I couldn’t help but think of Winslet and Mare of Easttown as I sat through the Friends Reunion, laughing and crying in equal measure. Having grown up with Friends, I feel a sense of kinship with the leading ladies of the show. And watching them age from season one to season ten was one way of making peace with my own ageing process as I went from my 20s to my 30s and then my 40s. 

 

But the Reunion show came as a bit of jolt. Here were Rachel, Monica and Pheobe in their 50s, each of them presenting a different attitude to ageing. Lisa Kudrow appeared to have embraced the passage of time, making peace with the inevitable wrinkles around her eyes, mouth and neck. In contrast, Jennifer Aniston looked as if she had been frozen in her mid-30s. There were the odd signs of ageing – the cheeks were a little fuller, the jaw just a tad less defined – but other than that she still looked like the Rachel we remembered from the last season of Friends. 

 

And then, there was Courtney Cox. Except that she was less Monica Geller and more a cautionary tale of the dangers of too much Botox and way too many fillers. Her forehead was a frozen field, her cheeks were far too plump, and her lips looked almost unnatural in their fullness. It was hard to reconcile that face with the fresh-faced beauty that we had met and loved in Friends. And it was even harder not to wish that she had left her face well alone – or, at least, known when to stop. 

 

Gazing at Cox’s altered visage made me appreciate Sarah Jessica Parker more than I have ever done since the days of Sex And The City. In her latest TV series, Divorce, Parker looks like the best version of her middle-aged self. There is no attempt to hide the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, her forehead crinkles up with disgust and anger ever so often, and her neck is lined like that of any other 50-something. But she still looks luminous, with sparkling eyes, springy hair, and a waistline that could give teenagers a run for their money. 

 

Of course, all these women have all the money, time, dermatologists and cosmetic surgeons in the world available to them, as they negotiate their middle ages in their own chosen way. But what about the rest of us, who barely have time (or frankly, the inclination) to exercise every day, to eat healthy at every meal, and spend every night rubbing anti-wrinkle cream into our faces and necks (never forget the neck!)?

 

Well, I guess we will just have to bid goodbye to our inner Monicas and Rachels and embrace the Pheobe within each of us. Let the wrinkles dance across our faces, telling the story of our tears and laughter. Let our waistlines expand in tribute to how much life we have tasted.

 

And let’s embrace our years instead of fighting to hide the marks they have left on us.

Love stories

The grand passions of the last generation of stars seem to be a thing of the past

So, Jennifer Aniston is single again – a few weeks ago she and her husband Justin Theroux put out a joint statement to say that they have decided to separate. Cue, a hundred thousand violins screeching sadly across the globe, to provide a musical counterpoint to our collective cry of ‘Poor old Jen’. 

Yes, again. Poor old Jen! The phrase that first reverberated through the world when Brad Pitt left her for Angelina Jolie; the words that were used to describe her as she went from one doomed love affair to the other; they were pulled out yet again as another Aniston marriage came to an untimely end.

And close on the heels of the ‘Poor old Jen’ pity-fest came the ‘Jen and Brad forever’ narrative. After all, the argument went, both Aniston and Pitt were single now. He had been dumped by the femme fatale he left his wife for. So, what better ending for their love story than that they reunite – this time for good.

It mattered little to media outlets and fans on Twitter that Jen and Brad have long since moved on from their starter marriage. It’s been more than 12 years since they were last together and in that time period they have (between them) notched up two spouses, six children and three – or is it five? – boyfriends. 

But who cares about that? As far as the world at large is concerned, the Jen-Brad love story is one for the ages. And it seems blatantly unfair that it should end as it did. (Of course, there are as many people who feel the same way about the ‘Brangelina’ story and are waiting with bated breath for a reconciliation. But that, as the saying goes, is another story.)

What is it about some relationships that they capture the public imagination so vividly? Or, in other words, why do we get so invested in some love stories, though the principals are strangers to us and likely to remain so? Why do some lovers inspire us so that we cannot let them go, even long after they have left one another? 

I first remember asking myself these questions when that great screen and stage actor, Richard Burton, passed away in 1984. When he died, he was married to his third and last wife, Sally, and it had been eight years since he broke up with Elizabeth Taylor, his former wife (twice-over; they married, divorced, remarried, and divorced yet again). But if you had gone by the media coverage alone, you would have thought that it was Liz Taylor, not Sally, who was the grieving widow. 

