Beautiful People

For my Torch – who is leaving India in search of ‘interesting pastures’ Happy Journey, you shall find what you seek.

I don’t know anyone who does not like a pretty face, a figure enhancing dress, stunning heels or sparkling diamonds. Esp. in the metrosexual world is just as important to look good as it is to be bitchy. There is nothing wrong about it - we are greedy, selfish, superficial people, for whom the packaging surpasses the quality.

Is acceptance the first step to change? Now, not really. Acceptance is a way of comforting our conscience, accepting the satva with tamas. Being beautiful or ugly doesn’t improve the qualities within us. (The other day while walking down the platform, I brushed across a girl in a too obviously fake Versace; I was on the side of the train tracks and as the train approached I urged her to move in, and when she didn't I pushed her as the horn howled in my ears. She turned to call me a fat bitch just before I decided to turn around and apologise. I refrained, glared at her and called her an ugly mare with a fake Versace! I didn’t wait to see whether she was looking. Point is she wasn’t ugly or mare-like but I found her lack of civic sense, judgement and loose tongue - classless. I don’t think her looks compensated for those 45 seconds.)

But looks are very important and one often can get away with a smile. That gets me to befriending beautiful-looking people. A name in history is ‘Plastered face’; since childhood, we all have our knee jerks - mine was being fat, hers was being short and ‘not fair enough’. She pioneered in calling me names on being the fairest/ prettiest chick in class. Starting with chalk, flour, plaster of paris, albino, tube light, etc… needless to say we never became friends. But the colour bar scarred me for life till I entered college. I have crossed many like me; all of them were pretty but seriously flawed in their own way.

At the coffee-skimmed-milk parlour almost half a decade ago, Century slut claimed that I had the guys I wanted because Indian men dream of a ‘white cunt’ – "it’s the colonial hangover, you know!" I took serious offence to it then, coz it wasn’t the truth. I have since then dumped everyone who wanted anything more than what was in the offing. I have lost some really nice people in the bargain - they were left with large question mark and a ‘u don’t exist for me’ look on their face.

Then I met Torch. She was the only chick I knew my ‘all guy’ friend circle. When I saw her, I couldn't help but stare, she was everything a guy wanted, and everything a girl wanted to be. But Torch being tight arsed, eyebrow twitching, nasty remarks expert - was unapproachable. We sat at the same table and I smiled at her, she gave me her ‘what the fuck are u smiling at’ look but seconds later smiled back.

We have since been friends, and the kind that teach each other about life. On our last pajama party, her confession was a stunner, "K i hate to say it but you my bitch are the most beautiful chic in chicland - and I am so f-ing jealous of you.' Coming from her- it was the most insincere, fake but best compliment I have received under d influence of alcohol. “That idiotic smile u have, twinkling eyes and the happy look - compels one to smile back only to be on the safe side. You have been the best bitch I know, bloody bitch, I am so f-ing going to f- your case to not feel the vacuum” and she loves bitches!! The hugs after that were tight warm and filled with more wine screams!

Torch is the in model of the group. There is a bias - I am beautiful not because I look good, I had known that eons now. When in the bevy, I just wait for my turn as they pick out guys for entertainment tonight. Or wait for all the guys to finish staring at the gang and then turn to look at me. I often end up pimping them through the evening and land up alone on my way back home. (No i don't feel bad about it.)

They are pretty women, like d metrosexual genius is a pretty boy. He knows more about botox than most professionals do, he is not gay, doesn’t swing either! And he doesn’t go out with average looking women. (friends r exceptions, thank you!).

Today beautiful is being Gay and being Gay is in vogue. If u are gay, it is taken for granted that u have an amazing sense of style, looks and oomph. The editors of straight men’s magazines are gay; make that obvious- looking closet gays or single cynical men who haven’t had sex for a decade (in the least)! But they are termed genius; like a pretty face is just a pretty face; a gay writer is just good in the columns of fashion and gossip. I don’t deny any of that, but super straight men are also good at this game.

Torch being in the fashion business laughs at gays –‘they are poor souls – and the worse bitches. You can’t help but pity them – they are on no side of the fence and have to serve on both sides of the fence. Imagine watching a naked woman when you could almost puke at that sight or shave a straight model’s crotch. Also they have to follow the rules of being gay – they don’t have the freedom to be themselves. Once you pronounce yourself as gay, you cease to be everything else after that – including human!

That was my first on the other side of the fence perspective of gays. Torch had sensibilities that changed a lot me. One clear instance was after her first hard earned Charles and Keith shoe broke – she cursed, not cried. ‘bastards can't make shoes for humans, can they? She picked up her keds, and threw strappys in the bin – I was shocked, don’t u want to mend them I asked? K its just a fucking shoe, and it frigging hurts to wear it! It was profound, although it may not sound so.

