F.A.I.T.H

It was time, she double checked the file , checked her purse, grabbed her mask , the fire truck toy and locked the door to leave , but something came upon her, she felt the need to get inside, look at herself in the mirror, and give a big cry. She was done looking away from herself, she was done not facing herself and her emotions, she was done hiding them behind a brave face and a fake smile. While she was at it, time ticked away and she realized that she had to be there for  her little boy while they injected him with sedative and took him away to the Operation theatre.

That day had finally come, the day she dreaded , the day when her 3 yr old little boy was being laid on a table to be operated for a issue he has since birth. It was a big day, a very crucial day and she dint know what to feel. She did not know what to think. Exactly 2-3 hours from that very moment, whatever the surgeon tells her could make or break her. But she did not want to think about it. She had to make sure her expressions did not give away the fear and pain she was battling , for she had to keep everyone happy, that was what was expected of her. She said a silent prayer, hugged her boy and kissed his forehead, whispered in his ears '' you are my favorite" . He looked at her with the kindest of smiles and just before she could get enough of it, it was time to step away, hand him over to those strangers in scrubs.

She stood by the big doors of operation theatre, peeping into the small class window every now and then in anxiety. Her limbs shaky , her hands trembling and her lips mummering all the prayers she could possibly recollect. Will she ever be able to say a prayer ever again if something went wrong? Will her relationship with god be the same? A lot was riding on this one surgery, a lot more than she had imagined.

The silence of the place was unnerving and the dim lights were becoming more difficult to cope with. Right when she decided to sit down after standing and shivering for 2.5 hours straight , the door opens and doctor steps out. She tries to move towards the doctor, but cant seem to be able to walk, she tried harder, but without a success. She closed her eyes, shed a tear and took a deep breathe. And managed to walk towards the doctor one step at a time. The three precious words '' It went well'' echoed the room , calming her nerves and giving an instant blood rush, a very severe headache and she folded her hands in front of him in 'namaste'' and said 'thank god, thank you doctor''. Doctor smiled and walked away.

She left a thank you note to everyone who has been trying to reach out to her, sending prayers and wishes. She sat down on a chair , gulped some water out of a bottle she never realized she was carrying all this while. She let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, the kind she hadn't experienced since a long time now.

Dream project

If you are like me,you would find solace in
 a nice dinner ,all your worries melt away in front of a plate full of good food and  the best way to bribe you is to take you on a culinary experience .If you are like me,you loooove food.You don't eat to live,you live to eat and you don't feel a wee bit of quilt while spending huge amount of money on good food.
I live a frugal life ,I think twice before investing on anything,be it a eye pencil or gadget,but I don't think twice before ordering myself an lavish luch at a new eatout,because I have my priorities straight,and that stays to be good food.
It has been my biggest dream every to be food journalist.I cannot admire that profession more.,I am not saying that I don't enjoy designing garments for retail,but it doesn't satisfying me like smelling,feeling and eating good food does.Life has not given me many opportunity to explore my dream.Like I call myself,I am a 'trader of dreams!'.I have always put everybody else's happiness before my dreams,but now,I feel like I have done enough,I owe myself little  consideration.
I am contemplating a food blog.I love writing and I loooove food,and  I sure as hell will enjoy mixing the both.What are your views about this?Do you think this will work out!?. Would love to hear from you.So,please pour in your ideas and suggestions.

TRADER OF DREAMS!

It was that time in my life again,and I felt it in my gut again.I knew this was coming my way,but was just not ready to accept that the day is finally here.Today is the day I will have to make choices,tough, thorough and practical choices,there is no compulsion,but alas I am me,I have always been a trader.of my dreams!.
They say dreams are your biggest assets,and I have realized it very early in life that they carry great value when you trade them.I have traded them from.time to time for different things,mainly happiness of your dear one's.It is a very easy ordeal.All you need to do is take a deep breath and let it go.Loving yourself a little less will also help.But the most important step is to not feel anything and and not to feel sorry for yourself,because when you own nothing more precious than dreams,life becomes simple.

                            QUEEN

She was named Rani.Her parents meant it.They wanted her to rule the world,or at least her own world.She sweats,she frowns and she runs around trying to get things done,to make ends meet,to provide for her family and to catch up with the world.She goes to the bed grateful for whatever she has but she never felt proud of herself.She always felt she was not doing enough.She was not enviously pretty,she was not a trophy wife or a trophy mother.She was not the best at her job.Nobody had ever told her that she was awesome.She folds clothes for a living.As rich , glamourous and successful women storm into the store and pick the most expensive dress there is without a second thought,she gapes in awe.She wishes to be able to pick the best brand of rice for her family like that,she wishes to pick a toy for her kid like that and she wishes to pick a life for her family like that.That must feel good,she thinks to herself.Minutes later,she is back to the ground,trying to save 25 rupees by walking home an extra 2km,so that she can pick a life she wants for herself.While she feeds her family a good night's meal and puts her baby to sleep,she closes her eyes feeling grateful.Do you know this girl!?..the girl who has the courage to dream big while reality weighs her shoulder down every single day!?..if you come across one such girl,do not hesitate to tell her she is a HERO!

GLORIOUS MESS!

One thing i get asked a lot off late is 'how are you doing!'.I interpret that question in two ways depending on who is asking. People who know me well up close and personal mean 'Man!how are you holding up,hope you haven't lost it yet' and people who don't know me well enough mean 'ah! what can be different,she must be sleep deprived and fat,the usual postpartum thing!.In both of these situations, i think for a while before answering,because of two reasons:a) I don't have enough vocabulary to explain and b) because i don't want to be taken as an insane insensitive mother.I find myself at quiet a dilemma in such times and hence i gave it some thought.