Much the same thing happened when Taylor herself died in 2011. She had been married eight times to seven men, and had acquired and lost two husbands after she divorced Burton the second and last time. But her obituaries concentrated not so much on the many husbands or her four children, but on the great love of her life, Richard Burton, who wrote her those amazing love letters, bought her the most spectacular jewelry, and loved her to his last, dying breath.

Closer home, you can see the same phenomenon at work. Catch any film awards show and you will find that as surely as night follows day, the camera will pan to Amitabh Bachchan in the audience when Rekha is on stage (and vice versa) to get a ‘reaction shot’. Sometimes it will pan a little further to focus on Jaya Bachchan, as she sits poker-faced, knowing full well that the slightest grimace or frown will launch a thousand gossip items.

Watching these shows, it seems hard to believe that the Amitabh-Jaya-Rekha love triangle ended about two decades ago (at least) given the iron grip it still has on our fevered imagination. 

It says something about how fleeting and ephemeral the relationships of today’s stars seem by comparison that we really don’t feel too strongly about any pairing. Does anyone really care that Deepika Padukone had moved on from Ranbir Kapoor and is now dating Ranveer Singh? Does anyone even remember that Katrina Kaif and Salman Khan were once an item? And despite the media’s best efforts to whip up some hysteria about ‘Saifeena’, the Kareena and Saif Ali Khan coupling didn’t exactly set the world on fire.

The only love story that has come close to capturing the public imagination in recent years is the one between Anushka Sharma and Virat Kohli.  And that may well be because between the two of them, they covered the two great passions of Indians: movies and cricket. So, their star power expanded exponentially when they came together, and set the world aflame. 

But that’s as far as grand passions go for this generation. Other than that there’s really not much to get too excited about, with the same names hooking up and unhooking from one another in an endless round of romantic musical chairs. 

So, what explains the difference? Is it that the celebrities of today no longer have the same oversized love stories like their predecessors did, so they fail to light up our collective cerebral cortex? Or have the stars themselves lost their lustre in a world that moves on far too quickly to the next glittery thing? 

I really don’t know what it is. But I do know it is something I will be thinking about – especially once the award season gets going, with its hardy perennial of the ‘Amitabh-Rekha-Jaya watch’. 

Mum's the word

It's time to debunk the myth that motherhood 'completes' a woman

Motherhood. It's a tricky business. And no, I don't mean mothering, which comes with its own set of complications -- and rewards. I am talking about motherhood, a state that everyone and his uncle has an opinion about. Motherhood, which is made out to be the ultimate achievement of a woman (and the inability to achieve it the ultimate failure). Motherhood, the status update that sets the women apart from the girls. Motherhood, the rite of passage that is meant to 'complete' you.

And the reason I have been thinking about motherhood over the last fortnight is down to three women: Jennifer Aniston, Sania Mirza, and of course, Theresa May.

Let's begin with Aniston, who has spent most of her adult life being stalked by the Pregnancy Police. From the time she was married to Brad Pitt to now, when she is wife to Justin Theroux, pregnancy rumors have constantly swirled around Aniston. So, you can understand why she finally blew her stack when some paparazzi pictures of her with a slightly more rounded tummy set off yet another hysterical round of Jen-is-finally-pregnant pieces.

In a searing piece for HuffPost, Aniston wrote, her rage fairly dripping off the page, that she was not pregnant but simply 'fed up' of the constant speculation revolving around her uterus. "I have grown tired of being part of this narrative," she wrote, adding that she was "not in pursuit of motherhood because I feel incomplete in some way".

Then it was Sania Mirza's turn to face the mother of all questions from TV anchor, Rajdeep Sardesai. His query was framed in terms of 'settling down'. "What about motherhood...building a family...it seems like you don't want to retire just yet to settle down".

Mirza was having none of this. She responded with a zinging backhander: "You sound disappointed that I am not choosing motherhood over being number one in the world...unfortunately, that's when we are settled, and no matter how many Wimbledons we win or number ones in the world we become, we don't become settled."

To his credit, Sardesai saw the point immediately and instantly apologised, conceding the point that he would never have asked that question of a male sportsperson.

The rest of the world is not always so obliging.  Most people see a childless - or child-free, to use the more politically-correct term - woman as a perennial question mark. Why didn't she have children? Was it down to fertility issues? (If it was, who was to 'blame': the husband or her?) Or is she just a selfish so-and-so, who didn't want kids to hamper her hedonism? What is the appropriate response to her barren state: concern, pity or scorn?

