Wednesday, December 14, 2022

Writing in the times of scrolling

Do people read anymore? The number of books still being turned into movies, the bookstagrammers' cozy feeds, and the long-ass articles in major publications and magazines hint towards an affirmative answer. But when I look around, I see no one with a book. No one is looking for discounts on a book online, much less wandering around the streets of Old Delhi, trying to find a bookstore they read about somewhere. Most of the people I know haven't bought a book in ages. 

So why do I still write on this blog? Isn't a post on Instagram, or worse still, a reel gingered up with a trending song enough? What is the need to let my mind run at an athlete's speed to come up with a semi-decent fashion & lifestyle topic, thought-worthy enough to be followed by three paragraphs? 

I guess I do it because it comes naturally to me. A duck to water. Sarcasm to Chandler Bing. FRIENDS reference to millennials. Millennials to iced coffee. I also do it because I secretly hope to find less than ten people who care to read a random blog post. But mostly, I do it because every once in a while, it feels good to write something that looks a little different from whatever I write for my day job. For a semblance of preserved self maybe. 

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Wednesday, November 2, 2022

Losing Summer

 



#NonFashionBlogpost

As I look out of the large, spotless window of the waiting room at the hospital, I feel her presence. She smelled like clay and flowers, with the former almost always overpowering the latter. Though Summer seemed too busy for a 10-year-old, she was beside me whenever I needed her, rain or shine. After trying to find her for months, I finally saw her in my dream last night. She was wearing a white sundress with embroidered hem. She was looking in my direction, but her eyes passed through me as if I didn’t exist. In my dream, the roles were reversed; for once, she was real, and I the invisible friend.
Summer saw something and started walking towards it. She was only walking, but I could not catch up with her. We both saw an old, grey house with purple and black flowers in the garden outside. A white cat came out of nowhere and before I knew it, Summer was chasing the cat, running from the rows of the hedges to the stairs to the porch and then into the house. The main door of the house closed on its own. Sitting on the porch, I waited for her to come out. I now wonder why I didn’t knock even once or assumed the door was locked in the first place. I guess people react differently in their dreams.

‘Mam, you are next.’ My eyes move from the window and rest on to the nurse at the reception. It looks like she had been trying to get my attention for a while, but she is far from irritated. A medium-built woman with black hair, a mole on her left forehead, and a pair of kind eyes. I guess staff at psychiatric hospitals are used to delayed responses from patients because she is almost happy to open the door to the doctor’s room for me.

‘How do you feel?’ In the last two years of my treatment, Dr. Seth had never asked me this question. If he did, I have no recollection of it. ‘I am okay, I guess. Haven’t seen her in a while.’

‘So, no episodes in the last six months?’

‘None.’

‘Let’s see what we have here,’ Dr. Seth looks at the form that I filled an hour ago. ‘Eating well, medication on time, evening walks, sleeping on time; all check. That’s remarkable June,’ he says. I feign a smile. That four-page, duly filled-in form is a testament to the fact that I am doing fine.

Walking back from the hospital, I stop at the flower shop and buy five stems of Calla Lilies for my mother. It would cheer her up, I know. I walk six blocks and then take a right. For a while, I just follow people who are back from their office lunch break. And then I sense I missed something at the corner. Hearing my rapid heartbeat in my ears, I walk back, my boots clicking hard. I feel it has happened before, the sense of missing something, the palpitations, the blur. I bump on a pole. Feeling dizzy, I find a bench to sit down on. One of my knees has taken the brunt of my stupid chase. It is a minor bruise. But my eyes well up and I know why. It all comes to me. The bruise reminds me of playing for hours with Summer.

Summer and I first met over a Christmas dinner. I was 12. All my uncles and aunts were present along with my noisy cousins. She sat right across the table, smiling at me. When I didn’t react, she started making funny faces. Somehow, my mother and Summer were always at odds with each other. My mother wanted my food finished in ten minutes. ‘Don’t eat if you don’t want to,’ Summer said. My mother asked me to make friends, Summer kept me busy. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely Summer’s fault. My classmates were people I rarely understood, with interests that seldom fascinated me.