I will miss all the ten min meets – the tight hugs, the ‘bloody bitch’, the smiles, the beauty treatments and most of all I will miss the classy bitch – Torch, have a great life. And don’t call me! Lol, I ain’t gonna cry.

The Militant, The Mimic, The Moderator and The Mute

Warning: This is not an intelligent post, just an observation.

At the lunangular Moss being his usual self, voiced 'social citizen's' concern over 'development'. This discussion went on to become a battle of rights and wrongs; aimless, inconsequential argument over topics ranging from commercialization exploiting the unpronounceable land, to activism of the paper tigers (a term coined by Androgyny, or it is said so) scared me with the burning rage I saw in Moss's eyes.

Black Pearl accused me of living in theories and as this discussion progressed - i found myself trapped - like in Shoba's class, in the child labour conferences, in the women's bill drafting meeting. It was a 'the cat is clawing on my door' feeling, and I didn't like it at all. Debates surge a different energy and provide a different high that stifles the clean space on a page. Moss was on the brink -- his lack of serious sensibilities towards 'real' issues, channelises his fury into the lower rung of pro-development advocacy: the gutters that will never breed any good.

Hypothetically speaking any social order constitutes to the four M's :

the Militant, the Mimic, the Moderator and the Mute.

The Militant is a human thought who believes in action for reaction. He is our malicious opportunist. Examples lay in policy makers, corporate lemon squeezers, arms market dealers, advertising industry gimmicks, multiple choice consumerism et. al. They are known to exploit the world at large by always taking more than they give. This zone of human thought is usually neutral of emotions and in it's loyalty does not belong to anyone or anywhere.

The Mimic settles in the lower rung; learning and multiplying from its nexus with the Militant. This group flowers on mutual profits (when on the same side of the fence). Religious fundamentalists, activists, social- governing bodies, pharmacy giants, media, etc... They are the face of the shining/ shadow side of the powerful militant; they interpret and display the core ideology for the masses. A quality prominent of this segment is a generous peppering of names, shallow knowledge of the core ideology and unreasonable conviction. They are the loudest cheerleaders or opposites.

The Moderate is often the furniture of the system. The active, affluent, educated form the group - the common bonds are the rising feelings of futility, different set of priorities, set goals to be achieved, and a desensitized skin. They are often found in the working class, or professionals who, swim in the ocean without befriending or antagonising the militant.

The Mute are the marginalised. They thrive on invisibility and are often buried under the shadow of the Mimic. The Mute as a group is fluid, it may be a group of oppressed communities, a negated religion, a destroyed culture or a language pushed into oblivion. Their stories are often told with great drama, however we do not see/hear them. And because they are Mute (without voice, power or information) they are at the mercy of the Mimic or the militants, and both exploit and profit from their empty status.
--
The circle shall not change, it will move, the mimics will become militants, the moderates the mutes, the mutes the mimics, etc... the word progress comes with a baggage 'at whose cost', someone pays for all our comforts and luxuries and we do for someone else's too.

Choose your side of the coin.

Calling Home

I move out.
Walk into the wild
Run away from confrontation.
--- I call myself brave.

I move out.
Avoid pain
Avoid blame
--- Call myself independent.

I move out.
Live with my partner
Share life, refuse marriage
--- I call myself nonconformist.

My home
Is not a house
Is not a place

It is an abstraction
A space within
Where basic variations survive.

I move out.
Of constrictions
Into contradictions
Into language known and foreign

--- I move into life.

Hallucination or lesson?

Since i started my morning yogic breathing, i am observing a detox, however yesterday i ate a vegan sub (not that impure) after my bickering with the wise capitalist. And today morn as i was in mediation, i saw a scary black dog walking towards me- he was large and pitch black, his eyes glistening and for some reason he was angry, very very angry. He walked to me and bit my fore and middle finger that were spread-out on my lap. He bit me with so much force that i was shocked and as a reflex i snatched my hand form his jaw. My eyes were wide open and searching this dog. It took my 30 seconds to get out of that state of shock and realise that i was in my bedroom and on my bed. Something was there- i could sense it. What the fuck had just happened! I had no clue but it was a jerk - like the dog was angry because i was not at peace with myself anymore or something like that.

That bite hasn't gone out of my head- it meant something, i have to find out. Or be patient till it comes to me.

ps. heres the myth of the black dog!