And then come the value judgements. How could she possibly understand what other mothers go through as they bring up their kids when she doesn't have any of her own. She simply can't have the same stake in the future that mothers do - as Andrea Leadsom said so famously and fatally about Theresa May, when they were both running for Tory leader, and the Prime Ministership of Great Britain - because it's not her children who are going to inherit the earth. She can't understand the depth of maternal love because she hasn't experienced it first-hand. And she cannot begin to fathom the despair caused by the loss of a child because, yes, she doesn't have children.

It's almost as if the rest of the world has agreed that a woman who doesn't have a kid is lesser-than in some way. That because an entire world of experience is shut off to her, so is the world of empathy, or indeed, sympathy.

Perhaps this is why childless women so often feel obliged to explain their empty nest to others. Even the resolutely private May had to offer up this tiny morsel about her childlessness: it simply didn't happen (like it doesn't for many people) and while it was an abiding sadness, she and her husband got on with their lives.

Jennifer Aniston, too, responded to the motherhood question a tad defensively in 2014 interview. "You may not have had a child come out of your vagina, but that doesn't mean that you aren't mothering - dogs, friends, friends' children...This continually is being said about me: that I was so career-driven and focused on myself, that I don't want to be a mother, and how selfish that is...Even saying it gets me a little tight in the throat."

But why should any woman - celebrity or otherwise - feel obliged to explain why she doesn't have children? It is nobody's business but her's and her partner's; and presumably both of them are in on the secret.

Thankfully, even Aniston knows better now. As this older and wiser Jen wrote in her HuffPost piece, "We are complete with or without a mate, with or without a child...We get to determine our own 'happily ever after' for ourselves."

And yes, whether that includes children or not is entirely up to every woman to decide for herself. And no, she doesn't owe you or the world any explanations about her decision.

Have you Heard about Depp?

The lessons we learn from celebrity break-ups

Unless you have been hibernating in the wilds of Ladakh, by now you will have heard about the messy breakdown of Johnny Depp and Amber Heard’s marriage. If, like me, you are something of a news junkie, you will have the details of their marital meltdown coming out of your ears.

To recap very briefly, it happened thus. Johnny Depp and Amber Heard met on the sets of the movie, The Rum Diary, and fell in love. Johnny broke up with his partner of 14 years, the French actress Vanessa Paradis, who is the mother of his two children, and moved in with Amber. Fifteen months ago, Depp and Heard got married in a spectacular beach ceremony in the Bahamas.

And a couple of weeks ago, just days after the death of Johnny’s beloved 81-year-old mother, Betty Sue Palmer, Amber sued her husband for divorce and obtained a temporary restraining order against him on the grounds that he had been physically abusive towards her through the course of their short-lived (but clearly stormy) marriage. To prove her case, Amber produced pictures of her battered face, with bruises around her eyes and a fat lip. 

The Depp camp responded with denials and statements from Depp’s ex partner, Paradis, and his daughter, Lily-Rose, about what a lovely and loving man he was, and how it was impossible that he would hit a woman. Heard hit back by leaking an exchange of messages she had had with Depp’s assistant a few years ago, which seemed to acknowledge a history of abuse from Depp over a period of time. The assistant responded by saying the messages were fabricated. And so it went, on and on and on.

No break-up is ever pleasant but there is something particularly nasty about celebrity break-ups. It’s not just that the world’s attention is focused on the private lives of strangers, but that everyone has an opinion on stuff that they couldn’t possibly have any knowledge of. And before you know it, fans of both parties have come down on one side or another, sticking by their respective idols with a resolution matched only by their ignorance.

So, we have Camp Depp, which insists that there is no way that Johnny could have been abusive towards Amber. He is such a splendid, stand-up guy! Didn’t you see what a marvelous job he did as Jack Sparrow in Pirates Of The Caribbean? Not to mention his performance in Alice In Wonderland. She is just making up all this stuff to get a bigger divorce settlement.

Ranged against Camp Depp is Camp Heard, which is considerably smaller but makes up for it by being a bit shriller. Their view seems to be that women who claim to be victims of domestic abuse should be believed – or else other women will be too afraid to come forward and report their abusive partners. And why would Amber be making this stuff up anyway? It is not in the interest of a small-time actress like her to take on the might of a Hollywood megastar like Johnny Depp.

And thus it goes. Emotions run high. Arguments break out, both in real life and on social media. For some reason, people seem to take this stuff personally even though they don’t know the persons involved. 

I don’t know about you, but what this reminds me of is the time when Brad Pitt broke up with Jennifer Aniston and went off to play happy families with Angelina Jolie. Even then, the world seemed to be divided into Team Aniston and Team Jolie; for some reason, no one thought it fit to create a Team Pitt.