Five months postpartum, i would like to describe myself as a 'Glorious Mess'. Glorious because i feel the sheer glory of having gone through the wonderful journey of pregnancy and delivery and having given life to such a wonderful bundle of love.The love i feel cannot be put in words.It is overwhelming and highly gratifying.Mess because that is the first word that i utter every time i look at myself in a mirror.Frankly,i cringe every time i look at myself.I have dark circles from not having slept more than 2 hours at a stretch since the day he was born.I have receding hairline from the heavy hair fall that doesn't let me keep the hair open at least till they dry after a hair wash.I have belly that felt like rubber for months after delivery and looks like cracked earth in drought with the zillion stretchmarks.I have arms that resemble bottle guard hanging off my body and i have flab of fat everywhere.I don't recognise this person in the mirror anymore.

The poser and selfie freak that i was, I run and hide at the longest sight of a camera focusing in my direction.I used to find my calm in adding dresses in latest trend to the 'bucket' and it has been months since i even opened a shopping app.All i check online now is deals on pumping machines,nibblers,activity centres and diapers.I do not look forward to a manicure pedicure or even threading because i know i will not feel pampered in a salon seat while all i did was praying to make it back home in time for his next feeding.Do you know a better word to describe this situation.I like to call it 'mess' or rather a 'Glorious Mess'

THE 'C' WORD

The word was out.'It was a boy!' and more importantly, it was a cesarean!.Sighs in different tones and pitches echoed from different corners of the room. People could not wait to pounce at the topic. Aunties started out with the different versions of dreadful stories of inhumanity that has spread like a virus among the gynaecologists of late.The 'C-section mania'.

The thing that i most feared had happened.They had managed to operate me!.I mean, though i silently wished for the same somewhere in my 8.5 hours of labor, I never thought they would hear my thoughts!. But how could I have helped it anyway!.Maybe i should have protested.I should have prepared my husband to never sign the surgery consent come what may.Maybe i should have eloped from the operation theatre but i couldn't, because for one moment,all that mattered to me was the safety of that little life inside me.I could hear his heartbeat dropping.They sounded like the week sobs of a newborn somehow.How could i ignore that!. 

I came out of the operation theatre numb,physically because of the anesthesia ,and mentally because somewhere inside , i felt that i had let the world down,or rather i had let myself down.I battled the disbelief that this had actually happened to me for hours in the ICU.I repeated the story to every sorry face that visited me. And again spend hours feeling sorry for myself. 

Suddenly it started feeling silly!. I am an educated 20th century female! Aint i supposed to be above such 'small thoughts' .I just gave birth to a healthy baby and instead of rejoicing it , i was stuck with a c section guilt!.What made me so miserable! I pondered and the answer was that it was a social stigma i had attached myself to. The society has made c section look like a doctor or a hospital's personal interest, and completely disregard the fact that sometimes it is the only way out!.

                                        

                                    PREFACE-NEW LIFE                                  

Motherood made me realise few very important things.These realisations were enlightening enough for me to start wondering why birthing and childcare is taken so lightly and why nobody talks about it.I feel like a different person since the day i delivered my beautiful baby boy.I simply have to record this experience.This roller coaster ride  might be solely my experience, but if you relate to even a quarter of my lament and joy, you have a friend in me.

Disclaimer : The posts that follow might be heavy on drama,emotions and insanity,but  be rest assured they will be true to each word and straight from heart.They do not mean to judge , belittle or praise anybody else's parenting decisions or feelings , they are my story , the story of my experiences with the power to give life.

Every time i make a guest rub their hand with hand sanitiser before they hold the baby, my mother cringes and i am served a dose of ' do not act like you are the only person to give birth on earth' theory right after the guests leave. I agree i am not the only one to give birth and raise a child,after all, i delivered my baby in the city that records the highest number of deliveries per year in the world.So, it was definitely not a big deal.But nothing can make me surrender my weapons as long as i am a mother.Can you?

I have never been a cleanliness freak,more so, i feel more at home in a messy environment.But i am a changed person now.Remember?.I am wearing my 'anxious,obsessed and ever doubting momma' suit,ready to fight any demon that dare come near my baby, be it a viral infection or a mosquito.This change baffled me.Made me salute every less fortunate mother who had to give birth to their little ones in unfortunate environments and situations.I still find it difficult to wrap my head around how much a single experience can change the way you look at life.Below are my realisations,rather life changing,to me atleast:

- God exists

The whole process of development of a fully functional body and mind from a single cell after careful merger of sperm and ovum is nothing short of miracle.Doctors and science enthusiasts call the triggers leading to the development of each organ and process 'signals' but who orchestrated the signals in the first place.Who decided the time frame for each development and made sure fool proof transactions between a body and a body inside the body.I am still awestruck to think that a human being was actually under construction inside my tummy while i battled presentations and hopped from meetings to meetings for nine months.

- Human body is a miracle

Need i say more! your heart is formed outside your body initially and then the body forms around it to engulf it and protect it and then it continues working a whole lifetime.The baby triggers the release a hormone to tell the mother's body to push it out into the world once it is completely grown.

 - Humans are born useless-cannot survive first few years without extensive support and care

They say 'It takes a village to raise a kid'.Being baby must be really difficult.I feel for him! He has no choice but to remain in any weird/uncomfortable position that we leave him in because he has no control over his hands, legs ,head or even finger till he is 3-6 months old unlike the babies of cow who start running around few hours after they are born.They are self sufficient!

- Humans are emotionally fragile.Motherhood makes you emotionally useless.

My boss at work(not my favourite person on earth) once suggested i attend corporate workshop on emotional quotient.It was her subtle way of telling me that i was emotionally week.I retaliated. I felt humiliated and I refused to agree or attend any workshop of any sort like a stubborn kid.But i am a grown person now and I would happily agree with her today...I have grown rather emotionally 'useless'.I have absolutely no control my smiler and sobs,i feel for everything and anything.This is a very vulnerable state to be in. They say it is just a phase. Fingers crossed!

