Bright White

Planning on doing an all white number the next time i step out! The rains will be here soon and i'll have to bid adieu to my whites for the next 4 months! 

Cuffed

Cuffs are really huge this season! I like this one by Massimo Dutti with pretty dragonflies on it.

Maang-Tikkas

Simply adore these contemporary maang-tikkas! Perfect for when you want to go low on other accessories! Maang-tikkas are a tradition in India where they are an intergral part of a bride's wedding jewellery. This urban take on the maang-tikka is refreshing and can be worn on both ethnic and western attire. 

Incongruence

I open my eyes.

I’m looking downward and my feet are positively off any solid device. My body is parallel to the ground, which is very far below. It takes me a fraction to realize that I’m floating mid air. Actually, not just floating - I’m flying.

I find it interesting that there are no panic buttons going off anywhere, it doesn’t seem like a strange thing to do in the least bit. I realize I’m very comfortable flying. I can feel a big smile creeping up the corners of my mouth. I give into that feeling.

I fly very fast, whizzing by amounts of constructed matter – some huge, others miniscule. To me, the matter resembles art installations and there exists zero conformity in thematics, design or the consistency of the matter. These installations float freely as well. I’m beginning to think my cognitive memory has failed me because most of it I do not recognize. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember knowing how to fly.

Looking around I sight a fair amount of sparkle in the atmosphere; like someone just blew at a handful of chamki. Its almost like the stars are really close but these are not stars just shiny miniscule objects of light orbiting no particular space. It’s marvelous. The air is slightly cold and devoid of that grimy smell which presents itself in the constitution of air I normally breathe. It actually comes very close to smelling like airplane air.

It just occurred to me that I can’t remember where I’m coming from or for that matter, where I’m flying to. The current location I’m en route seems alien to me but somehow a sense of familiarity prevails - like i don’t know the place but still I do. It’s weird.

I find flying relaxing and to me the feeling of floating on air seems a lot like the feeling i get when I’m floating in water. The only difference is, its way better. Similarly like when one swims, I can control my flying speed by kicking my feet mid air. I realize it gets me flying faster if I kick harder and vice versa. My flying speed stays constant otherwise.

I’m excited that my body works its way around objects when I’m flying. Its like I’m fitted with this inbuilt proximity sensor so I’m not a perfect recipe for disaster. I can also navigate my path easily. Its like I’m autopilot but my destination is being kept a surprise. I really want to know where I'm headed.

There are quite a few installations on the way that fascinate me. The shiny walls are one of them. They resemble big movie hall screens and they display memories. My memories. They started with the most recent memories and right now they display memories from around the time I was a teenager.

Apart from the memory walls, cloud like formations surround me as I fly by. These look retro reflective in the distance but when I come close to one I realize they are like mirrors. I look at a reflection of myself and I see a younger version of me. I look like how I did when I was 10 years old. I’m a little stunned that I’m small again. How did I go back 15 years? I then look at my hands and my feet and they don’t look like a 10 year olds. That’s odd. I place my hand on the glass in front of me and the hand in the mirror reflection is tinier. I now feel the need to know what exactly this place is, where exactly it is and what exactly is happening. I'm beginning to get a little impatient.

I look around me and I’m curious about everything I see. In the far off distance I can see a massive screen with my oldest memory. It is of my deceased grandfather holding my hand and taking me for a walk around the lake next to my old house.

Suddenly, it all makes sense to me. My journey from the time I opened my eyes till now has been me traveling back through time and space. I fly towards the massive screen. It takes me a while to reach it. When i get there I realize how beautiful my memory is. Its not hazy in the least bit. On the contrary, it is extremely sharp and the detailing is grand. I watch my grandfather for a while. He is playing with me and I can see how fond he is of me. I’m laughing now and I’m pointing to someone in the distance. He turns around I see him waving at someone who I can’t see. For a brief second I think he’s waving at me but I tell myself it can’t be. I don’t know why but I impulsively wake back. He gives me a wonderful smile, turns around and continues playing. Time and space stopped for me right there. At least I felt it did. I continue watching that memory over and over again. I begin to feel sleepy. I close my eyes.

I open my eyes.

