I am sitting at a cafe, waiting for a new friend to walk in at any time, and tell me what is wrong with her marriage. Post two cold brews, I get a text she isn't coming. Instead of going home, I decide to look around, stare at some more people, and try to read their lives from ten seconds of visual contact. I realise the last time I came to this mall was when I was almost a teenager. I was supposed to go back to my hostel by seven. But somehow, even with that kind of curfew, I seemed happier. The best part about being a teenager for me have to be those songs in my head. It's not like my adult head is a monk's cell, there are songs playing as I write this, but they seem to occupy less space somehow.
My next beverage arrives. It’s red, smooth and apparently healthy. My mind moves on to blenders, the powerful, 800 watt, can crush ice and beetroot - without crashing like Stranger Things’ demogorgon from Eleven’s stare - kinds. I have been meaning to buy one of those blenders as I have been told that smoothies are supposed to be an integral part of a healthy lifestyle. I also need to start saving up for a house, and maybe should start dating as well.
Does growing up have to hurt? When I look at my morning routine, or travel for work during weekends, or give that drink a pass, it does. When I look at my waistline, or the fact that I would be staying in this weekend and follow some nine step skincare routine, it hurts even more. Adulthood is overrated, most say. And what I have realized it that it sucks the most because your friends, who were available for you 24*7 earlier, have priorities now, and that you can no longer cry your eyeballs out for every little jolt you feel, or giggle over something really corny but good. You can’t discuss why Mr. Big (SATC) never deserved Carrie or why Phoebe Waller-Bridge is so fucking relatable.
Then I think of Fleabag, and Andrew Scott and then my mind is blank for a while, well, my watch says for more than an hour. I take a cab. I don’t have to ask anyone if I can stay out a little more. I look at my phone. I am supposed to call a friend who is simply stupid. Growing up, I had to laugh at his stupid jokes because I didn’t know I had a choice. Now I know I don’t have to laugh, or even pick his calls. I know it’s okay to not like people, and more importantly, to not be liked by people. I can’t stress the second part enough.
I reach my place, which, by the way, is cute. I have posters on my wall of things that actually mean something to me, not some random “Yes, I love Scorsese too, see I am so cool. Like you” shit. I have an option of right swipes followed by mindless sex followed by no guilt option. Not that you need to be a grown up to be able to right swipe, but the “no guilt’ part? C’mmon, that takes years to happen. It’s 2 am, and I can make Spaghetti Aglio e Olio like Shahrukh Khan. It’s 30th today and I am broke. But I know that if I have made it for ten freaking years, I will make it for another ten.
Does growing up have to hurt? You tell me.
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Recently, I have kept accessories at an arm's length distance. It seems like too much work. It's almost as if 2019 brought in with itself some wave of lazy fashion in my way. Not a good wave.
Even fashion icons have a signature accessory. Mostly. Imagine Coco Chanel without her pearls, Anna Wintour without her sunglasses, Negin Mirasalehi without her boots, or any one of your favorite influencers without her stacked bracelets or dainty necklaces. Not the same.
When I decided to take pictures of this outfit for the blog, I knew something was amiss. So I rushed in, got that red scarf and them sunglasses. Because when it comes to fashion, a little touch of something extra means a lot, if not everything.
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Why do we like certain colors?
I have seen people whose faces light up like a ferry boat when they see certain colors. And when I try to wonder about it, the whole thing feels like science. Almost. I know a lot has been written about the psychology behind preference for certain colors. But at times, I feel we gravitate towards some colours for reasons more than obvious. Here are some colors that never get old for me.
Yellow
Now here is a colour most people will never get in their life time. If you ask me, there are days when I feel yellow is the color of my soul. Of course there are less appealing shades of yellow, but the color seems to be the happiest a colour can get. Have you ever seen a tree with yellow flowers and not felt a thing?
White
50 per cent of my clothes are white. When I think of white, I see Lady Diana, Cameron Diaz, Josephine Skriver's recent white jumpsuit (for me, it will never get old in this lifetime).
Beige
This one is 2019's favorite color, and rightly so. The color is everything if you ask me. Imagine this: beige tank to, navy blue pants, brown shoes. You can thank me later.
This time, for a change, the photos have something to do with the text. I have included all these colors in this outfit.
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Is it possible to be happy and sad at the same time?
Some time back, a friend of mine was telling me how he was happy and sad at the same time. He was in a bad relationship, the kind that sucks out every last bit of happiness from your system. But he was madly in love with her. So when she left him, it just got worse. And then it got just a little better. "I am lonely. I don't know what to do anymore. I am sad. But there is no stress. There is no pain. I guess that is a good thing," he said.
He got me thinking. And then, just like that I realized there are many like him. Happy and sad at the same time. I had an aunt who was forever grumpy, and she had a knack for ruining anyone's day. She was mean. I used to think she was sad. But then I had seen her smile after doing something really mean. Happy and sad, both I guess.
My plants are like that sometimes. Happy green mostly, with some brown frowns. My poems are like that, dipped in pain, but somehow optimistic. I know a girl, much younger than me, she seems sad, just enough to be mysterious, happy, just enough to tolerate friends like me...
Navy blue, one of the best colours ever, also seems happy and sad to me. It's dark, so people would think it's mostly sad. But have you seen it in all its Glory?