My Hikey Dearest

To flaunt or to hide, is the question. Hickey aka love bite is brilliant way of conveying 'we are damaging the hinges of the bed' and proudly so! I am no more in college (sigh) or I would have jumped to joy and related the details. (suddenly i grateful to not be so openly crazy). Now, I smile and occasionally tease but a hickey is something that has never missed my attention.

There is a psychological history to the genesis its existence. A hickey is like marking a territory; its very rare that you get or give a hickey unintentionally. Its a way of saying - I am taken and I am loving it. However, different people associate differently with the love biting concept.

Childmom very clearly believes it to be animal-like, violent and not really love. For her its a part of lust; love is more like caressing a flower. So forget about the Q. of flaunting, that dammed scar shouldn't be there in the first place!

Demeter on the other hand would flaunt it with pride, its like a matter of fact. An arched eyebrow that will silently question your celibacy, while reassuring to you that her demure nature is a farce and she is quite a spectacle in the needed areas. "I used to have it all over!" she remarked. The casualness reminded me of Black pearl and how he really liked to be tattooed by hickeys- it left people in awe of his active sex life.

Curl queen on the other hand (and this was eons ago) covered her hickey by a stole - not that we didn't see it but she didn't want to make it so public. its a part of her personal space. Drama King, he has a birth mark on the neck which appears as a permanent hickey. (grin)

To flaunt. You got to have the right kind of hickey!

The neck, shoulders, chest, arms, back, lower back, ankles and collarbones are top places to find, give and have hickeys. Its also important that you hickey looks like a 'love symbol' and not a bruise. The size of the hickey has to be just right- not too spread out or like an 20 degree acute angle triangle. The color of your hickey should run btw red to maroon, pink or black- the extremes will kill the look!

For me though, I think the place is a warning. I wouldn't like to flaunt it in class, at work or with family - but friends, casual parties janta street is kinda alright. Its certain sense of respect for the former (not insinuating love making and its after effects are not pious) - apart from that it is the unwanted eyebrow raises and questions that are best avoided. The latter anyway understand and the janta doesn't even matter.

For those seeking balance

Its best to be dressed in mandarin collared kurtis/ dresses when having that awkward hickey. Hiding an obvious one with attempts like a stole, hair, scarf is TACKY.

What's it for you? Show it all the way or is it 'oh no not again!' ?

The ghost of the ex...

As the evening blended into cold twilight the talk with Drama King strayed into-- 'our perfect partners', esp. now that our parents want us to 'settle down'. We were laughing at our newest findings and all that was lacking in us to say 'i do'.The same thing that the world is looking for- a life long romance, the Zing that Tingles and Lingers, the sweet pain, the poisonous kiss, the madness, yearning, comfort and ecstasy. Repercussion was, we revisited our exes.

I have hated Drama King for this, he just never seems to get over her. Like a pathetic puppy he begs and cries and begs for more of what remains- Pity. I find it humiliating and infuriating when we drive down certain streets and bridges, I wait for the dreaded moment when he says 'Mademoiselle, the cat woman and I would..., the cat woman loved this...' we wait there as he pays tribute to a forlorn memory. being a loyal friend, I throw stinging remarks, trample over his love talk, say nasty things. Actually do/ say everything enough, for any sane person to throw me out of his car and ask to get lost! But it doesn't seem to affect him- he has learnt to revel in the 'nothing is left, i am cold hearted' imaginary world; somewhat like the Monk with beads.

But last evening was almost a deja vu, of dinner i had with Sunshine last week. She also wants her ex back, irrespective of whatever (whatever not being nice)! She confidently stated that she knew her ex was thinking about her even as we were talking and i had no reason to disbelieve. I didn't want her to give up; closure sometimes paves way for a new beginning, esp. if she wanted it this intensely!

We ruminated the same shit with me claiming that i ain't settling for less... but as i spoke, I knew that the ghost of our ex and past relationships will never really leaves us! It will be an annoying ghost and hang on to our neck, tug at our hair to remind us of places, people, things, situations, emotions... The fangs of the loss/ mistake or purposeful separation; dig deeper and procrastinate the joy someone else can give. Morbidity settles in, 'our songs' are replayed, over-working is a norm, avoiding the obvious parties is a must, leaving the city/country and stalking the ex- on social networking sites becomes a way of life.

Worse is when meeting friends; the talk subtly shunts to the ex and that seems to be the whole purpose of being there! And once at the station, the train refuses to travel anywhere!

Often, people talk about their ex- more than their current, ironically when they were together they seemed less involved than its hangover.

I sometimes feel that we are more in love with the idea of love and separation than the person him/herself. --- That answers my question of why we unconsciously cast our self in roles that we would critique otherwise?

a funny hour..