But while every celebrity break-up is unique in its own way – certainly, there were no accusations of domestic violence against Pitt – they do teach us the same lessons. Here, in no particular order of importance, are the top three:

• If you have a fortune to protect, whether you are a man or a woman, always get a pre-nuptial agreement signed before you sign on the marriage certificate. Yes, I know, it is not terribly romantic to foresee what may happen in the case of a divorce even before the wedding. But it is the best way to ensure that you are not risking the assets you spent years building up; and, more to the point, that your prospective spouse is marrying you for the right reasons.
• Try your damnedest to keep the media out of your business. Work out all your issues – alimony, divorce settlements, child custody arrangements – in private with your lawyers. Once you have negotiated all these tricky bits, release a joint statement to the media. Follow the example of those ‘conscious uncouplers’, Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow, or nearer home, Hrithik Roshan and Sussanne Khan, who have remained publicly supportive of each other even after their divorce.
• There is a thin line between love and hate, and it is all too easy to tip over to the other side when your relationship is disintegrating. But no matter how bitter and angry you are with your soon-to-be ex-partner, try and remember that this is a person you once loved and wanted to spend your life with. Respect and civility goes a long way. And even if it isn’t reciprocated, in the long run you will be happy that you, at least, did the right thing.

Put a ring on it!

Now that Jennifer Aniston is married, will we finally stop treating her as a 'poor old thing'?

Finally, we can all breathe easy. Jennifer Aniston is once again safe within the holy bonds of matrimony. A decade after her divorce from Brad Pitt, and after a series of failed relationships, Aniston married fiancée Justin Theroux in a private ceremony at their Bel-Air home last week. And in the process, she managed to cock a snook at all those nasty tabloids who made millions by speculating over her 'single' status and child-free womb for years by keeping her nuptials entirely private -- or 'secret', as the disgruntled hacks harrumphed in their copy the next day when the news finally broke.

So, I guess we now have permission to stop feeling sorry for 'poor old Jen' who was dumped by her husband for the sultry temptress Angelina Jolie, and who could never really find 'true love' after that, despite searching for it in the arms of men as diverse as Vince Vaughan and John Mayer.

There is just one problem with this scenario. And that is: I never felt sorry for Jennifer Aniston to begin with. Not remotely sorry. Not mildly sympathetic. Or even slightly regretful about the way her life had turned out.

I mean, seriously, how can anyone in their right minds feel sorry for someone like Aniston? She is bright, beautiful, famous, successful, rich, fit, and healthy. She won a place in our hearts as Rachel in Friends, and since then has resolutely refused to vacate it. She may have made some bad movies, but she was always good in them. She dated some of the best-looking and talented men on the planet. She may have kissed a few frogs along the way, but hey, what makes you think she was looking for a Prince? She didn't need to. She was a Princess in her own right, a prize catch, a trophy girlfriend/wife, whom any man would be lucky to get to call his own.

But no, that narrative was never going to sell any tabloids or trashy magazines. So Jen had to be cast as a sad, forlorn figure who was still pining away for ex-husband Brad Pitt, even as he moved on with Angeline Jolie and their ever-increasing brood of children. No matter how many times Aniston insisted that that chapter of her life was over and people needed to turn the page, the media refused to listen. Instead, entirely fictitious stories about her obsession with Pitt (and Jolie) and her sadness about her childless state continued to make the headlines.

Even when she announced her engagement to Justin Theroux and emerged with a rock-like diamond on her finger, the 'poor old Jen' narrative continued. Now, it was about how Theroux was not exactly an A-grader like Pitt, but then Aniston didn't have too many options on the wrong side of 40, did she? And even if this relationship didn't stutter to an end like all those others, she was probably too old to have kids anyway, wasn't she? Poor thing! Life hadn't really worked out too well for her, had it?

Such was the intensity of the womb-watch that ensued that even Aniston, who usually laughs off the incessant baby speculation surrounding her uterus, was pushed to respond in an interview that she even though she hadn't had children, she did not feel unfulfilled because she had 'birthed' several other things, like movie projects, etc. And that, I must confess, was the only time I felt truly sorry for Jen. Why should she -- or any other woman, for that matter -- have to justify her reproductive life to anybody else? It really is no one's business but her own.

Of course, it never works out that way, because that is what being a woman is all about, isn't it? Finding the right man. Getting him to marry her. Settling down to cosy domesticity. Pushing out a couple of sprogs before her eggs go completely off. And then, making a success of marriage and motherhood.