Mindy however, stood out from the rest. She wore baggy clothes, always had a pile of books in her bag, mostly kept to herself, and yet had a friendly demeanor. We didn’t talk every day, but when we did, we discussed books, movies, dissected characters for each other, and found funny songs as background music for certain scenes. The beginnings, the choice of names, the ideologies, the high points, the ending, everything was discussed. ‘If Holden Caulfield was a girl, he wouldn’t have been that clueless,’ Mindy once said. Before one of the winter breaks, I gave Mindy an old, yellowing ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’, one of the dozen books my father had bought for me. In a way, we were tight, Mindy and I.

So I couldn’t believe it was Mindy who told my mother about Summer. That double-faced bitch, I thought. What followed was the worst. My mother never left me alone. I was taken to one doctor after another, chaperoned to almost everywhere. My mother started leaving me more often at her brother Jim’s place. Summer asked me not to go. ‘Why don’t you just run away like Holden?’ With my mother’s watchful eyes hovering, I could not reply.

Summer held my hand throughout the car journey to Uncle Jim’s place. ‘I don’t want to go,’ I protested faintly.

‘Why?’

I didn’t say a word. It is funny how most children give up on their parents so soon, how fear and shame dictate us in ways we don’t realise for the longest time.

Upon reaching his place, my mother and Uncle Jim exchanged pleasantries, and she told him he was the best. ‘You know I wouldn’t have to work so hard if June’s father was alive,’ she said every time she left me there.

I pick my Calla Lilies, fix the crease on my coat, pull up my glasses, and begin walking again. I am 22 now. In the last six months, I have lost weight, my 10X10 vision, and Summer. What I couldn’t admit to Dr. Seth in that clinic was that Summer was more than a friend to me. True, she was the beginning of a journey away from normalcy, I lost a couple of good school years. But she made me face the worst and yet not lose the stories in my head or the songs in my heart.

After I meet my mother today, I have a dinner planned with Mindy who is helping me find a place for myself near my university. I see another corner, this time I have to take a left. I have this sinking feeling that if I take a left, I will lose Summer forever. The memories of running around, carefree will be gone. No one will hold my hand when the going gets tough. I will be alone for real.

It gets windy. I get a whiff of warm lasagna from a nearby Italian place that I cannot see yet. Mindy and I are supposed to have Italian food for dinner today. My stomach growls. Not sure if it is the hunger, or the pain from the minor bruise, or the prospect of bringing a smile to my mother’s face, I clutch my bag, take a deep breath, look at my watch, and turn left.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2022

That Black Shirt

Growing up, I had my eyes on a black shirt with big prints that my cousin owned. She looked like a fashionable Italian model who had everything sorted in her life. But under no circumstance would she part with that shirt of hers. So all I could do was imagine myself in that shirt, happy as a bird.

Last month, I saw this shirt (in pictures here) and I could not believe how it all came back to me. The memories. Even after all these years, my want for a similar shirt had not waned, not even a bit. Somehow, I can't seem to write more at the moment. Thank you for still visiting this blog.


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Friday, September 9, 2022

What is it like to not shop for three years

I would start this blog post by first telling you what it didn't feel like. Not shopping for clothes didn't feel like a dread. At all. When you think of wearing the same clothes year after year, you imagine having to come to terms with looking the same, day after day. Of being judged by people for being cheap. Both might be true to an extent. But if you have more than ten different things in your wardrobe, you can create thirty outfits out of them. And unless you are paranoid about what people will say, you will, sooner or later, figure out ways to live with your new reality.

And what does it feel like? It feels the opposite of guilty for one. I knew I was doing something wrong by buying things and not wearing them, save for some rare occasions. From looking at a piece with impulsive eyes to thinking of a future get-together with imaginary friends, letting it marinate with other clothes, and then buying something new while the old one was quietly begging for attention, I felt like the creator of a vicious cycle. Wearing whatever I had, no matter how less crazy I was about it in the present day, broke that cycle while not breaking my bank balance.

The resolve to not shop for any clothes for a specific time period also introduced me to the realisation of what my real sense of fashion was. It gave me a pattern of things I wore to death and those I ignored like texts offering weight loss programs and personal loans. 

