Walking in High Heels

Blood in the Streets Runs a River of Sadness ( Part 2 of Series)

2012-01-30T00:14:00.001+05:30

Read Part 1 of this series: People Are Strange

“So you are new to this city?” he asked as they exited the café and stepped into thecold street.

“Not exactly”, she replied without meeting his eyes. “Why so many questions, 'Mr.What’s your name' again?”

“Inever mentioned my name to you, runaway missy”

“Whyare you adamant on proving that I’m running away?”

“Proveit to me otherwise. I make my living out of reading people. Dont ask me how I know it. So which direction are you headed in? Can I dropyou somewhere?”

“I’mheaded to block 37. Not far from here”, she said and turned away with agile steps.

Hecantered close by, held her by her elbow, turned her around and said, “Listen runawaychild, block 37 is in the opposite direction of your striding steps. That’s one. Thiscity is going to eat you alive at this hour. That’s two. And your boots are not the smartest choice to run away in. That’s three.”

Shelooked into his eyes. He let go of her elbow. Her eyes were cold. Colder thanthe wind chill of that night.

“Youare a menacing stranger who just met me. Why do you bother?” She said in a flat tonedevoid of emotion.

Hedisregarded the question like someone squinting eyes in the bright sunshine.

“I’m travelling through this city. Clearly you don’t have a place to stay forthe night. Why don’t you come along? I can give you roof over your head thatwill keep you warm for the night.”

Shelooked at him amused.

“Thatsounds more like an executioners invitation.”

“Thankheavens you didn’t think I’m a serial killer or a rapist.”

“Youdon’t look that courageous to me.”

Hiseyes narrowed but he didn’t want to look into her eyes. Her eyes gave animpression that the universe belonged to her. It was fascinating and intimatingat the same time.

“Ihave a run down jeep that doesn’t promise a warm ride but there is a friend’s basicapartment nearby I’m shacking up in. You are welcome. I insist that you don’tspill blood with those boots in this cold city tonight”

“Areyou protecting me or the city?”

“Fornow, I’m protecting you from yourself child”

“I’mnot a child, you know!”

“I’mnot being judgmental, its intentional to call you that. Especially when youmust be my age, your face is of a child and your eyes…”

“Whatabout my eyes?” She interrupted him like a sharp dagger that just sliced the sentence and yet only a few drops of blood were spilled.

“Youreyes... your eyes look like they have seen hundred years of life, woman."

Itwas second time in that night she held her breath.

“Whereis your jeep? That run-down jeep?”

To be continued

(Shoe girl should mention that each of the titles of this fiction series comes from a line written by Jim Morrison. Part 3 is already in progress. Should get posted soon)

People Are Strange ( Part 1 of Series)

2012-01-22T23:42:00.003+05:30

Her fourteen-inch width of shoulders looked even tinier while she hunched over at the bar counter as she furiously scribbled in her leather bound notebook. It was a weekday night and the crowd in this cafe was thin on this aloof cold night. A glass of burgundy wine was placed on the right side of her moving wrist. Every once in a while, she gave it rest to pick up the wine and resumed writing with her left hand. Rest of the times, this rhythm broke only when the noisy door of cafe opened and cold stab of wind hit her on the left ear.

Suddenly, she felt an abrupt sensation at the back of her neck. As if someone’s eyes perforated right through her. She didn’t want to turn. She almost had to hold herself back. But she had to halt the kinetic energy of her pen.

“Is this place taken?” a voice spoke from her right side. She said “No” without moving a muscle.

“ What are you writing? Are you a writer?” the voice made noise again. She finally looked up. He leaned against the counter wearing a long black overcoat, a charcoal trilby and amused eyes with a frozen smile.

“I’m an artist who would like to be a writer” she replied and went back to her business without searching for response in his face.

“ Aren’t we all artists?” He responded with a chuckle.

“What wine are you drinking? If you won’t mind, I’d like to order the same. I’m a novice at wines”

“Its an old pick up line. But go ahead. Order a glass if you can afford it”

“ Well! Well! I like a smart woman when I meet one."

“Can I get a glass of the same wine as this lady here please”, he placed an order with the staff.

Her pace of writing had slowed down. She wanted to finish off her wine and sprint away from this place.

“You know your handwriting is so large, I can almost read what you are writing.” His voice hit the back of her neck like a bolt.

She raised her head and finally gave him her coldest gaze.

“Want me to read what you are writing?” he asked.

“Why would I let you read what I am writing”?

“Because, we all write for an audience. Especially you would love me to be your audience. It’s a hunch. And moreover, here, you can read my diary” he pulled out a tiny leather bound moleskine from his pocket as he spoke.

Her training on stage reminded her not let the sound of her breath escape.

“We are closing the café in ten please” The guy behind the counter broke the silence.

And then he laughed the most charming and wicked laughter she had ever heard. She leaned across the counter, making sure her elbows kept her steady. Her eyes did the talking and asked, “Why?”