Seriously? How is this narrative even a thing in the second decade of the 21st century? Why do we still buy into this drivel and treat any woman whose life deviates from this Grand Plan as a failure, no matter how beautiful, rich, happy, famous or successful she may be? Why do we apply criteria that wouldn't seem out of place in the 19th century to judge the woman of today?

I have thought long and hard about this. And I still don't have an answer for you. All I know is that no matter what their other talents and attributes, at the end of the day women are still judged on the basis of their personal lives. Just how great a guy did she manage to 'ensnare' into marrying her? How good is she as a baby machine? Is her marriage still intact? Do her kids do well at school? Does she run an efficient household? And so on and on and on.

Which is why I have a sneaking suspicion that we are not done with Aniston as yet. No sooner is she back from her honeymoon, then the baby babble will start. Is she pregnant? Can she get pregnant? Is she going the surrogate route? Or will she simple adopt, like Angeline Jolie? Because, you know, she never really got over losing Brad to her!

And the media circus will roll on with the 'poor old Jen' narrative, selling millions of newspapers and magazines. As they saying goes, plus ca change.

An affair to remember

Why do certain celebrity relationships continue to engage our attention long after they are over?

What is it about some love stories that they simply refuse to fade from public imagination? I asked myself this question yet again last week as Jennifer Aniston began doing the usual round of publicity interviews for her new movie, Cake. Actually, make that ‘poor old Jen’ who lost her husband, the great love of her life, Brad Pitt, to the evil machinations of that sultry siren, Angelina Jolie. Poor thing, she never found love again, moving from relationship after relationship, grasping for the same magic she had with Brad. But no, that wasn’t to be.

Watching Aniston answer the same questions (about Brad, Jolie, their many kids, her striking lack of them), you could be forgiven for thinking that Brad and Jen had split a year ago. Actually, it’s been ten years. And still the same questions keep cropping up in every interview Aniston does.

She and Brad may have moved on, but we are unwilling – or unable – to do so. We seem more committed to the eternal love triangle of Jen-Brad-Jolie than Brad ever was to Jennifer, trying to tease out some meaning from it, puzzling over what went wrong, and sighing about what could have been. So, every couple of months, a fresh crop of stories surfaces in the media. Brad is back in touch with Jen. Jolie is livid because she doesn’t trust Jen. Brad is so unhappy with Jolie. Jen is going to break up with her fiancé Justin Theroux (because she never ever got over Brad, you see). And so on…

Why should this be so? I must confess that I am stumped. Yes, all three protagonists are A-list celebrities so some amount of media attention on their relationship (and lack thereof) is inevitable. But this sort of obsession about something that happened a decade ago? Does it make any sense? Of course not. Nonetheless, the breathless media coverage goes on.

But even if we can’t really work out why this should be so, there is no denying that there are some star pairings that live on in our imaginations, more vividly than ever, even though the couple in question has long since ceased to exist. And we continue to obsess over their relationship – why did it end; who was to blame; whose side are you on? – decades after it has been dead and buried.

If our generation had Brad and Jen (and Jolie), then the one before had those eternal star-crossed lovers, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Their coming together on the sets of Cleopatra was a bit like an irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Sparks flew, passions were ignited, and a very public affair began despite the fact that both were still married to other people. They divorced their then-spouses in a spectacular blaze of publicity, and generated even more headlines when they got married to one another. The fiery relationship saw them get divorced, get off with other people, and then with a certain inevitability, gravitate back towards one another. Another wedding followed, and then, another divorce.

After the final split, Taylor went on to re-marry twice even as Burton notched up two marriages of his own. He was married to Sally Hay when he died in 1984. But as far as the media were concerned, it was Liz, not Sally, who was the rightful Burton widow. All the coverage was about Burton and Taylor: the passionate letters he had written to her through their long and complicated relationship; glamorous pictures of them on set or dancing the night away at some club. And much the same thing happened when Taylor passed away in 2011. It was the tragic, tumultuous love story of Burton and Taylor that dominated the obituaries, with her six other husbands meriting merely a passing mention.

In India, there is really only one celebrity couple that I can think of who has attracted this sort of obsessive coverage: Amitabh Bachchan and Rekha. Even though their ‘relationship’ (always rumoured; never confirmed, despite the many coy hints Rekha threw around about ‘Him’ in her many interviews) allegedly ended in the 80s, the myths around it continue to circulate.

