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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"Wherever you go, you would need a good tailor. Or else you won't feel like home," my cousin used to say.
She was right in so many ways. If we discovered a good tailor, we would roam around the city like a bunch of happy monkeys, in packs, full of purpose. We knew who needed what and when and how much. The shopping for the so called dress material made us understand the city so better, and before we knew it, we were already started to feel a sense of belonging.
Whenever we had a good tailor, we would also know how to convert mother's old sarees into a dress, or alter an old, frumpy maxi into a short, edgy mini. Since our wardrobes were constantly evolving, we would go out more, just because we had new clothes.
And every time I have to go to my hometown, it's never done till a visit to a tailor is ticked off the list. It is almost a ritual. To those who don't understand,"Well there is stuff only a good, trusted tailor can do."
I have been to many cities in my country and I know for a fact that finding a good tailor is easier said than done. This dress, for example is a byproduct of five not so lovely interactions with a tailor I am yet to understand.
Do you also think the struggle to find a good tailor is real?
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She hurried down to that place in the corner
The happy place that opened at seven
With two tables out on the street
And a door that creaked and slid again
She worked the night shift
And he took the eight'o clock train
They had an hour of love every morning
A love she thought was lost in vain
"Coffee for one?" asked the guy at the counter
"Make it two," the girl would say
She took the coffee and went to the shore
Before the waves hit, she heard a "hey"
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She dances around trees till her feet hurt. She wears flimsy sarees amidst snow-capped mountains. She recreates a male's idea of a woman's emotions, sensuality, ambition, evilness, anger...She recreates them like she owns them. She appears in the far right or far left of a movie poster, apologetic, supporting, modest.
She shows us how to look good, what to wear, how to pose for pictures. She makes the ridiculous look aspirational. She knows she is beautiful. She knows her place in the world. And yet she takes a backseat whenever asked.
She obliges to her fans' selfie requests, answers to stupid, regressive questions of reporters, and trolled by people who have never met her. She is mocked for being too fat or too thin. She is loved and hated in surprisingly equal measure.
She is blacklisted for speaking up. She is called difficult for saying no. And just when you thought she had nothing to say, she takes the mic. She seems to be fearless. She stands in support of her tribe. She sometimes, just sometimes, cares less.
The Bollywood heroine has come a little less than a long way.
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Wish i could pose for pictures like a Bollywood heroine. Can't blame a girl for trying though.