  S.T.R.O.N.G

“Four down and million more to go”, she smirked as she counted the scars on her soul.

Linda has always been told to ‘BE STRONG’. How strong? She wondered. She seeks explanation this time. Enough was enough. Why has anyone never defined ‘STRONG’ to her! They meant ‘coffee’ strong or ‘Iron’ strong? What did they want her to be? A wall for everybody to paint their dreams and expectation on or a mirror that always only smiled back, hiding all the black spots and wrinkles!...she needed answers.

Talking to herself while doing the dishes has become a habit now. That was her ‘Me’ time. A time when she actually had a chance to form her opinion about situation she had faced through the day and virtually visualize them turning into actions. Clutter of spoons and plates lend background scores to the action sequences, while the foam made for the dreamy romantic songs. These were also times of deep introspection, to soak into the lessons that appeared in the form of ‘life’ in front of her eyes every single day! It was during one of these quiet moments of self-reflection that Linda finally arrived at the answer to the quest that has been messing with her head for far too long. You are only as strong as you look to the world.

‘Strong is the most overstated word of the century. A word that can make anyone shut their mouth, a word that is so versatile, it can overestimate and underestimate any situation or person In a jiffy, a superficial word that can be an answer to so many surge of emotions, feelings and everything that is so real. I wonder if anyone has felt what it feels like to be ‘strong’, or it just an aspiration. Does being strong really help? Or rather does it work? Next time the world asks a girl to be ‘strong’ let the world define it. Let the world show her what it feels like to be strong...or rather, let the world first show her strength by believing in her, and not asking her to‘ BE STRONG ‘.

The Desperate Pride.

I get inspired in a jiffy. Being a designer at heart(and by profession) , this one day in my life will continue to linger in my heart with a slight flavor of helplessness , anger and pain of having realized that I am another one in the strain of those proud Nairs of Kerala, who have little left to hold on to.

Right when I thought that I had lost myself and the enthu cutlet in me to the vicious circle of corporate life, marriage and everything else that the modern era had to offer, I decided to take a break and make a trip to where I belong, to the old nostalgic streets and the huge ‘tharavaadu’(ancestral home) in a small village of Malabar. Surprisingly, it was that time of the year that used to be nothing short of a celebration for every possible being remotely associated to the family, be it the cat, the dog, the helpers or the neighbors’ .It was the ‘Machille Pooja’ Time, when the ancestral deity was offered a feast for guarding the family wealth and prosperity. I could not contain the excitement of being able to attend and see all the faces that my memory had abandoned decades ago without a choice. I spent a restless night brimming with vague memories from the past, of fun, of laughter and immense caring and sharing.

Sanity told me it was not going to be same now, for I knew those happy kids have grown up to be practical adults, most of them had left the country for bigger fortunes and others were doing too good in life to be able to find time for an old tradition. But my heart wished otherwise. I was desperate for those laughter, the innocent hugs and the games in the rain.

I decked myself up like a small kid in my new salwaar, with a bindi on my forehead and those glass bangles and started counting minutes till the pooja started and people started pouring in to the humble temple premises, where the pooja was to be held. But the only thing that poured was rain, dark heavy rains that filled my heart with cold and made my heart sink low. None of the few familiar faces I expected to see had turned up, and the rest had changed beyond recognition. Nobody talked to anybody throughout the ritual and the few smiles that flashed across the room were made up and lacked the innocence. My grandmother, who has always been the closest to my heart and being the one who understood the slightest variation in my aura caught me sulking. She walked closer to me and patted my shoulder saying ‘you will see more people for the evening rituals’. That sentence was a thread of hope for me. With every conversation after the ritual and on our way back to the ancestral house, hundreds of questions remained unanswered in my mind. I needed answers and reasons for everything. The lace of fun, happiness, belonging and everything that had put me down that day.

Evening came and rituals started. Granny was right…I saw many more faces, few that was very close to my heart once upon a time, few that were the role models back then and few that used to bring about instant smile on my face. Nothing was the same. Loving hugs and passionate squeezes were replaced with casual ‘HI’ and ‘HOW ARE YOU’. I could not believe myself as I sat staring at them unable to speak a word. Reason was simple. I had nothing to talk. I hardly knew their stories, and their world seemed universe apart from mine. A lot has changed. I cursed myself for not having kept in touch and for not having known them better as I grew up. After all, we were all the same back then. We had so much in common.

My brother, being the over enthusiastic lover of nostalgia and the craziness that he was, decided to take me along in his tour of the old house. He was born 10 years before me and hence he had lot of memories there. There was so much character in every brick. My mother joined us in the tour and started reciting stories about her childhood as we passed each corridor. She even dug out the black and white photos of herself with her gang that looked nothing less happening that a Beatles poster. I was very impressed. At the end of all that excited recitals and photo spotting, I looked into her eyes to find the shine through pearls of tear and asked ‘why can’t we still have the fun times, Cant everything be the same like before’. She took a look breath fighting back the heaviness in her voice and said. ‘There is no WE now, there is only I and YOU and you are born too late to make it all right’. She walked away into her chores and got engaged in the casuals ‘HOW ARE YOU’ as I tried to decipher those words.

As I travel back to that viscous circle, I carry with me few lessons and disappointments. Disappointment that I will never be good enough to explain to my future generation what it is like to be belonging to one of the most prestigious Nair families in Malabar, which was respected and looked upon, simply because I have only heard tales and seen the shatters. Lessons that everything fades away eventually, the name, the fame and the honor if not valued in the most pious manner.

This is an ode to that the last in the line of the few Nair families in Malabar that is struggling to survive, and is desperate to regain its long lost pride. This is also an ode to all those prestigious families that failed miserably just because the new generation failed to realize what they were about to lose.