The two have never worked together in a movie after Silsila, which was released in 1981, but even more than 30 years later, the presence of them both at any film function is bound to create a frisson. If Rekha is giving away an award, the cameras will focus closely on Amitabh’s face to see how he reacts (with a poker face, if you must know). If Amitabh is on stage and Rekha in the audience, then it is her reaction that the camera will look for (adoring look, paired with mysterious smile). And so, the dance continues even though both are getting a bit long in the tooth now.

Now, of course, there is a new angle to explore in this ‘triangle’ for the ages: Rekha and Jaya in the Rajya Sabha. Both women are members of the same House of Parliament, so their paths are bound to cross at one time or another. And the media are lying in wait for just such a moment. When Rekha takes her oath, the camera pans to Jaya; when Jaya makes an intervention in a debate, the camera closes up on Rekha. And thus, it goes.

Why do these love stories that ended decades ago continue to engage our interest? What is it about these people that makes their ‘relationships’ the fodder of gossip columns, years after the event? Why are we so obsessed with these triangles for the ages? If you can work it out, do let me know.

She ain't heavy...

The only way to create a sisterhood is by becoming a good sister to other women

It is tempting to dismiss that old adage about women being each other’s worst enemies as a cliché. It is easy to see it as the kind of sexist claptrap that gets tossed around to give feminism and feminists a bad name. But take a good look around you? Do you really see a supportive sisterhood at work? Or do you see snarkiness, bitchiness, rivalry, and plain old spite? If you are among the lucky ones, you will experience a mix of both. But speaking for myself, I must confess that I see much more of the latter. 

Let’s conduct a little experiment this Sunday. Trawl the Internet and list the first ten stories you find that body-shame, slut-shame or fat-shame women. If nine of these ten stories don’t have a woman’s name on the byline, I will eat my own ‘spare tire’. 

For some reason, women seem to take particular pleasure in dissing their own sex. She has fat legs. She shows too much cleavage. She is a slut. She has a muffin top. She slept her way to the top. She has too much cellulite. She is a bad mother. She hates kids because she can’t have any of her own. She is old. She is ugly. It’s all dressed up in pretty words, and sometimes with faux concern, but that’s what it all boils down to.

And then, of course, there are the double standards. George Clooney is the most eligible bachelor at 53. Amal Alammudin, that undeserving wretch of a barrister at law, is lucky to have snared him (how on earth did she manage that?). Jennifer Aniston, at 45, is a washed-up old hag who has been reduced to dating B-list stars like Vince Vaughan and Justin Theroux after she was divorced by Brad Pitt. And do you think the poor thing will ever have a baby? (With those shriveled up ovaries? Are you kidding?)

And that’s just the media. But in real life, too, the ones taking the most pleasure in this sort of stuff will be other women. They will be tut-tutting in fake sympathy when a friend gets dumped by her boyfriend (“Poor thing! I never did think he would marry her!). They will be the ones going nudge-nudge, wink-wink when a colleague gets promoted (“Didn’t I tell you she was sleeping with the boss!”) And they are the ones who will make you feel bad about your body (“Wow! Aren’t you brave to wear that!”)

Kelly Valen wrote about this in her book Twisted Sisterhood: Unravelling the Dark Legacy of Female Friendships, which created quite a stir when it came out in 2010. Valen conducted a survey among a random sampling of 3020 women from the ages of 15 to 86, and came up with some startling results: 84 per cent of the respondents felt they had “suffered terribly” at the hands of other women while 88 per cent had felt currents of “meanness and negativity emanating from other women”. But what gave me hope was this: 96 per cent of respondents said they wanted “something better for girls and women”.

But that ‘something better’ can only come if we better ourselves. The only way to create a genuine sisterhood is to be true sisters to one another. If you want to be one of that number, then here’s a ready primer of do’s and don’ts for you (feel free to write in with your own!):

• Don’t treat younger women in the workplace as a threat. If you can’t bring yourself to mentor them, fine. Just treat them the same as you would male co-workers. No special favours, but no snide comments either.
• Do try and create safe spaces where women can share their stories, lean on one another for support, and learn from each other’s experiences. This doesn’t have to be a formal forum; in fact, it could even be a virtual chatroom. But it helps immensely to have a platform where you can speak honestly with one another, even if you do so anonymously.
• Don’t be judgmental. What works for you may not necessarily be the best choice for someone else. Everyone’s life plan does not have to look like yours. Some women will choose to work; others will want to devote themselves to their families; and yet others will try and achieve a mix of both. Some will revel in being career women; others will find their purpose in being earth mothers. Every one of these choices is as valid as the other. Try and respect that.
• Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. If you feel the urge to say something bitchy, imagine it’s being said about you and the urge will pass. (And if it doesn’t, bite your tongue!)
• Don’t try to be ‘one of the boys’ if it involves the objectification of women colleagues at work. It may be tempting to laugh along, but remember it could (and probably will) be you at the receiving end one day – if it hasn’t happened already behind your back.
• And finally, do try and be kind. Pay a compliment. Praise a colleague. Offer practical help where needed. Be supportive with words if you can’t with deeds. Be there. Be a sister.