I spent an hour talking and laughing with a guy i don't know! This was an impulse, I met Reebok on a social networking site and found a mutual connection leading to many others, assuring that the world is a small place.

post my birthday, our meeting was being postponed by my forgetfulness and finally met at a nearby coffee house. We just got talking and after two espresso shots i was laughing loud enough for the neighbouring suave aunt to turn around. i was so high on the silly humour and 'how true' conversation that i snorted... twice midst the laughs (tight arse would raise her eyebrows if she were there) . i couldn't believe that the left side of my tummy shot spasms of pain.

We decided to move from the place and as the bill arrive, he insisted on paying, (i have learnt not to resist- since torch taught me the shallow happiness of living in a mans world) and this guy opens a sodexo booklet! i found it genuinely funny --what i would otherwise call tacky. he was so casual about the evening that things eased out; there were no undertones, making it super friendly!

after coffee n a walk in my heels- i decided say good bye and as i was patiently waiting for a cab, he accompanied me. he insisted giving me ride to the station but when i resisted he gallantly helped me get a cab, including requesting the cabbies, passing jokes at the singles travelling in cabs etc... it was hilarious.

the cute 'u r not like other girls' sms was equally predictably funny, simply coz we met one time and i, after being told 'u r such a woman', that comment was like a curacao slush. indeed a very high spirited, totally satiated evening.

Series of dissapointments

Starting with not being able to write about Vogue, searching for the right words to describe each piece, feels unnaturally difficult... so does writing for CPC, but i want to be 1000% right with CPC- i have to be flawless and there is no other way it will be!

My beloved clutch is probably travelling in a slow train and therefore taking so long to come back to mommy. I miss you baby. In my agony i forgot that there were enough valuables in there- jeweller's bill, hard cash, my Id and quarterly, my driving licence (not that i drive), my business card, debit cards, my imp numbers diary, my pin number, stash of my passport size photos.... all of that will have to replenished.... clutchy baby come back now!


The train journey was very good, I was determined to have a place to sit and i got one instantly- for a change i was stared at by a chic looking funny woman (she was dressed in light green corporate top, brown checked khadi feeling semi-formal trousers, witch-point, short heel purple sued with satin bow shoes and a big rectangular beige Birkin bag. I was finishing my chanting (she stared at me as i do at women listening to ipod bhajans) and then pulled out my Everyone Worth Knowing copy, the mocking smile on her face clearly called me 'pseudo, hypocritical and shallow' too bad coz i think i am none of those. i almost wanted to explain but i looked up and my left eyebrow twitched out of habit and her smile faded... NO i didn't like the scene. Went back to reading and didn't realise when she got off the train.

Had to write a long letter to Style Icon- i promised him and didn't write (i am ashamed).

Had to collect my solitaire (my birthday gift to myself) but am behaving lackadaisical, dependant and for some reason unsure. I want it, its mine and it brings me infinite joy!

Saw OSO, Sawariyan and Jonny Gaddar and all of them were silly, floppy and total turn offs. They were such a big let down- so many hours of nonsense from intelligent people. Worse, the Rj's aren't being honest - film critics Taran Adarsh and Mayank Shekhar minced words only because the banners are too big. SAY THAT THE FILMS ARE TRASH!

Blatantly lied n bunked dinner on Sunday nigh, coz i am unhappy with the wise capitalist and myself. I said things that i shouldn't have to child mom and for some reason i think WC knows- sure she is pissed and not showing it. So i bunked her dinner party- i didn't want to feed myself and don't like the restaurant she does and am not really fond of the people she invited, esp old idiot. I also made snide remarks at night when Loud mouth gave me full dope on who, what, how, when. I don't like anything about myself when i am in the 'pussy me' mood.

Monday morn, i find out that my DnG face-cover dark glasses r broken at the rim. It felt like a stab, i shrieked, tore my hair and gave multiple bad words in my head before i smiled and mockingly said Perfect, before putting them back. No clue how they cracked (the case is big, sturdy and they never come out of it). Luckily only the frame is damaged, so there go my hard earned thousands (haven't preserved the bill).

Walked into office and realised stuff is undone, have to edit my own article and no clue what to crop.

My HR sent thought for the day- "If you don't like something, change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it."- Mary Engelbreit. Yes, it is helping me recover, but what really gave me the confidence was Diana's tagline - LIFE WANTS ME!-- what a wonderful thing to say!

Wallah! Mawha, mawha, mawha!