LOST LIGHT...

She stood by the chicken stall with tearful eyes, as the freshly slayed 1.2 kg chicken was deskinned, washed in cold water and laid down in front of her, as the butcher sharpened his knife to cut the flesh into medium size pieces..just as she had demanded. She could still feel the vibrations in its flesh. Was it her imagination? Or was it the soul of the chicken trying to find its way back into the flesh that was home for all it processed? The blood, the air, the wishes, the dreams and everything..!

She winked multiple times trying to wake herself up from whatever it was, a vision, a nightmare, a realization or a trance. But the tiny droplet of tear that rolled down her already moist cheek and died on her chest confirmed it to be a reality. The vibrations in the flesh had stopped and so had the tears. She couldn’t help laughing at herself thinking how silly she was, It was just a chicken after all! Thousands of chicken die everyday and this one was just another.. Duh!...no wonder why people called her ‘silly sia’.. ! Off late crying had become a habit for her..and tearful eyes her identity…so much that her tears were more predictable than  monsoon rain and they were mostly ignored with much more ease now. She gathered her broken thoughts and the black bag full of chicken pieces and walked towards the orange building that she called her home now. The distant sight of the new shoot of her favorite plant on the balcony against her favorite orange wall made her smile. The ever grateful person that she was, she thanked almighty for giving her reason to smile..  she still liked herself happy, you see!

It was Saturday..or rather the ‘chicken day’. She had beaten her own records in curating the best chicken biriyaani in the neighborhood several times now. The foodie that she was, she found immense joy in any activity related to food. As she entered her small kitchen, she recapped the recipe again and again in her head. She could not afford to miss any ingredient this time. She had forgotten to add ghee fried raisins in the garnish last time. A voice from inside 
kept screaming in her ears the whole weekend saying ‘ how could you!’ and it did not feel very pleasant. Guilt of having ‘almost’ screwed up the only thing that fetched her words of appreciation on a weekend left her sleepless.She was determined not to repeat it this time. After all, she had to convince herself about her talent in cooking atleast on a Saturday because on the other days she was mostly busy convincing everybody else around her.She had to convince her boss that she was working hard enough to be promoted next april, she had to convince her peers that she was earning at par with them, she had to convince her old friends that she is still the old cool happy person they knew, she had to convince her new friends that her life is not any less happening that theirs, she had to convince her maid that the dishes in the sink are not too many , she had to convince the vegetable vendor that he had overpriced the tomatoes, she had to convince her loved ones that everything was well and in the middle of all this, she had to convince herself to take deep breath and tell her heart that ‘there is light at the end of the tunnel’.

SALUTE

I have always been quite proud of myself, especially for being able to find happiness in whatever little I have, and also for having the authority to say with pride that I have earned every bit of what I have,be it respect, love or friends, but only until I saw a fire that lit those beautiful eyes, fire of pride that could beat any other emotion on earth, and that is when I knew what keeps our soldiers safe and sound in the borders.

Aditi was 20 when Mayur first left to the border. Like every other pampered daddy’s girl, who just got out of a lavish and happening college life, she did not even guess what her bestie was walking into and neither did he try to explain. As we stood on the railway station, munching on potato chips and passing the cold bottle of cold drink around, I noticed Mayur pulling Aditi’s perfectly braided hair and vanishing into the railway coach. They have always been naughtiest of the lot,and also the ones with the biggest hearts. Their friendship dates back to 9^thstandard, when every boy considered every girl a potential enemy, no matter how sweet she may be. They had set a different standard all together in the world of high school friendships, by hanging out with each other without giving a damn to what people did to break their bond. They stood by each other in thick and thin. Thus inviting the ‘obvious’ criticism, judgment and lot of jealousy.

Mayur was tall, well built ,fair and daring just the way all the high school girls liked boys, and hence the obvious fan following and a hundred girls drooling on him. Aditi was everyone’s favorite, with big dark eyes, wide smile that formed dimples and pin straight silky hair. I am sure she was a regular visitor of most of those high school dudes. They were just perfect. Though they never quite accepted it, everyone who knew them very conveniently accepted and sank into the concept of them being there for each other no matter what for a lifetime. No one proposed, no one accepted, nobody made promises and nobody demanded anything other than ‘belief’.As years passed by,I only saw their ‘belief’ grow stronger and their heart grow bigger. Now,8 years later, when we have all found our ways and settled into our lives. I see much more than just ambition or dreams for a better future in her eyes. I see fire that shouts out love, passion and more than anything else, respect. The kind of respect that only an army man’s girl can have for her man. The kind of fire that can fight any dark force to protect her man.The kind of fire that only glows prettier and stronger with each passing day,while she prays for her man who is playing with his life to save thousand others and she waits to see him come back into her arms safe. The only kind of fire that can stand any test of time and ignite your souls.

The India that I see…

They say it right when they say humans are complex beings, and I have come to believe that we Indians are the most complex of the lot. I have not traveled the world or made friends across the races, yet I cannot help but wonder at the amount of passion, energy, craziness and goodness that we carry around in our bloods.­­­

People have not left any stone unturned in trying to explain India in the best of their words, and so I am not even trying to venture into doing it again, not because I fear sounding monotonous, but because I belong to the generation that has very conveniently chosen to forget that they belong to the place that gave the world the whole concept of ‘karma’ which was later pronounced ‘bitch by the western world.

The most fascinating trait of Indians is our double faced nature. We are so flexible and welcoming that we end up forgetting the difference between the guest and the host and in our efforts to learn, imbibe and to follow the ‘developed’ people, like how curiosity killed the cat, we killed our identities.