I mechanically check the time on the bed side clock. I overslept. Quite a bit actually. I feel a little sick, the kind of sickness I feel when I take a flight. I wonder why.

Dear Dadda

Dear Dadda,

It feels strange writing to you but I have been feeling like doing so all through today. Mamma and you are asleep in your room and I’m in Amber’s new room. Amber’s room feels unusual but nice. The cupboards are ready but the paint is not on the walls yet. I miss my room and I hope it’s ready soon. I’ve written five sentences and I’ve used “feel” in different forms thrice already. I “feel” a lot right now but I don’t know what I really feel cause it’s a lot of different feelings.

I was thinking back to the time when I was little. I would often sit on your shoulders. I felt like a princess up there. That was the best place for me, on my Dadda’s shoulders. Nothing came close.

I also miss sleeping in-between Mamma and you. Remember how I couldn’t sleep till you tickled my back? I loved it! Why did I have to grow up?

You know what I also miss? Your 1970’s model Canary yellow Royal Enfield. I miss sitting on the tank right under your chin. I would open my mouth and stick my tongue out till it was completely dry and then pull it back into my mouth again. It was fun. Nothing can compare to that feeling.

Ohh and your shendi. You were one cool dad. I remember sitting on your back and platting your shendi for you. Speaking of which, I miss you doing my hair for me. I loved it when you blow-dried my hair for me, when you borrowed Nana’s curlers and made my limp hair curly or when you used the crinkler to give my hair a boost of volume.

I think you’re one of the reasons I’m slightly fashion conscious. All those wonderful clothes and shoes you bought me from your trips abroad when I was a child. You shouldn’t complain now you know. You should have known you'll have huge bills coming your way.

Do you know who I got my first make up lessons from? It was from you and not Mamma. I had applied two circular blotches of colour on my cheeks. You walked in on me and instead of shouting at me for wasting Mamma’s expensive make up you did quite the opposite. You told me that I need to apply the rouge on the “apple of my cheeks”. After wiping the colour off my cheeks (I think I looked like a clown but I’m not really sure) you applied the rouge in circular motions on my cheekbones. My first make up tip, one I’ll never forget.

I often think about how we incubated caterpillars. We watched them cocoon and then transform into butterflies and also how we looked for garden lizard eggs and incubated them as well. I got over my fright of lizards because of that. Speaking of reptiles, I remember when we shifted to the house we currently live in, we frequently had all kinds of snakes in our garden. You would catch them and then we would then go to the safe zone in Yehoor and release them back into the wild. Maybe that’s why I’m a Vegetarian, Dadda. We saved so many animals, birds and reptiles when I young. How could I not possibly turn to Vegetarianism?

I think I got my compulsiveness from you. Everything needs to be perfect – Your clothes, your shoes, your writing, everything! I remember we had come to visit you in Singapore once and one of the cleaning ladies at the hotel told Mamma, “You should be very proud. Your husband is very neat. We have nothing to clean in his room. He even does his own bed.” I didn’t get what the big deal was then, but now I do.

One incident I will never forget is the “pigeon incident”. How could you make me do that Dadda?! You even asked me to cover my head with a dupatta so no one would recognise me. How?! I would never do it now but I did it then. I though to myself, "If Dadda says no one will recognise me then no one will." We spoke about it a week ago and we had a good laugh. Embarrassing “pigeon incident” or not, I don’t think my childhood was anything short of amazing.

I really admire the fact that you nearly never laid a finger on me. The only time was when i drew a scenery with chalk on your brand new wooden almirah. You chased me all around the bungalow with a hanger. I was a fast kid and when you finally got to me you landed the hanger on my arm but with no impact whatsoever. I don’t know how you did it but I was not hurt in the least. I just remember never associating chalk with wood ever again.

Things were going great with us father – daughter duo and then I hit puberty and got all radical on you. You called me rebellious – which I was and that kind of pushed me closer to the brink. I started to think we didn’t get along and in time I believed it.

I’m really sorry for being mean Dadda but I considered myself as a revolutionary in my own right. I had so many question about life and you told me that I was getting way ahead of myself. I began to think you were a hardcore traditionalist and thought that value systems and conformity would only pull me down. I don’t regret thinking the way I did but I wish I were a little more thoughtful towards your feelings.