“I find it amusing that a beautiful girl like you, who is most probably running away from home, is sitting here in a café, ordering this expensive wine to calm down. I find it amusing that you are more worried about pretending to be confident right now when should be more worried about where would you go when you head out from here after ten minutes. I am just so amused child.”

In that very moment, even as strangers, they recognized each other. In that very moment, a part of her was incredibly drawn and incredibly repulsed by him in the same breath.

To be continued.....

( Shoe Girl is writing fiction after a long time. This is part 1 of the story. She should be able to complete it if she doesn't get bored of her own characters and the story)

Raconteur on the Run

2011-11-04T01:20:00.004+05:30

I sit at the airports and watch people. Sometimes I wish I could make a living out of watching people. To see them. Read them in lucid stillness. Never making a sound in my throat. I imagine their realities and make stories about them. As if they are all characters of my book. Life is a fiction; whichever way you contrive it. Isn't it?

The sunlight filters through huge glass windows and I see brownian motion of people, thoughts, random ,very random stories around me. Almost desultory for the observer's mind to comprehend. Every person is a story. Sometimes, several stories. Mostly incomplete; often damaged, fragmented or even tainted. A bunch of words on pages scattered around me. Spilled ink all around me.

So there is this middle aged woman advising a girl who looks like her niece. She is talking about life and relationships. I'm sure the woman is either very unhappy or in an inappropriate strained relationship. Because her expressions don't match with her face.I see no ounce of truth in her optimism. Shortly after the conversation she moves to a smoking room and exhales. I can see that she didn't mean a word of advice she gave that young woman. I suddenly just feel pity for her. The pretence is making her shoulders droop.

Then there is this couple who look like they are in love. He looks at her while she throws her head back in laughter. The woman goes to the washroom and the man makes a hasty call to whisper " I miss u darlin, just a business trip. I'd be back in no time".

Another man is sitting and drinking and explaining something to his boss. I think he will cry. It's not often that I see a grey haired handsome man so hassled. I suddenly want to break that conversation and put my hand on the old guy's shoulder. But I sit in the corner and watch. That's my job. To watch and read.

I walk towards the boarding gate and see this woman with a kid in one arm and a blackberry in another. I want to hug her. But I restrain. Her aura tells me that her life isn't easy. But I love her smile. And my reading fails me. It's a broken smile but I fail to read the story.

So many stories I see at the airports. Of love, life, daily mundane combat , altercations and theft of emotions.

Someone would wonder why I reach airport 90 min before the flight. You know the reason now.

( shoe girl is still shuffling through pages to find more stories. May be another blogpost )

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Turn the Page

2011-10-28T13:19:00.001+05:30

You would think I'm crazy to take a flight from Bangalore to Delhi to watch Metallica perform live. (and not wait for Bangalore concert) Well! If you think so, you may be right.

Sitting in the flight listening to Metallica discography, I realise there is more to this trip than music I guess.You see, I studied in a girls college in Punjab where metal music was considered noise. So Metallica was my secret companion on my Walkman. I still coudnt afford to graduate to an mp3 player. I vividly remember saving up and buying the 'Black album'. I also remember being gifted all other Metallica cassettes by my better friend Goldie. He and I can still have a detailed (often deep) conversation in lyrics.

So how did I discover this band? Well, there was this jerk of a guy who had a crush on my best friend. And like most of guys (read engineers) would have at some point of time, he too dedicated ' Nothing Else Matters ' to her. Perhaps that's the only good deed he did in this lifetime. He introduced both me and my best friend to Metallica .And so, Metallica addiction stated. Entered Sandman and the music in my head wasn't ever the same.

I vividly remember walking down to college playing "Wherever I my roam" every single morning. Unlike lot of other rock bands, Metallica wasn't a fever that gripped. It was like a creeper that stitched it's roots on me. The music crawled under my skin and settled there.

At the peak of it all, in my English honours, I even quoted Metallica lyrics as poetry! Yes, I got second rank in university in english honours. I would like to believe that the professor correcting my answer sheet had special appreciation for either good poetry or rock music.

Over the years, the songs settled comfortably in spaces of my mind. I graduated of mp3. Acquired the complete discography. Infact, a few months back, I bought a fresh new vinyl of the 'Black Album' and I was still as excited as I was when I bought the cassette. By the way, I still have all the cassettes saved up. Just like all the songs have saved me over the years.

Yes, a lot of guys dedicated 'Nothing else matters' to me over the years. But for me the song remains for my best friend. It's only with her that nothing else mattered.

A bad day at college. Now a bad day at work, and I still play ' Mamma Said' and tell myself that 'brightest flame burns quickest.'

Perhaps the biggest reason I'm going to this concert is to watch them play 'Turn the Page' . It's a cover from Garage 1. I used to play this song before every exam , every stage performance, every debate in college." Here I go play the star again "... This line would put every bit of leftover ignition back in me.

Today I still play this song before every big meeting and every crucial presentation. So if you see me with my headphones on my desk before a meeting, 101% it's 'Turn the Page' playing.