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"Why do we chop our hair? The question may sound simple, with usual answers on the lines of 'I want to experiment' or 'My hair was sort of damaged after all that drastic coloring'. But at times, the reasons are a lot more. I have asked this question to a few women I have known and here were their answers.
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"Someone said that if a girl chops her hair, she wants to change her life. I too wanted to change my life, so I took the plunge. Did it work? For the first 3-4 days, I felt new. I had this confidence that I could do anything. But that feeling wore off too soon. Sure I still looked different, but that feeling of excitement was gone. I don't regret having short hair, but next time I do it, I will do it for better reasons."
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"It was an accident. The salon guy didn't understand what I wanted at first. I wanted Emma Stone's hair in La La Land. And what I finally got was, well, it was really short. I hated it at first. Then the compliments started pouring in. At dinner, my roommate told me I looked like a model off-duty who means business. The next morning, I put on some make-up and the way I felt before leaving home was pure bliss."
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"It was all great in the beginning. But then, I started looking like a boy from certain angles. And that was a bummer. When I put on make-up, I looked like a thousand bucks, with every feature enhanced, my collar bones were a dream. I would do it again. But I would need to resolve to be a make-up kinda girl till I intend to keep the hairstyle."
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"I had been meaning to go for a pixie for a long time, but somehow it didn't happen. One day when I was talking to a male friend of mine, he asked me why I kept delaying it. The next day, I just went for it. I took the new hairstyle like a duck to the water. I loved everything about it, the way it looked, the way it felt, the fuss free hair-care routine, everything. Then with my wedding and all, I let my hair grow for a while. Now, I simply miss my short hair. It's just a matter of time before I will book another appointment at Bella Maddona again.
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P.S. I was just bored with my old hair.
The first time I saw a girl in headband was a few years ago. I was running my ass off on a beach and there she was, with a tanned face and a floral headband. It was an instant fashion inspiration moment for me.
I told myself, " Face it. It does look a little over the top." But then I began saving headband style images on Instagram. From Gloria Swanson's huge, unapologetic headbands to Alexa Chung's understated, thin head accessories, I ended up making quite an inspiration book.
I forgot about them again.
Then I saw Instagrammer Neha Paranjpe's feed. She was rocking them headbands. I realized that maybe the chickenshit inside me can try this trend afterall. Maybe it's not too much. "Actually they make anyone stand out. And not in a look-at-me kinda way, but an I-know-my-shit kinda way," I said to myself.
Neha helped me find what I was looking for and now there seems to be no stopping me. So this outfit is dedicated to Neha Paranjpe and that girl on the beach, whoever you were. I can only wish to be half as stylish as both of you.
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She had pride. Queen-sized.
Never too much for anyone.
Just enough to fit her beaming spirits.
And when it got too cold
She would wrap herself in his love.
And dream about the northern lights.
He would never stay the night.
You are not my destination, he said.
Yet she smiled in her sleep.
You will come back again baby.
I may not be much to look at.
But my heart. It's hell of a pit stop.
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As usual, the poem has nothing to do with the outfit. I had nothing fashionable to talk about. So wrote a poem instead. Please follow me on GFC and Facebook and Instagram if you like reading the blog.
When someone we love is sad, we usually do whatever we can, to cheer them up. We tell them it will be okay, that time will take care of everything. When we think it's almost a first world problem they are crying over, we, in our most subtle ways, tell them that it could have been worse, and how lucky they actually are.
I am one of those people.
But today was different. I woke up to an Instagram story where a girl I absolutely adore, posted that she wasn't feeling right. She felt unsupported, unloved. I thought she had everything, that she was living a life most of us can only dream of. So when I read her story, it made me sad. But before I could type something to send her a positive message, something struck me.
Why is it that when others are not okay, I have all sort of good things to say to cheer them up, but when I am down and out, I am clueless. In fact I go as far as to think I deserve it. Why don't I talk myself into believing it's for the best? When I look around, I realize it's not just me. Many of us are guilty of not being kind to ourselves.
And this doesn't look right. I have to run to work as I write this, but I will make sure I work on becoming a little kinder to myself. Maybe start with an indulgent glass of cold hazelnut latte. What, I am sad, i deserve it! I even deserve another vacation at a place like this.
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Everything good in the world
Rolled into one pair of eyes
The eyes that saw me falling
The eyes that never looked away
I guess I slept for a moment
I thought I tied your hand with a scarf
Or was it all a dream?
The eyes just a mirage
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"Not wearing the ubiquitous jeans and tee was never intentional for me. I grew out of them somehow, silently, unknowingly, over some United Colors of Benetton catalog.
I did get my fair share of questions. "Why do you always need to look different? And it's not good different my friend. You look like a 60 year old European teacher, who - to no one's surprise - is still single.
I love dresses and skirts and salwar kameezes. They are not reserved for special occasions for me. So I never bother with the make up. That explains the comments. Maybe.
Coming back to jeans and tees, I am always clueless about styling them. Add a beret? Or throw in some hoops? Or maybe a sneaker will make everything alright? As I said, totally clueless.
I want to be that girl who looks effortlessly stylish in them. That girl will never be boring i guess. That girl will take out just two pairs of jeans every Sunday night and the rest of it will sort itself out. That girl will turn up on dates pretending she doesn't give a shit and still look like a million buck.
That girl sounds just perfect.
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