To Tip or not to Tip is the Q

I don't tip at a restaurant; irrespective of it's standing. everybody gets a salary for their work- so the tip concept is not digested. I also discourage others from tipping- and all those stories about pizza boy's paycheck being cut and 'x' amount being 'understood' as a tip from a waiter's salary is all bull crap. none of that ever happens.

But today on Diwali Day i just left some money for the waiter--coz i felt guilty. here goes why.

04am- waking up,
05:30- loud mouth n child mom pick me up
06:25- we are at Mahalaxmi Mandir, post the pooja we decide to have breakfast before heading to Babulnath.
07: 45- after driving thru charni road, marine lines, girgaum, chira bazaar (hunting for good maharshtrian restaurants... later only open restaurants ; we end up at liberty cinema and irate loudmouth (Kamat hadnt opened for the day) decided to settle for an ordinary udpi joint.

The food was good in the b'bay south Indian authenticity, as we waited LM was commenting on a big-size couple having breafast after their walk- that ticked me off coz i didnt think their size was his business and they were a cute happy couple.
---------The waiter assigned to our table had just woken up (visible eye bags, red eyes n constant yawning) forgot the coffee we ordered with the rest. Loud mouth was so rude to the him that i was seriously annoyed-- n like wise pulled him up for his dearth of manners in public, with a loud- "Whats ur problem in life, man; can't u be nice to people? Child mom found it hilarious but i was pissed enough to kerb her smile (or we would burst out laughing and the effect would be lost, as usual). We ate huge amounts with Loudmouth insisting to order the second round on my behalf and insisting that i share (this has happened twice and i don't like it!)

the waiter heard him quietly over the sambar and varied idli preparations that weren't available at 8 am, took back my 'sugary coffee' and got me another one- all in absolute silence, he didn't mumble or make a face (maybe he was too tired or sleep working to register all this) that made me feel bad for him- like i feel bad for the traffic police; with the kind of jobs these guys have - satisfaction must mean -not being abused.

hence the tip- for all the unwanted/undeserved humiliation he suffers at the hands of a customer- some of who behave as if they own the place and the person is their personal slave.

i am hoping that more people behave with kindness towards the call center employees, traffic police and the waiters in restaurants.

Cabbie v/s Client

I received a fwd from my boss today, with a link that I conveniently erased out.

Do u know, Rickshaw & Taxi Drivers do not have a right to say NO,. So remember that each time the rickshaw/taxi driver tells you a NO, take down his vehicle registration number, note the time date and place, please click on the following link and register your complaint.

We have had enough of these guys bullying us around, and refusing to ply specially when its urgent. They have been told that they cannot say a NO to any customer when their meter is FOR HIRE! not even for short or long distances. I'd suggest you stop asking them whether they will take you wherever you wish to go and rather tell them where you want to go. and if they refuse. REGISTER a COMPLAINT. Lets teach these guys who's the customer , and who's the boss!

Yes, of course it's time to cheer! This is because we get the upper hand. Most of us will be happy with the decision but I, for some inane reason do not wish to travel in a cab or an auto rickshaw with a driver not driving at his free will. It just doesn't seem fair- irrespective of their problems or their 'just don't want to' attitude.

There are times when I am irate and amused - like when they demand abominable amounts for small distances, especially when 'crisis' is visible on your face. Or when the driver checks you out before taking a call on whether he wants to drive that far/ near with your face in the rear-view mirror. I have even had certain drivers consciously adjust their mirrors- aligning them etc... it can be infuriating, complimenting and hilarious: depending on your mood for the day.

It's often the latter for me: I have come to acknowledge and grin away. These drivers have proved certain norms wrong- like I only have snob-class appeal; coz 'I have attitude'. No - the way they look, i know i have mass appeal! (lol) There is a certain pride that they display to fellow rickshaw drivers when they pass by - a smile or a 'maintain ur distance' look or sometimes my attitude rubs on the driver and he also suddenly becomes a snob.

There was one particular incident when this rick guy was eating gutkha, i didn't realise when i got in but within seconds it got me nauseating and i decided to get off. He was baffled and i told him it was his gutkha and it was giving me a headache. He asked for a two minute break, got off, spit it out rinsed his mouth with the bottled water, sat back and said sorry. I said thank you. Incidentally I met him again, weeks later, at the station, and he smiled real wide- then i recalled it was the same driver. As he was driving me back home, he told me that he had stopped eating gutkha and i said good, as it's really bad for ur health. He said it was because of me- and i was amused, i asked him 'why me'? He replied ,”Aap classwale log jab mere auto mai bathe, toh mereko bhi ache classwala hona magngta na? Aur classwala log gutkha nahi khata.” (when people of ur class/standard travel in my vehicle then i should also behave classy and people with class don't eat gutkha!) I told him he was 100 percent right and he should keep it that way.
(i am sort of a digression expert, aint i?)

i think it will be different if it's by force. Sometimes it's okay to let the driver choose his client. I know it's unnerving and cruel in emergencies but waiting for ricks (with hurting heels ondazed-out night) and getting late for a morning edit meet has taught me a lot of patience, hope (that the next passing empty rick will stop for me) and courage to smile when it doesn't. Then follow the higher principles of basic kindness or like the one above- that class doesn't come with money.