And lastly, it also feels exciting; the prospect of having a new wardrobe altogether in the future. To try being someone new. A mix of Olsen sisters and Natasha Goldenberg maybe (a girl can dream.). For whatever it’s worth, it is akin to getting out of the rate race to having everything the fashion season throws at us; a pause of sorts. 


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Tuesday, August 30, 2022

Whimsical, With A Touch of You

I learnt early that whimsical fashion is not for everyone. The cheerful colours, the mismatched sets, the big and small prints, the overdose of accessories, and everything eye-catchy can all be a little over the top if you lean towards a minimal style.

So what do you do when you see a movie character, wild and free, untamed, romantic like anything, and you feel like a wardrobe switch, just for a day? I suggest you keep one thing basic, it can be either the top or skirt/shorts. Then, you need a big accessory to add some more whim to your printed half. And last, but not least, wear your hair big and unapologetic, unless you have short hair like mine. I hope this helps.

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Saturday, July 30, 2022

The Art of Fast Dressing

What do you do on days when your heart says you need to shop but your mind shushes you with logic and reasoning? What do you do on days you feel you have worn everything you have in your wardrobe and have absolutely no energy to mix and match and create something that looks like a new outfit?  

Well, I might have something for you. Yeah, today, I have decided to be a fashion tip giver, and help you put together an outfit in a jiffy. 

Open your wardrobe, and pick any top and bottoms in the same colour. The colour doesn't matter. It could be white, it could be black, grey or purple, yellow, Fuschia for all you care. Now pick any one accessory - maybe a pair of earrings or a pretty neckpiece. That's it! You can stop right there if you wish. Though if you are feeling fancy, pick up those old sunnies or a bucket hat if it goes with your outfit.

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Thursday, June 30, 2022

The sunglasses I know I need

I suck at buying sunglasses. Cool aviators, evergreen wayfarers, playful cat-eyes, trendy-and-oversized, they all look the same to me. Till I see them on someone else. Everyone I know owns at least a pair of sunglasses I won't mind stealing. How do they do it? How do their eyes scan at least three huge selves of seemingly different eyewear and pause at one or two?

My pursuit for that one iconic pair of sunglasses that don't make me look like I need to shop continues. Something that gets my quirk off the ground just a little, something that makes me look cooler than I am. And I have realised I can get them dream sunnies only if I beg one of my friends with good eyes to help me. There seems to be no other way. Till then, I will be wearing these basics everywhere - for grocery runs to airports and coffee dates with non-existent suitors.

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Monday, May 30, 2022

Conversations with an old pair of shorts

Dear pink shorts

I decided to talk to you today. You, an object in the perfect shade of light pink, flaunting old-world crochet, reminding me of the years that went by in almost a blur. 

You were so tiny, that I almost didn't pick you for fear of being judged for wearing next to nothing. But then, somehow, good sense prevailed and I got you. You have been with me for 15 years now. You have seen me through so much - from finding flats and flatmates to switching jobs, moving cities, heartbreaks, losing friends, growing out of hobbies, and whatnot. 

I wore you when I saw the ocean for the first time. It was an evening that served up the best sunset I had seen in my life, the kind you use to compare every next sunset you see, at least in your head.

You go well with shirts and tops of almost any colour - white, grey, black, pink, yellow, multicolored? You are underwear-like enough to be worn under a super short dress. And you look the best sandstained.

Dear shorts, thank you for not letting me grow out of you.

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Saturday, April 30, 2022

A Case For The Little Black Dress

If you are a sucker for fashion magazines like me, you must have come across numerous articles serenading the timelessness of the little black dress. I for one failed to see the appeal. As someone leaning towards the brightness of yellows and greens and whites, I ended up missing out on the understated yet noticeable additions of black to my wardrobe.

Fast forward almost a decade and I have black clothes for all sorts of reasons. For starters, it gives you this off-duty model kind of feel. Just pair black leggings or jeans with a black t-shirt, throw in some dainty accessories, and there you go! Carry a large-sized Latte for that extra sense of purpose. 

I have also come to realise that a black dress or an all-black outfit is - for the lack of a better word - a mood. The one that gets you dancing, hints you to go to a book reading, or just makes you feel like taking a walk on the beach.