I am not somebody who has traveled far and wide, and in my twenty something years of existence, neither have I acquired undue wisdom to be able to talk about complex things like relationships and culture, but as I look at my small little world, and the bigger world that revolves around it,I could not help but gape in amazement at some observations. I find Indians the most emotional beings (after dogs, that is), and also the most expressive among mankind that exists, and yet, we have the least amount of freedom of public display of affection. They call it ‘morally wrong’. So then, is being secretive and doing things undercover ‘the right’ thing to do?My mind somehow doesn’t digest this logic. To me no words can substitute the warmth of a hug.

How I wish they taught us how to judge people and differentiate between good and bad rather than right and wrong in schools. How I wish they told us why it was important to stay away from things and people that hurt you rather than preparing us to ‘follow’ any ‘fall’ into place. How I wish they taught us that the most important thing in life is to be happy, for only happy souls can spread happiness around them. And I wonder why they never told us that each of us took birth on the face of earth to make a difference, however small and that everyone mattered.

I came across this situation of a person recently, where he had achieved everything in life (according to plan, that was carefully laid out after great consideration and reflection),but could only manage the company of few empty liquor bottles to share the excitement and joy of achievements and the anxiety that preceded and succeeded it. He wept away saying he was ‘lonely’ and that ‘the loneliness was killing him’. While I listened to the sad laments, one question kept flashing in my head (though it was totally insensitive and selfish, but could not help it).I wondered how he could not manage to make a single friend yet, and not being able to contain the confusion within myself, I ended up asking him the same. He replied in a simple single sentence, which spoke a lot and put me in an endless array of thoughts. He said ‘I don’t have the confidence to speak to people’. Reflecting on the sentence in depth, I figured out that major part of our society is like that. We Indians seldom try to engage in conversation with strangers, even if we are brimming with confidence, thanks to the good old teaching from kindergarten. Suddenly my memory started gushing with visuals of the school assembly, where kids used to get fever at the thought of appearing on stage and talking in public. Then they started coming up with activities like debates and group discussions, but did that help? If they did, then why did the Indian education system produce highly intellectual and qualified youth who were getting ‘killed’ by ‘loneliness’ and ‘lack of confidence’ to make a conversation.

While there are hundred and one things to ramble and wonder about, there are hundred and two things to be nostalgic and proud about in India. The need of the hour for our youth is to strike the perfect balance of understanding what to be proud of and how to keep up the pride, and most importantly, realizing that they can make a difference, however big or small!

THE LONELY CROWD

As I approach the first anniversary of my relationship with the garden city of India, I decided to give it an acknowledgement, for being the city that showed me the joy of being independent, content, and dreamy and obviously the luxury of lovely weather.

I don’t know anyone who has lived in Bangalore and has not had a secret affair with the extremely romantic and cheesy weather that makes you want to curl up into a ball inside a blanket (It definitely gets better if you have someone to pamper you).I am talking about a city that can spoil your guts and at the same time put you on your toes day and night.

While I could draw my conclusion (my version of understanding I mean) in less than a month about Mumbai city, it took me a whole year to even start comprehending Bangalore.She was so unique and mysterious (in a very naughty and sweet way) to me that I had to learn a whole new language to even start the communication with her, and for me, I loved the thrill and excitement of getting to know her better each day.

At the first sight, this place looked like an illusion, a dream, with pretty faces and youth everywhere. I saw no pain, no misery. Everything lookedpolished, neat, pretty and classy. I wandered about in amazement, for I had not seen lives this perfect. And then the obvious happened. The darker side unveiled. As I got closer to the soul of the city, I found a bunch of happy faces, living in a crowd, carrying lonely minds and frustrated souls. I could relate to the ‘life in a metro’ shown in movies better now. Here we have ambitious youth, striving to find themselves as a part of the numerous corporate giants, that spoil you with perks and load you with foreign money. Here we also have the generation that have great stories to tell, about culture,tradition,art,craft and much more,which sometimes cease to exist today.

There is some style to this city, which cannot be categorized or defined. The style does not come from the majority of young crowd and high paid jobs alone. It also does not come from the posh restaurants and pubs in every nook and corner of a street. The style is so contagious that it takes over your life. Hence we call it lifestyle. This city gives me happiness that Mumbai could not give,majorly because I did not see poverty and struggle. I saw prosperity.But was there happiness?...that remains a question still.

It felt like technology ran in the nerves of each and everyone here. Everybody is learning, doing, creating and achieving something new in technology every single minute, giving it the status of ‘startup capital ’.This ever hungry city enjoys and appreciates food like no other place.Thanks to the young population, open to new experiments and variety of tastes, Bangalore has been the most welcoming place to almost all food giants including ‘taco bell’ and ‘au bou pain’. Hence, it swept the title of food capital of India. I had a very simple explanation to the Bangalorean love and obsession for food, which is the lack of other comfort zones like beaches and the stress that makes you want to resort to the comfort of food every now and then. The basic underlying fact here being that everybody wants to feel good, but they mostly fail to figure out their path to true happiness. In the efforts to find it, most of us end up conquering everything that gives us comfort and luxury, but there still remain some things that cannot be bought with all the money in the world like companionship and love. I see longing in the eyes, broken smiles and empty hearts.I see lonely crowds.

HAPPY REALIZATION

Fashion ,the  multimillion dollar business that has only grown to bigger numbers and might over the years, even through the so called ‘recession’!, like they say is an illusion. An illusion that has so many ‘real’ lives and struggles camouflaged into glitters.

I carried dreams of gold on my shoulder as I walked into the ultimate destination for any kid aspiring to be ‘in fashion’. Though it was not planned, I somehow knew I wanted to be there and do it, all I knew was that I was passionate, loved colours and good things happens to good people.