I owe these qualities to them... so i support their freedom to choose!

adieu - abortion poetry

Dear Pathetic Poetry,

This is me, your verse cheerleader, your ringmaster apologising for unnecessary morbidity. From when I scribbled you, half a decade ago; when i wept and howled three years ago after i wrote my final segment- i vowed to complete 10 briefs to my unwanted children.I am breaking my vow taken under the influence of a bribe--for more poetry awards, more popularity, more appreciation of young dashing intellect - it's a holly bally humbug and i want to say that to you. i will receive more awards but i don't think i can write this way again. apologies, for i have changed tracks... and i am giving u your final podium forever. i am paying my respects dear muses- stand by me.

To,

All my Unborn Children – 1

iI do not regret your absence.
In fact you wouldn’t have enjoyed the world I live in,
It has nothing much to offer.

My mother accused me once:
“See not what the society gives you,
See what you give to the society.”

I gave them,
My thoughts,
My feelings,
My difference,
My ideology.

I was expatriated,
As an illegitimate child
Of the Hindu society.

My mother blamed it
On the Uranus in my horoscope.

…It’s growing barren
On both sides of the fence.

So, babies feel blessed…
There isn’t much air to breath,
And contamination in the womb is frequent.

There is no space----
To stand,
Sit, or shit.

You grow with confused morals,
You could be in a global village,
With no sense of belonging at all.

You could be born with deformity,
If not physical, psychological or
Worst of all… if you think unalike.

I don’t want the shadow of the cypress
To befall on you.
I would not have preferred a bonsai either.

So I nipped it off in the root.

2

I have been wandering
To seek a different world than I see,
I have failed miserably.

I still hopelessly hope,
Beyond the unknown,
There might be a world,
Unperturbed, untainted, immaculate
By the virus of the subhuman.

I don’t have the courage
To tie you up
With umbilical ropes,
To let you suffer and long to die.

So I take a pill every day.
And see to it that
I bleed every month.

3

I am not sorry,
My dear little one,
I refuse to conceive you.

I am thinking of putting copper-T to use
Abortion is a fairly painful process you know!
And my pain lasts forever,

Accumulated in diaries, letters
And poems like these.

I am sparing you of this pain,
So do not anger.
I can’t be mute,
Therefore I am bitter.

4

I have conceived yet again.
My soul cries out,
My heart is numb
And my mind ignores.

I don’t hear their cries any more.

My children come prepared
To die before they are born.

They are sacrificed at the altar
Of their mother’s Ambition,
Freedom and Foolishness.

They pay a price for the love
That will never die
Because it was never born.

They avenge me through
Vipashana and Therapy.

I stole their life,
They are stealing my mind,

My infidel arse-hole unborns;

---------=+&^#@%*--------------

fashion: sleeves, cuts n colours

Sleeves, cuts and lenghths: Short kurtis, hosiary tops in boho, flower child loose style are in. Cuts are multi layered or two layered, plain contrasted by print. The Gaagra ghera with empire waistline and loose straights for dresses. Quarter balloon, ruched or cap sleeves are back (check Marchesa (NYfw)) Off shoulders, halters, tubes are out. What is interesting to watch is that the contrast sleeve effect is going to be big-- eg. (Visualise) Gold raw silk kurti with selective sequence embroidery in crimson, paired with creme silk chudidaar: the sleeves are likely to go crimson than gold ruched. And it looks amazing. This applies to the colour palate of fabrics as well. Ps. Pockets are in.

Fabrics n colours: Linen, Georgette, raw silk, khadi is here. Chiffon, cotton is out. Blacks, cobalt's, crimsons, fuchsias, grape, tungsten, magenta, saffron, gold, Hawaiian blue, berry purple IN. Exception is biscuit cream. The colour exudes class and can be teamed up with the above madness. Steel, silvers, whites, greys go at the back end of ur closet. Andy Warhol, Manish Arora, Donatella Vercace, Prada are in: get the picture? The same applies for ur denims n trousers. Capri's pave way for harem pants, denims and jeans can go funky, skirts reach knee length and thin stripe corduroy's are back where they belong (check out the Armani collection).