I don’t know where this letter is going but I think I miss you Dadda. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this letter to you or not. For now I think I’ll let it float around in cyberspace.

We have been cordial Dadda but I miss being your little girl. I miss my throne on your strong shoulders.

Love you Dadda,

Tanu.

Note to Self

“Errm.. Hello.. You there?”

Silence.

“You there?!”

Silence.

“I know it’s been long. I don’t even know how to speak to you anymore. I’m still attempting though.. I want to apoligise.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry. I know that I’ve been incognito for years.. But I really need you right now.”

Silence.

“I don’t know what to tell you to come back.. I really need you right now.”

Silence.

“Are you even there? I need some sort of an acknowledgement.. Even a “Hmm” will do.. I really need to talk to you right now. At least hear me out.. I’ll feel lighter.. I can’t trust anyone else with this.”

“What is it?”

“Okay. So I just thought I heard you respond. Did you?! Or am I just imagining it?”

“That’s a disputable fact. Most people would think that. Now spit it out before I change my decision..”

“Are you serious? It’s been so long. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to speak to you. Will you really hear me out?!”

“Yes. Stop being this excitable. Now go on before I change my mind.”

“Don’t you need any sort of an alibi? I mean, I can explain.”

“None needed. You get ahead of yourself sometimes. I’m quite used to this. It’s not the first time you know. But if you continue, I will really go away. And I mean it this time. You’re a few months away from 25. Its time you got responsible.”

“How do you mange to sound this practical always? I mean, we’re like the same person. I’m a part of you and you’re a part of me. In essence, were like the same person.”

“Yes, we are. I’m just grounded and you’re flaky. You need to learn that from me.”

“Ouch. You really know how to make me feel rotten, don’t you?”

“True. I know you as well as you know yourself. You just need to speak to me before you make those rash decisions. I know the thought of insides make you squirm but believe me when I say that you need to trust your gut.”

“Ergh. Can you please not be this graphic? You’re one pricky conscience.”

“Nothing personal really. I’m just doing my job.”

“Right. You take yourself a bit too seriously don’t you?”

“I do. Now, enough of this banter. What was it that was troubling you?”

“Come to think of it, it’s not anymore.. (Pause) Ermm.. Listen..”

“I always am.. (Laughs)”

“That wicked sense of humor is still around I see?”

“Get to the point. What do you want to tell me?”

“Thank you for speaking to me on such short notice. I have been extremely self – centered. Which is ironical, I know.

“Interestingly, yes.”

"So later then. I’ll call on you if I need you.”

“Sure, I’m always around.”

“I noticed. Chal, bye”

“Bye.”

The Quest for the Perfect Mosaic

When people tell me how much I remind them of my mother or my father I can’t but say, “No sh*t!” in my head. As humans and given the fact that we live in society, we can never be unique pieces. We are assemblages of people we idolise, people we work with, people we meet on the train, people we see on the television even people we fleetingly pass by on the street.

We are like an infinite mosaic – Our “tipri’s” are borrowed traits that in time we make our own. The same reason why we find raging similarities amongst close groups of people. It seems like a “mean” has been arithmetically drawn and done so most involuntarily.

I for one am an amalgamation of many people. I try and steal from any interesting person I come in contact with on any sensory level. Be it an efficient bai who I envy, an obsessive boss who I loathe or this unattainable rockstar who I have the hots for.

There are a copious number of people who arouse my curiosity. My partner is one of them. It feels strange because we are quite dissimilar. He is the complete opposite of who I am and of what I am. We are diametrically opposite in essence, in character and in behavior. Yet, I am attracted to him. He is everything I am not. He posesses the tipri’s that fill most of the empty parts of my mosaic and hence, he is valuable.

There are some parts of my mosaic that I want to chip away - Parts that make my mosaic a little ugly. People have told me that if I do, I’ll be a better mosaic, one of the best even. It’s hard but I have decided that I will try.

I’ve started chipping away (it hurts a little) and I’m on the look out for those perfect tipri's to fit right in.

Citation - Tipri’s (Hindi) are small colorful pieces of broken tiles.