But for the most part,  this little, in the bud affinity toward all-black outfits may have something to do with the growing up. The color comes in handy when you want to appear like you mean business. By taking some attention away from you and adding a touch of orderliness, it can also camouflage the fact that you are yet to get your shit together. What's not to like?

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Thursday, March 3, 2022

The Tired Self Has Left The Chat

 #Notafashionpostagain


Almost everyone today is a part of a WhatsApp or some other group chat. And almost everyone has that one group they want to quit but not sure how to.

A friend I was recently talking to said she would like to give some award to the WhatsApp team which came with the idea of keeping archived chats actually archived. Earlier, even when you muted a group and archived a chat, it popped right on the top and it was almost impossible - unless you were some expert with thick skin - to ignore it. And now you can.

So how did we outgrow group chats? If you ask me, it had a lot to do with the fact that the people in a group and I outgrew ourselves. And after a certain point, you don't have the strength to call out someone because they are being an idiot. But it affects you nonetheless. Every sexist joke, racist comment, jibe against someone fat, unsolicited advice, and insensitive remark triggers us. Some more, others less. 

The only thing that is semi-praiseworthy about these groups is the ease of planning an event where one has to coordinate with multiple people. Or a setup where multiple people need to be informed straightaway. That explains why office groups are probably not going anywhere soon. 

But overall, people would love to leave a chat without anyone in the group noticing. It would be simple. Maybe that will happen one day as well. Till then, people will continue to mute and archive.
 
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Tuesday, February 8, 2022

Saving the best for the last

There are people in this world who save good things for the last. Now as far as meals are concerned, this practice is usually a great idea. But when it comes to clothes, you never know. Growing up, I used to save my best going out top for an occasion that never actually happened. No event was big enough for the top to be taken out. It was always the second favorite top that got the most attention somehow. You know what the downside of this habit was? Eventually I grew out of that top and gave it away. Sounds like a first world problem? Except that it wasn't. When you own less than a dozen clothes, you tend to be protective about your favorite clothes. You don't want a single thread out of place. And so you plan to wear it less. A bit too less. 

These pictures in a white, borrowed dress fall in the same, best going out top. It has been two years and I have been waiting for some good day to post them. No idea what the characteristics of the good day was supposed to be though. Then the pandemic happened and the frequency of my posts decreased because we all had more important things to do. In the meantime, I was exhausting all my blog pictures because none of us were really going out in the streets, getting pictured. But I was saving this one. Because I loved the pictures. The result? Not much except the anxiety that I will never have better pictures in this life. Yeah, I know, this time, it is almost a first world problem.

Hope you wear your most favorite piece more often than you do.

By the way, it's not the last blogpost here, it's just that I will need post-pandemic images now!

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Sunday, January 2, 2022

A Girl With No Prospects

#Notafashionpostagain

I read an interesting article recently titled - I have fun with my girlfriend but she has no prospects. So a reader has a girlfriend who still lives with her parents, has a part-time job, and yet doesn't contribute to the household bills, and has no aspirations whatsoever for the future in terms of her career. The reader asks the agony aunt if he should stay with her or listen to her friends who tell him that she is a waster. The agony aunt replies that a person is not their job and that it is the society that has burdened us with a list of milestones to achieve by a certain age.

This got me thinking. I understand that a person is not their job. And just because a person has a high-salaried job, they are not going to make good husbands or wives. And society indeed has pressured us into thinking that we gotta own a house by a certain age, get married at another and so on and so forth. No one really asks at what age we ought to be happy.

However, there seems to be one red flag here. His girlfriend doesn't help her parents in any way. Isn't that a sign that she is cool about people paying for her and is not an adult yet? What would happen when they ask her to move out one day?

I don't know if it's a millennial vs Gen Z thing, but since when is enjoying life without paying your bills acceptable? Since when is mooching off people acceptable?

In my experience, people with no responsibilities are a lot of work. And it is not just about money. She can be a housewife and never pursue a career and that will be her choice. But doesn't the I-don't-care-who-is-paying-my-bills attitude permeate into I-don't-think-I-can-take-any-other-responsibility reality? Don't these people sit back and relax while those around them make all the plans, pay all the bills and insurance premiums, and make sure everything in the house is in working condition? 

Just wondering.
 
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