Fashion forecast- eye, neck, waistlines

Face: Nudes(be it lip gloss, balm, nuetral skin shades) go. Reds, crimsons and browns replace. Apart from cheek bone highlighters: everything is toned clean. Thick liners unconventional glitters will be season's high. Max-factor is not still in for the Indian eyes, honestly Ashiswarya Rai's eyelash volume looks disgusting in person, also smudge risk is high- instead try perfectionist by Lauder. What compensates the extra thick lashes are ur college blue, green and grey liners. The egyptian look carries from the eye to the neck lines.

Neck lines: Egyptian, classic 'V', deep semi-circles, boatnecks, flannel and lace are in. Mandarins' are not. Flaunt collarbones and cleavage but tit popping, butt cracks, visible bra belts are OUT. If necessay use of same colour bra with the strappy outfit, it works: eg. Double up a green boatneck with a green bra: let the straps show.
Clean necks are still in vogue, hence string of pearls apexes the class-cool list.

Waistlines: The best of the lot, designers are experimenting with a delirious high. My fav: Empire waistline is back and will stay, what will also retain is the low pubic balloon that may just go without a visible waistline.

Work v/s Time

I work in a publication house: there are times of the month when 'stress' and 'deadlines' sound euphemistic understatements to what we are going through. But as the mag hits the stands there is a lull: no real work, research- time, culling out ideas; basically a whole lot of time-pass. That week according to me is wasted on blogs, vogue, esquire, social networking sites, quizzla,etc: when i could do a whole lot of fun/quality things but nah! NO organisation believes in letting their employees be and i have come to terms with the same.

Something that was personal became universal in this week: two friends quit high paying jobs in one day one and on one loose thought. Randomly read three blogs about working; loving or hating it. Then i read
http://www.stevenmsmith.com/my-blogs/management/full-time-pay-for-half-time-work.html read it...

I agree and most of you will too. But the breed of human resource professionals don't. [i nurture few prejudices and amongst them is a nauseating hatred for HR. They are the firm's happy face to exploit you; negotiate your pay when u deserve more - bunch of hypocritical, good for nothing troublemakers, who waste every body's time in ridiculous discussions, tests, charts lectures etc... Like advertising, investment, insurance and credit cards: HR belongs in the category of con jobs.]

I know how much time i kill doing one piece: coz if i finish it in 2 hours what will i do for the rest of the day? HR is to blame!

Back to arbeiter angst-- my office HR rules changed; reporting time: 9am- 5:30pm. Post 9:15 - half day, post 1 pm-- absent. Pay will be cut if you come late or leave early. I have no issues with the arrangement; just a Q to all HR professionals: If u are going to cut every penny from the minuscule you pay, why don't you pay overtime?

When meeting deadlines -- nobody looks at the in-out time. People walk in at 8:30am and walk out at 10 pm and return by 9am: is that fair? What about when there are events and parties to network: why not compensate that?

How does time matter when it's the work that should?
I believe till you are doing your job- it shouldn't matter how/ where/when u do it. Loudmouth disagrees.
What do u think?

Lost and Won

I don't write verse anymore. It's been almost a year now that I wrote something the way I used to. I never rhymed, so that 'freedom' prevails. but i don't scribble anymore... that haunts me.

i don't do a whole lot of things: carry scrap books, kiss in public, drink obscene amounts of papaya juice, stare, smell, just sit (for god's sake), gorge on strawberries, watch movies for 12 hours straight without eating, or save animals from plight, cuddle them. i don't bring home sparrows, kittens, dogs, donkeys, calf, butterflies anymore. i haven't laughed like a lunatic in years, haven't cried over a book so bad (after 'like water for chocolate') that my mom thought i needed help. i haven't argued over something i believed in after Iser.

i had come to understand that the best part of literature was not in poetry or drama or autobiography; it was in literary criticism, in theories about reading and writing. They were like philosophies that applied to physics, economy, math, life, history, fashion, literature... theories that moved u into becoming you. That inspired and impressed it's emblem onto your soul.

Poetry is moving and heavily despotic; pain of sorts stirs every writer. And that melancholy in turn becomes you,"when u play the game long enough, the game takes over and plays you". if u disagree, pick up all the 'movers' in this world, see how they lived and died.

I know i will not end that way. i am not Achilles, who will barter all the happiness in this world for fictional immortality.

N. asked me once why i took lit? I told her coz i wanted to read. honestly I wanted to discover myself by moving into a cocoon of escapism, into the phantasmagoria of burnished realities, of unconnected myths: and find truth between sepia cast, moth smelling pages.

