A few weeks ago, in a moment of generosity I still consider Nobel Prize worthy, I offered someone close to me, a pair of black pants. I seem to have collected quite a few over time. Black trousers multiply in cupboards. They have secret meetings at night and reproduce.
He accepted with enthusiasm.
I dispatched them through my driver like a diplomatic consignment. A few hours later came a polite but firm message. The pants did not fit. He returned them.
This puzzled me. We are roughly the same height and girth.
If you placed us side by side in a police lineup, the constable would squint. But then I examined a photograph of us standing together and the truth revealed itself in full glory.
I prefer my trousers narrow and fitted. He prefers his relaxed and airy. I like my pants to believe in discipline. He likes his to believe in freedom.
I’m sure he must have felt as if he had been straight jacketed.
And that is when the philosophical thunderbolt struck.
How often do we do this in our country. We find something that fits us comfortably and then assume it must fit everyone else. We pray a certain way, eat a certain food, speak a certain language, celebrate in a certain fashion and then look around suspiciously at those whose trousers are cut differently.
Instead of accepting that tailoring is a personal matter, we behave as though there is a National Dress Code Authority monitoring ankle width.
Imagine if I had marched back to his house, thrust those narrow pants at him and declared, Wear them or else. You are anti pants. You are anti-black. You are anti tailoring tradition. It would have been absurd.
He would have called for help and had me thrown into a mental asylum.
Yet this is the climate many feel today. If you do not chant what I chant, eat what I eat, or dress your thoughts the way I dress mine, you are branded suspicious. The label machine comes out. Anti national. Anti culture. Anti tradition. Or perhaps the newest accusation, anti-narrow pants.
The beauty of a nation lies in its variety of fits. Some like slim cut. Some like straight cut. Some prefer elastic waists and peace of mind.
The test of maturity is not forcing everyone into the same fabric but allowing different cuts to coexist without threatening each other with imaginary tailoring guns.
The one who I’d sent the pants to, returned the pants politely. I kept them. He remains loose and comfortable. I remain narrow and happy.
And the country, especially the mockers and jeerers who believe that one style fits all, would do well to remember that unity does not require identical pant styles, even if a majority of them are comfortable in khaki shorts…!