It did not come as a surprise or to anyone who knew me or the ‘world of fashion’ well that I was a misfit in the whole scenario. I was outdated, did not own a Gucci bag or 100 shades of lipstick or eye shadow matching every dress, I did not have a mother who attended kitty parties ,I did not have a toned physique and I ate like a pig, hogged on anything and everything that made me happy without keeping track of calorie count. I had no clue of the difference between Manish Malhotra or Arora.I could only look at those ‘beautiful’ creations called the bunch of ‘rich kids’ and admire them. Now when I look back at that phase in my life I realize that though I envied all the glamour, I never longed to be one of them. I loved myself the way I was, and I knew I would put it off one day with the grace that no richness in the world can afford. Hence, I decided to gang up with the other outcasts, the normal human beings, who felt the same way as I did, out of place and suffocated, but never small in terms of self respect.

I met some people with amazing conviction and will power in my four year long journey through the bumpy terrain in the world of fashion. Looking at their perseverance gave me enormous strength to hang on, take a deep breath, tell yourself it is ok ,and move ahead. The easiest thing to do would have been to fake it and try to fit in. The toughest thing being to accept all the crap that you were being subjected to and still not care and just be yourself. As i wore the convocation robe and collected the million dollar certificate, I gave a silent HI5 in my head to all those who chose the latter. I wanted to shout it out to them ...’yes!  We made it, without head help high up and we did not make it any small’.

I took me a while to realize that the bunch of ‘real people’ who were constantly struggling to be real in the fake world of show off has gradually become my family. Though I was excited about entering the big new world (apparently real), and being on my own missed everything that kept me up, awake, alert and on my toes. I missed the tiger that roared inside me all the time.

Now, as i complete a year in the ‘real world’, I earn just enough to survive and live each day with a new dream in my eyes, on my own conditions, in my own way, while my friends earn to live their dream life .I thank all the odd things that came my way and all the awesome people I met a year ago ,that  gives me the strength to  stand with my head help high up still and have the guts to tell myself ’better things are yet to happen’.

DEVIL WEARS PRADA

YES!...THE DEVIL DOES WEAR PRADA!

Non officially six month old and officially four month old tiny little part of the million dollar industry called ‘fashion’, I already have hundred and one reasons to like ,hate ,adore, admire and loath and obviously ask for more of it. They say it right when they say ‘that place is full of bitches!’.

I am reminded of that moment from the movie ‘ Devil wears Prada’ when Nigel tells Andy ‘Yes, because that's really what this whole multibillion-dollar industry is all about, isn't it? Inner beauty.

 Most of us looked upon the movie as one that shows the fashion business at its snoopiest best, but believe me, that is just a glimpse!. Andy has the privilege of getting appreciated and accepted for her good work at least towards the end of the movie, which I doubt seldom, happens in ‘real world’!

"As the world of glitz glamour and much more unfolds before me, I epitomize that flame that used to burn in my eyes and the desire to ‘create marvels’ that I used to carry in my heart as a proud student of design. I feel like a fool for having creased my eyebrows as the seniors working in industry said ‘there are these awesome designers sitting in Europe who will explore and break theirs heads to make awesome and mind blowing new designs, all you are expected to do is copy them religiously!’.Duh!

For the ‘muggles’ of the fashion land of witch craft and wizardry, the place may look nothing less than a wonderland smeared in glamour and luxury. On the contrary, some have such absurd notions about the whole industry that it may make it look like a dungeon!.Though,this may not be anybody’s comfort zone , but it is not a place you need to dread. as I entered the ‘work’ with utmost dedication and the zest to prove myself to the world, I did not expect fairies to greet me, neither did I expect the people to accept me as what I was for I have spent my college life amongst wannabes’ who dwelled on nothing but showoff, and reached a level of insanity where they forgot their real identities.

So, in short, this is how it works. The ground rule is to have a double face all the time, always carry the expressions of a fairy angel but be brimming with schemes, negativity, lust for power and position, insecurities  and all other possible form of complexes and be ever ready to bitch, ditch or even betray even somebody who seemed to be nothing less than a soul mate till a second ago if needed. Oh wait!, some may claim that that is how it is in every ‘corporate’, I bet to differ because we in fashion industry do all this with an air of sophistication and unmatched class. We have pretty faces covering all the dirt, and cheesy taglines and expensive price tags to our merits.

Nothing explains it better than this : That's what happens when you start doing well at work. Let me know when your entire life goes up in smoke, then it's time for a promotion.

THROUGH THE KEYHOLE

The harshest of the reality is well received and accepted when delivered with a pinch of humor and glamour.

‘Confession of a shopaholic’ is  a beautifully crafted and packed bunch of realities about what a lust for fashion can do to you, carefully delivered  with a pinch of irony and humor. It is about a young, working girl, who lives in the fashion capital - New York and gets mislead to become a shopaholic owing to her high buying power bestowed upon her by the bunch of credit cards she owns! She gets caught in a heap of debt and finally comes out of it by giving all the ‘branded’ stuff she has shopped over the years. How I wish the same worked in real life too!.

Belonging to the century when fashion is just a matter of time, every other person is a designer and their own stylist. The brand conscious and fashionably alert population in India has left no stone unturned in exploring the possibilities. Thanks to FDI and the ever posh malls that credit themselves with almost every ‘major’ brand under the sun, the chances of you spotting a Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Prada or Gucci on the streets of Indian metros has increased manifold. Gone are the days when fashion was just an accessory, not a way of life, a side dish, not a main course. Most of us Indians live in a different world. A world where it is more important to stuff your wardrobe up with the same sacred shades of reds and greens in all shades, hues, sequins and stones. Here, quantity matters more than quality, appeal matters more than brand value and sensibility travels in an entirely opposite direction. Is this owing to lack of exposure or buying power? The answer is no! It is all about the psychology. I was talking to my friend from a south Indian Brahmin family ,and she was cribbing about how her parents did not allow her to spend a lot of money on a pretty lehnga she spotted in Delhi for her brother’s wedding. The statement that she made was a benchmark! She said 'they let us spend insane amount of money on silk saris, but not on lehngas’. The same applies to all other product categories.