Cut and (blow)dry

Why do women have such a complicated relationship with their hair?

It says something about Beyonce’s superstar status that even so mundane a thing as getting a new – albeit drastic – haircut sparks off a worldwide debate. It began when the singer posted a picture on Instagram, premiering her new gamine crop. Gone were the flowing, teased into curls, golden tresses. In their place was a punishingly short pixie haircut that perfectly set off her sculpted cheekbones and taut jawline.

With a certain predictability, the social media universe went into meltdown, with fans debating the merits and demerits of the new hairstyle on Twitter, Facebook and the many, many fan sites dedicated to the singer. Well, everything Beyonce does creates a media storm, so why should her hairstyle choices be any different?

But the flurry of ‘Beyonce chops off hair; what does it mean?’ stories just reminded me once again just how complicated the relationship between a woman and her hair is. Nothing a woman does to her hair is ever simple. How can it be, when we are forever looking for meaning in it?

Is she tiring of her sex symbol status and wants to try out a more demure avatar? Is this a sign of her reconnecting with her masculine side? Or more mundanely, does this mean that short, gamine crops are now ‘in’ and long, flowing hair is just a little bit dated?

Well, I am guessing that for a while at least, the short crop will become the trendy choice. I am old enough to remember just what a rage the ‘Rachel’ was (with Friends fans queuing up at hair salons with photographs of Jennifer Aniston to get the same layered bob; imagine their disappointment later when Aniston confessed that she had, in fact, hated the cut). And back home in India, we still call a style that involves a short ‘fringe’ or ‘bangs’ the Sadhana cut, after the 60s actress who first popularized it.

So, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if chopping off all your hair and going really short became known as ‘doing a Beyonce’. Well, it would be way better than ‘doing a Britney’; remember Spears’ slightly crazy phase a few years back when she shaved off all hair and emerged from the salon with a completely bald pate?

But even if you exclude spectacular breakdowns like Britney’s, hair is still a good way to gauge a woman’s mood. If it looks glossy and well-cared-for, then the odds are that she is a good place. If it looks limp, dirty of unkempt, then she is probably not feeling too happy (though that bad mood may just be down to the fact that she is having a bad hair day).

And then, there is the stereotyping that all of us are guilty of at one level or another. If she wears her hair in a demure bun, she must be a behenji. That one with the purple highlights in her hair; keep her away from your sons. Short, cropped hair with not so much as a whiff of hair gel? Must be a lesbian. Long, impeccably blow-dried hair? Has to be a vain, self-obsessed, lady-who-lunches with way too much time on her hands. Oh yes, there is stereotype to go with every hairstyle.

Speaking for myself, I can chart the various phases of my life by the way my hair looked during that period. The pig-tails and braids mark the decorous schoolgirl; the long, swishy hair left open to tumble down the back are a reminder of college days and a new-found freedom; that very unfortunate perm is a reminder of my callow youth. The shorter, layered style celebrated the beginning of my professional life; the gamine crop that followed was me trying out a new persona; and the blunt bob that I sport to this day marks the moment when I truly became comfortable in my skin.

Yes, you wouldn’t think to look at it, but hair is often telling us the story of a woman’s life. The moment of teenage rebellion when she chops off the long hair her mother has spent years oiling and braiding; the drastic change in colour or style that marks the end of a long relationship; the decision to eschew hair dye and embrace the grey as a mark of the inevitable passage of years.

Ah yes, to dye or not to dye: that’s the nagging question that most of my contemporaries are dealing with right now. And the only shades of grey in this debate lie in the roots of our hair; otherwise it is all very black and white. The no-dye lobby insists that this is the way to grow old: gracefully, with dignity, and with every white root on display. The dye-hard brigade scoffs at this defeatist attitude and promises that it is not going down without a fight (and some lovely highlights for good measure). Good hair, they proclaim, is worth dyeing for.

As for me, I am not ready to go grey yet. Or abandon the safety net of my bob. Or even give up the extravagance of having my hair professionally blow-dried. Because, like most women of my acquaintance, my self-image is inextricably tied up with my hair.

