Every time I travel to London and pass by Victoria Memorial — an iconographic sculpture — in front of Buckingham Palace, the official London residence of the sovereign, I wonder what it must have been like for a woman to have lived in the Victorian era. The current Queen, however, upended the traditions of her husband’s forefathers — or mothers, in this case — and remained in her relationship with Charles out of wedlock, until they were married in 2005. As a divorcee, once considered to be a pariah in the British monarchy’s marriage rule book, Camilla Parker Bowles remained steadfast as the “other woman” and now happily wears the crown, with the honourable title “Her Majesty The Queen”. While interestingly, across the waters, it seems Kamala Harris lost to a misogynistic undercurrent in America.
Lady Diana Spencer, the English rose, earned her tiara because she had kept herself “tidy”, in her own words. Infidelity and virginity have been two co-existing preoccupations of the British monarchy since the Victorian ages.
Amusingly, in a country that threw up Queen Victoria, sex has been its biggest bestseller. Tina Brown’s tomes — The Diana Chronicles and The Palace Papers: Inside the House of Windsor – the Truth and the Turmoil — and the Netflix tele-series The Crown had exposés on what was only spoken about in whispers. Gossip has been the bread and butter for British tabloids, and the shenanigans of the monarchy and its “alumni” have been easy fodder.
On the other side of the pond, Victorian morality continues to pervade the world’s foremost bastion of democratic values, the US. Feminist issues such as abortion rights and the worthiness of women in positions of power are always simmering but when it’s election time, they boil over. Harris too was targeted for being a woman.
Focussed on and driven by her career, Harris got no kudos for finding her Mr Right at almost 50. The Democratic Party’s presidential candidate, the trained prosecutor and attorney general, spoke with confidence at her election rallies, but the nation voted her out, unable to identify with her cheery idealism towards upholding America’s democracy, or the celebrity support she lined up.
To win the election, Harris’ 107-day campaign had counted on her impassioned, well-scripted words, the sincere promises she made in her inspiring speeches, many of which had me in gooseflesh.
There is obviously a lot more work to be done before our words stick.
Throughout the campaign, and especially during the Democratic Convention, Harris created ambiguity about who she was siding with symbolically; as she was seen wearing impeccable designer pantsuits with her only homage to her femininity being the pussy-bow blouse, the “feminised version of the necktie”. And the American elections showed us how for women fighting to assume power, words spoken donning bow-tie blouses, a Western expression of power dressing, are often never enough.
I thought that the next time I see a portrait of a corseted aapri rani hanging in any of the ritzy enclaves of Bombay (now Mumbai) which are vestiges of the British Raj, I will remind myself that here, on the home side, the sari is an unfettered garment open to be worn any which way. Six yards of freedom, unshackling from end to end.
So in my continuing reflections, I said to myself, “It’s time to own everything, from what we wear to what we speak. Don’t rely on a subtle vernacular of womenspeak.” I believe that when we wear the universal, or even unisex, sari, we own it. It’s not merely about an attempt at wrapping ourselves in a “power suit”. The sari has been with us since time immemorial — synonymous with our history.
And another reckoning came my way at the age of 65, that I don’t have to look beyond the borders to find my own voice.
One of Harris’ mistakes perhaps was trying to downplay her position as the first woman in a conventionally male bastion. It is conceivable that she had lost before she even began. In November 2024, the future of one of the largest democracies in the world was about to be female, for the first time. On November 5, this future disintegrated in a heartbeat. She fought shy of owning the historic element in her candidacy at her convention speech: “I am running because I believe that I am the best person to do this job at this moment for all Americans, regardless of race and gender.” In the same speech, she acknowledges that she was deeply touched by a photograph that went viral of her grand-niece watching her on television.
No wonder my Punjab-born cab driver on the way into the city from New York’s JFK airport a few days after the election results, lamented, “Bhabhiji, I don’t think America is ready for a woman in the White House.” He also didn’t hesitate to readily confess that his own vote went to Harris, thanks to his wife’s persuasion. No points for guessing that Amandeep Singh* became my favourite introduction to NYC. An appropriate sutradhar (commentator) to this diverse city, one of America’s still standing liberal frontiers.
Sadly, Harris missed her target. She had the educational and professional qualifications to project her voice which could have risen above echo chambers that focus solely on gender issues, with a greater emphasis on social justice. Her journey showcases a paradox of modern leadership — that progress is neither linear nor guaranteed.
No doubt some heft is required to break the glass ceiling but the feminist lens might need to develop a generalist air in addition that embraces the ideas of trust and governance — not centred around women’s bodily autonomy alone but human rights and fairplay. We need the heft as well as the charisma of personal conviction. While Harris was often charismatic, she was criss-crossing between many influences which might have camouflaged the real Kamala Harris.
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On returning to Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, the weary mustachioed immigration officer stamped my passport and through the glass divider I saw a flicker of recognition. It gave way to a smile and he said in a not-so-surprising laconic way, “You’re back home, welcome.” As I accepted my passport from above the glass divider, returning the smile with a grateful “thank you”, a hardly extraordinary thought rose from the depths of my jet-lagged brain — that life indeed moves in circles. In his innocuous greeting, I found a balm to Harris’, and our collective, defeat and age-old sense of powerlessness, which was simply this: could it be possible for anyone, if they return to the place from where they started, with the same sense of purpose, that there’s always hope for a second chance?
Call it reincarnation or liberation? Never say die, literally.
And Queen Camilla gave a new twist, or should we say new life, to social convention.
*Name changed for anonymity.
Disclaimer: This article is meant for editorial use only and is not intended for any commercial purposes.
Elements for the illustration have been sourced from:
pmc.gov.au/government/head-of-state/official-australian-portraits
commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kamala_Harris_USS_Teddy_Roosevelt_24216939528_07c88133d9_h_(cropped).jpg
commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%22The_Victoria_Memorial%22_London_%22Christmas_day%22_(15925642490).jpg
commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:American_Flag_Hanging_from_home_Flag_Pole.jpg
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