Being part of a society with well defined and fixed notion about ‘what amount of money should go where’ limits one's reach and possibilities to explore their options. Though last decade has seen huge leap of improvement in Indian fashion scenario, with more and more customized clothing stores, boutiques and brand outlets sprouting up in every nook and corner, the ‘aam aadmi’ or middle class Indian approach towards fashion has changed little. And accordingly, the industries tunes themselves to make ‘what sells’. Indians look at fashion through a key hole, shaped  for the key that their mind visualizes.

Mumbai Muse

                                                               

The glitz ,glamour ,antique British architecture ,steaming hot vada pavs and pav bhajis ,chats and the super cool Bollywood. You guessed it right! I am talking about Mumbai, the city of unlimited possibilities and dreams. A friend of mine told me, “it is a city with different faces, keep your eyes wide open, for you never know when this city might change your life”. Yes! I did keep my eyes wide open and it did change the way I looked at life.

On a rainy, sulky Monday morning, I set out with my huge baggage and heap of luggage toward the lokmanya tilak terminus to catch the netravati express back home. The cold wave of relief that crossed my heart as I saw the train stationed on the first platform was inexplicably relieving. I reflected back to that crazy evening of 17^th June 2013 when I ran the length of platform and managed to make my way into the almost moving train. The dreams that I carried in my eyes then were so heavy that my luggage seemed lighter. Now that I was leaving Mumbai , I do not regret that my dreams did not come true. Though I did not gain what everybody said I will once I set foot in Mumbai,I feel rich and content as I had learnt lessons for life, I had seen life of struggles and only struggles, I had seen people laughing through their tearful eyes, I made some friends for life, got mesmerized but the humility of a city that housed the richest of the rich people, at the uncertainty of the next second of your life, how life changed for many in the wink of an eye.

I looked at Mumbai in awe like a kid peeps into an ice cream factory through a keyhole, but only to realize that it stinks when you make ice cream!

They call it the ‘city of dreams’. Yes it indeed was! For many lived only to chase their dreams, while others went through years of toil just to live the life they dreamed of. While I saw live examples of contrasting lives playing their parts in front of my eyes, I struggled to relate to any of those lives. They were so distant and strange.

 There were the ‘small people with big dreams’, whose life clinged on to the local trains. It was like their blood stream. They eat, sleep, dream, live and make friends here. They trust its service to no extends(sometimes more than their wives! as a dabbawala puts it). Though they were always in hurry, they never pushed past anyone, made sure they never hurt anyone on their way, never hesitated in smiling back at you. Though they claim to be working for a better life tomorrow, the truth is, they are so comfortably settled and content in the small life that they live that they have stopped aspiring for more. They started finding happiness and victory in the small challenges that life faced them with. On the other hand, there was this whole society of ultra rich people, who are so fortunate that they never had to see the face of a local train, forget boarding one!(don’t get me wrong..i am not talking about Amitabh Bachan or Ambani..i know they had to struggle and pave their own path to success,I am referring to the born rich people like star kids ,people who inherited family business and the wives of rich people..you can make your own guesses now).They never had to worry about the vegetable prices shooting up like crazy during ramzan season,they never had to worry about roofs that leaked in monsoons,they did not have to deal with any sort of insecurities that comes as a part of being a ‘mumbaikar’ in truest sense. I took it as a mission to find at least one family that lived the kind of life I lived with my family back home. We were neither rich nor poor, we never struggled for survival but we did not live flamboyant lives. We were the typical middle class family with hell lot of ethics, values and pinch of narrow mindedness. And duh! Who was I kidding!..Like somebody had rightly put it, here, the rich got richer and poor got poorer. There existed nothing called a middle class!

Every other day Mumbai shouted out to me ‘you do not belong here’. I had no answer to the ‘why’ I kept asking myself time and again. All I knew is that I had not found my muse in the city of dreams yet!.Hence, exploring the city for its various possibilities was taken up as the next mission. And I started pondering the numerous gullies to realize that they lacked uniqueness. All of those gullies look identical to each other. It was so damn easy to lose your way! Next destination happened the slightly upside market area called lokhandwala, a shopping hub, where the ‘rich kids’ chill out!This place also failed to amuse me because it lacked character. Moving on to Hill road and linking road in Bandra ,they called it hub for ladies fashion(cheap fashion I mean!).Now my hopes rest solely on marine drive(I have heard people talking very high of the ‘Queen’s necklace’..let’s see!) and colaba(my aunt told she once happened to spot some movie stars there! sounds exciting..doesn’t it?).So I hit marine drive and though the sight of thousand lights lined up in a semicircle to make it look like a queen’s necklace did mesmerize me, it failed to give me what I so badly wanted and what I expected from a beach or seaside, which is ‘peace’. The same hassle and clatters of a city continued there. No wonder why ‘marine drive’ is recognized as ‘distinctively Mumbai’. And there comes my love ’collaba causeway’the 10 minute drive in a taxi like a ‘memsahib’ from Victoria terminus to the street shopping paradise ‘colaba causeway’ was one thing that came even remotely close the Mumbai of my imagination. The beautiful British architectural buildings lining the road, and horse chariots taking people on a ride around marine drive and nariman point made my day!.The feminine instincts in me could not resist the awesomely fabulous array of fancy items that lay ahead of me.I grabbed as many as I could and in the process I realized that when somebody calls Mumbai ‘the city of dreams, he rightly meant it that you dream of something and you will get it on half the price you will ever guess in colaba!.And yeah! ,my aunt was not bluffing when she said she figured movie stars. There was this restaurant called leopold café around the corner inside which, all you find is beautiful people. They are all so tamed ,maintained and pretty that you fall in love with each of them instantly and obviously couple of them were the ‘rich kids’ who  already made it big in movie and yet another set of ‘rich kids’ who will be seen on the silver screen anytime now. My eyes and heart could not contain the curiosity of having found a place about which I could go on for hours to my friends. There was something about this place that amused me. In short, I found my muse in Mumbai(or so I can boast) around colaba , but Like any other middleclass south Indian girl, I lacked the guts to live in the bubble and pretend to be what I can never be. I told myself that my journey to Mumbai was not just to find my muse, but to make me realize what makes life! I took home with me the greatest lessons for life that Mumbai whispered into my ears with love. The lesson being that no matter what, LIFE MUST GO ON and no matter how independent you try to be and fly high, at the end of the day, humans are mutual beings, there is always a string attached to our tailbones that drag us back to our roots. Somebody rightly told me that nobody goes empty handed from this city. Hats off to the city that welcomes with open hands a million people who land here every day, with dreams to make it big in life and I cheers to those smiling random faces, ready with hands extended to pull you up the ladder. I will come back to you, Mumbai! for nobody can get enough of you!..