Have you come a long way, baby?

Jennifer Aniston is rich, famous and successful: and yet, the media persist in painting her as the eternal victim

So, how would you feel about a glamorous, gorgeous Hollywood star with millions in the bank and a steady succession of positively edible eye-candy on the arm? A star who holidayed in scenic locations throughout the year, showing off bronzed limbs and a perfectly-toned torso? A star who made frequent appearances in the gossip columns, thanks to a torrid and sometimes hectic love life? A star who seemed to have everything: money, fame, success, and lots of sex?

Let me guess. You would admire this apocryphal figure, right? You would gaze enviously at the holiday homes and the private jets. You would marvel at the numbers of partners notched up. You would wonder about how lucky some people can get.

Yes, if we were talking about George Clooney, this is exactly how most people would respond. Here’s a handsome movie star with a jet-setting lifestyle, complete with private planes, holiday homes in exotic locations, and a bevy of interchangeable beauties who seemed to grow ever younger as he grew older and greyer.

Wow! What’s not to love? Or to envy.

But if the star in question was Jennifer Aniston, the reaction would be very different, wouldn’t it? As, indeed, would the narrative, even when the facts of the case are much the same.

Yes, the rules are reversed when it comes to the ladies. So while Clooney is written up as the man who has everything, Jennifer Aniston must always be portrayed as ‘poor old Jen’, always so unlucky in love. First, her husband, Brad Pitt, left her to play Happy Families with his Mr and Mrs Smith co-star, Angelina Jolie. Then her rebound guy, Vince Vaughn, didn’t quite work out. And let’s not even get into John Mayer (honestly, what was she thinking?) or what’s his face, Paul Sculfor.

And now, poor thing, she’s looking for love with a younger man, Justin Theroux. But hang on. She is now 43. Yes, you read that right: 43. Is it too late for her to have babies? Has she put her ovaries on ice for far too long? Can she ever have the fairy-tale ending that all women long for: with a doting husband and a brood of beautiful babies?

Poor old Jen, indeed! It must be a dreadful life, right? To have made enough money to never have to work again unless you choose to; to have your pick of the handsome leading men of Hollywood; to still look amazing on the shady side of 40; to be in control of your life. God, I can’t quite figure out how she copes!

But sarcasm aside, isn’t it a tiny bit worrying that even if you are a Hollywood star in the 21^st century, you still have to abide by some romantic, medieval notion of how women should live their lives? That unless you are in a happy marriage – which has produced a couple of kids – your life is essentially worthless. And that you must be spending all your time chasing that ever-elusive dream; no matter how loudly you protest otherwise.

To be fair to Jennifer Aniston, she has never played into the poor old Jen narrative of her life story, as retold by the tabloid press. She never tires of pointing out that she is fed up of the eternal triangle she is expected to form with ex-husband Brad and his new partner Angelina. She has moved on; and so should we. She loves her bachelor lifestyle. She is in no hurry to get married again. And she is not sure about having children because kids can get a bit ‘messy’. In other words, she loves her life the way it is.

But no matter what Aniston may say, somehow the narrative of Jen as victim has gotten some sort of insidious hold on the world. And even now, when Justin has announced that he got the ‘best birthday present ever’ on his 41^st birthday when Jennifer accepted his proposal (and an eight carat, emerald-cut diamond ring), we are still not willing to let it go.

So now, it’s become all about how Aniston, the poor thing, is trying to steal the Jolie-Pitt thunder by announcing her engagement in the week before her ex-husband and his partner are planning to get hitched in a private wedding at their French chateau. Poor old Jen. She never did get over being dumped by Brad.

Meanwhile, George Clooney continues to party his way across the world with his current squeeze, the former wrestler (honestly, you couldn’t make this stuff up!), Stacey Keibler, having dumped the gorgeous Italian model, Elizebetta Canalis, when she became too clingy. Nobody treats him like a failure because he has never re-married after a brief fling with matrimony early in life. And nobody regards him with pity because he has failed to procreate (though, God knows, the world could do with a few mini-Clooneys).

George Clooney and Jennifer Aniston have a lot in common. They both started out as TV sensations, he with ER, she with Friends. They both went on to have film careers, albeit with varying degrees of success. They both had failed first marriages. And they both went on to have a string of relationships afterwards. But you wouldn’t guess that from the way their stories are told by the media.

I guess in the end it really doesn’t matter just how far you’ve come, baby. If you’re a woman, your life is still deemed worthless unless you have a baby (or two), and a husband to call your own. Yes, even if you are Jennifer Aniston.