I found my truth in critical theories, clean pages and archetypal mythologies. I found them in multiple forms, in deconstructed syntax and when i embraced them I lost the art of grafting----

grafting Silvya's, Blake's, Wolf's, Albee's, Pinter's, Eliot's emotions with mine.

This gradual disassociation was unconscious; in the process i ended up choosing happiness over everything brutal. Who needs complex reality anyway, when you can create a universe of your own?

Polka Dotted Memory

Selective is the word I like to use. I have a thread-like memory and I am unreasonably proud of it. Loud-mouth and Monarch have a photographic memory- they remember every single thing I said, wore, did! The latter uses it against me in an argument and the former doesn't. I live by convenient memories of people, places and experiences: it's a technique- if I like it, I keep it. What I don't like, goes- period.

There is a horrific drawback to these colourful specks of polka dots. The background of everything that is not there-- the islands becomes so arbitrary. 'x' thing in a person stays 'y' is excluded. Derrida would have argued and the lit freak in me would agree that everything is complete in itself and does not look outside to determine it's existence.

What happens to the fabric around? Who will weave that? Do mixed facts count as realities? Can choice come without a package? Is having the best moments as the only moments sinful? Why can't we only relish the delicious and garbage the bland? I don't have answers and frankly I ain't looking for any.

I love making and having collages around me precisely for this reason. They make a pretty picture- jumbled realities, torn parts that recollect the hollow in a page. Every piece was picked up over time and has found its place on a creme, burgundy, cobalt, turquoise or crimson hand-rolled paper. A secular Tibetan script art juxtaposing MTV's trance images.

Moreover they are my life: fancy, thought provoking and above all picture perfect!

Seasonal Fashion forecast : Hair

Neo- retro and grunge haven't left, what has entered is volume. Extreme side partition with long tresses (a la Sonam Kapoor) or collarbone short hair with frond feels are the seasons' speciality and will continue to the next fall. Currently Sabyasachi styled clips are found in abundance to keep rein the mane but don't count on them to stay longer. Use Loreal -volume conditioner, Bumble and Bumble thicking spray or the regular Bedhead: all are good volume magnifiers.

Draper

French windows are a common architectural feature today. Crepe, Chiffon, Organza, Georgette have replaced heavy Cotton and royal silk curtains. The trend is beautiful. I am unsure of utility n durability but it looks mind blowing romantic.
Especially white organza with silver kairi design in Velvet. (visualise) I am willing to stitch one if I don't find it!

Biba, bed and bath, Zeba, Carmichael house... all of them have the most intricately styled curtains and drapes for your bed and your windows.

Seasons Socks

Socks are taking the plunge: go colour crazy with them (walk down from Kala Ghoda to marine lines, the vendors on the left have the best collection!) Ankle lengths (gay c penny, halti fi) and even calf covers in pink, black n red, stripped yellow.

Calf covers can be worn with short dresses, quarter pants and gauchos. Check Sara J.Parker in pink knee length socks. Caution: if u have the confidence to carry it - then go for it or try embroidered stockings but leave the nets.

Hold On

... to every
emotion, friend, family, hobby that makes you smile. When Halo died, we took it in good spirit: he was old, had a bad lifestyle and a bypass surgery. Dad was alright; till yesterday. Last night he went on a 'we will die in solitude and the loss is pathetic' trip. He's been emotional about death for as long as i remember, yesterday i realised why.

It's a common problem. When people are around us, its rare that we hold them; tell them we genuinly love them, make that small gesture, gift. We take it for granted; we postpone it for tomorrow. Then people move away, change cities, get married or just die. Suddenly all the repressed feelings surface: the sense of loss is not monumental but it feels profound. Here's where 'distance makes the heart grow fonder' frankly (i think wander is more real than fonder).

There are few things that i have gotten right about living, accidentally they turn out to be the most vital ones. I never leave a moment to let someone feel as special as i think they are. The important people in my life know i love them to death. Loud mouth, child-mom, monarch, wise capitalist, the man, chameleon, mandy, talkathon, stocks queen, mil... we don't meet often; we are continents apart but we do know in our locked away hearts that each of us is a phone call away. Unresonable amounts of money are spend on inane conversations; it pinches bad but in the end we know what we have and what we hold is precious.

Years down the line, when we are worn-out and everything around us is racing by; there will be few people to call, fewer to listen to you. But those couple of faces who don't frown when you talk for too long or reiterate the same point; are very important to have around. It is likely that they will be your spouses, cousins, your kids (befriend them), your lovers, friends.
People who care; and 'Care' is a very important feeling. Hang on to it!