sssSSSSHHHhhh...

On a lousy low sulky day at work, when most of  my colleagues left work early because of a forecasted storm like situation, I sat alone and sulked more about how everything around me was so imperfect and nothing was falling into place as I wanted things to be, I caught up a conversation with my boss, who is a very nice experienced yet young at heart sweet person, who saw it as a dangerous sign that I had changed from a happy go lucky, positive ,energetic young girl to a soul brimming with negativity and depression. He got me talking about things that give me happiness. One thing that bought a little glint in my eyes was ‘Serendipity’, my new obsession. I got all excited while explaining to him how I am trying to bring back positivity into my life by writing about small things in life that give hope.

While he found my whole understanding and admiration for ‘Serendipity’ cute, he induced me with a new concept called ‘THE SECRET’ .He gave me live examples of people who have benefited from the practice of this concept.

Secret says : ‘If u see it in your mind, you hold it in your hands’…interesting isn’t it?..

The universe is governed by a natural law called the law of attraction which is said to work by attracting into a person's life the experiences, situations, events, and people that "match the frequency" of the person's thoughts and feelings. Therefore, positive thinking and feeling positive are claimed to create life-changing results such as increased wealth, health, and happiness.

This idea has been propagated in the best-selling 2006 self-help book written by Rhonda Byrne, based on the earlier film of the same name. The book is very much influenced by Wallace Wattles' 1910 book ‘The Science of Getting Rich’, which Byrne received from her daughter during a time of personal trauma in 2004.

 The Secret highlights gratitude and visualization as the two most powerful processes to help manifest one's desires. It asserts that being grateful both lifts your frequency higher and affirms that you believe you will receive your desire. Visualization is said to help focus the mind to send out the clearest message to the universe. Several techniques are given for the visualization process, as well as examples of people claimed to have used it successfully to manifest their dreams.

Being a person who takes pleasure and the pain of experimenting such interesting concepts,I have started observing the practices of  ‘the secret’. Who does not look forward to change, prosperity and well being!..same is the case is with me…all I ask secret  to give me is the pleasure of being as enthusiastic as I am at this point of time even when I am done working on it and keep the flames of my hope alive and burning!...meanwhile, do watch the movie and get inspired to be positive in the toughest of situation in life and get benefited from it…do not forget to post here your experiences and curiosity!…because nobody has their life delivered to then on silver platter! …chio!

SWEET TOOTH...SWEET SERENDIPITY!

'Sweet serendipity',the bible of any desert lover,that houses the sacred recipe of the famous Frrrozen Hot Chocolate,that Marylin Monroe , Andy Warhol and even first lady Jacky O used to drool over! This book is sold only inside the 'Serendipity' restaurant located at 225 East 60th Street (between Second Avenue and Third Avenue ) on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, in New York City, founded by Stephen Bruce in 1954.

It prevails to be one of my greatest fantasies to visit this awesome little place and sip the drops of heaven in the cup!..so anyone who has been there,done that can share their experience here!..:)

In 2004, Serendipity celebrated its fiftieth anniversary by introducing the record-breaking Golden Opulence Sundae, listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the most expensive dessert, at $1000. It is made with 5 scoops of the Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream, Madagascar vanilla covered in 23K edible gold leaf, drizzled with the world's most expensive chocolate, Amedei Porcelana, and covered with chunks of Chuao chocolate, which is from cocoa beans harvested by the Caribbean Sea on Venezuela's coast. It is suffused with exotic candied fruits from Paris, gold dragets, truffles and Marzipan Cherries and topped with a tiny glass bowl of Grand Passion Caviar, an exclusive dessert caviar, made of salt-free American Golden caviar, known for its sparkling golden color. It's sweetened and infused with passion fruit, orange, and Armagnac. The sundae is served in a baccarat Harcourt crystal goblet with an 18K gold spoon, a petite mother of pearl spoon, and topped with a gilded sugar flower by Ron Ben-Israel.

Talking of sweet serendipity,i came across this lovely song about the same...Enjoy folks!..:D

When you know...

This may look like a movie blog to many...but on the contrary,this is nothing but a testimony to the tiny small things,events and huge people in the satire called life that give it the essential punctuation and exclamations to make it meaningful!

APPRECIATING THE ART CALLED LIFE AND THE VARIOUS TONES AND SHADES THAT BRING THE DEPTH TO THE PAINTING!

It was way back in 2010 that I happened to see this lovely movie 'Serendipity' and i fell in love with the sound of the word and the concept.It amazed me how i could just find peace in any tough situation by looking forward to a 'serendipity'.Many call it escapism,but to me,it is a concept that gives me the scope for hope for a better tomorrow or even a fairy tale!...;)