The song is about a rider. About a rock star perhaps. Or a usual guy.

And there is a line that says ... 'and you don't feel much like riding, and you just wish the trip was through... "

I have been feeling tired of the trip lately. Perhaps listening to the song might do the trick for me, and I go back to being on stage and playing the star. Again.

( shoe girl wrote this on the flight and didn't get chance to edit it. Perhaps this piece will get edited over the weekend )

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Untitled

2011-10-18T05:20:00.000+05:30

She touched her lips and looked outside from the window. Clouds were moving at the pace of her heart. Slow, languid and directionless.

She pressed her index finger nail on the lip just to feel the sensation. Didn't feel a thing. The lips were either swollen or numb. Sometimes she felt that the grief makes its way to her through her lips. Like osmosis ... Selective movement through the semi permeable but still enough to cause the damage...

She sipped on her bitter coffee . She made sure she she licked the crema off her lips. The crema wasnt fitting in her grey story today but it just existed on coffee. Like an imposter hiding the darkness beneath. She was particular about this bitterness. She didn't want to miss a moment of it.

She looked at her watch. 13 minutes past ten and the afflictive ticking of the clock was echoing with her heart. She smiled at the small eyed girl serving coffee. A conversation would have been comforting. Instead she ordered her third coffee without meeting her eyes.

Her long blank colourless fingernails kept playing with the rim of white espresso cup. She looked outside the window every seventieth second. She knew he would not turn up. He would do anything to avoid a moment of decision. But again, there was no incertitude in his smartness

She had already taken the risky endeavour of crossing a bridge for somebody. Like a surgical thread, her happiness was sutured to him. It 'pieced' her heart but she was okay. She was always okay.

She gulped down the third cup of espresso. She desperately wanted to order wine and sit on the same chair all day. May be because she was addicted to the charm of a broken strained heart. Instead, she left some cash on the tablel and walked off. May be she will never wait again. Or may be she will wait once more. "I hope he has a bloody good reason of not turning up here", She said in half a breath and gasped for cold winter fog in her lungs. It was time to change flights and head to the airport. There were over 6000 miles to cover before she could cry.

( wrote this on the flight. Felt like posting it without editing. Also, shoe girl could not think of any title for this.)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Of writing more and blogging less

2011-09-14T12:35:00.004+05:30

I write more often now. I blog a lot less.

In fact, I write all the time. Scribbles in my black moleskine that I carry everywhere. Writing, painting and photography is mostly ( if not always ) for an audience.

Lately all the writing happens for the voices in my head. I like that audience. It has fragile attention span and is difficult to please. I like the way pale pages swallow the dark ink. I find the inconsistency of this ink a rather charming premise. Changing shades of dark ink, like a woman's fragmented thoughts. Bordering on the rims of black and blue.

I like the way ink forms patterns. Never misleading with the promise of brightness. May be because this writing is real and most honest. Cryptic words sans any pretence.

With the whiff of ink on paper, I'm me. Monochromatic. I like love greys. I like the blues. Sometimes cold but these hues are far more comforting than staring at the white blank screen of the monitor. Half written sentences, blanks for the incomprehensible feeling. It's less of an effort. There are dreams within nightmares, and spaces that only my eyes can see.

And at times when the pen goes dry, you no longer own the writing. The writing owns you.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Hues in My Head -3

2011-05-17T23:58:00.003+05:30

(on seeing miniature models taped up and held together by adhesive at Anish Kapoor's exhibition)

Fissures taped up, stitched up
Buildings held together, cemented loosely
I think I saw a mirage, of amputated heart,
Taped up, held together, all arranged
In a hurry. Mirage it was. All taped up.

Draw erase. Draw erase.
Then crave for a clean slate,
Humans make cryptic mockery,
Of pristine white canvas,
And rhythm of their pulse.

Hearts need to be stitched up. And how?
Requiem for a seamstress of lovers,
Slow frozen tears cloistered too long,
Alternate realities could never be in one universe.
I wish I could be woken up from this mirage.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:New Delhi

The Hues in My Head - 2

2011-05-14T15:25:00.002+05:30

Wrote this while I was looking at Anish Kapoor's work at his exhibition in Delhi early this year.

Crowds... crowds of miniature men
Looking in depths of bottomless pit
Directionless illusion of depths
Of love errands, of illogical desires
Of raw hope, of fervent wishes
Of grief that is smudged on walls
Of loss that is hidden in corners.

Crooked curves and bright colour tunnels
The illusion of light at some turn or end
Bits of liquid and shiny darkness.
Carefully wrapped in silken thread,
Sarcasm of assurance and hope
Spirit of buildings that resonates with us
Twisted complicated and yet, so beautiful.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Hues in my Head - Anish Kapoor Delhi Exhibition 2011

2011-03-06T15:49:00.001+05:30

Art needs to resonate with it's audience. And thats precisely what this exhibition did in my head. I don't know if I understood it all.

But I know that I stood for minutes and more in front of many of his works and penned down my thoughts. A lot of them spoke to me. Many of them screamed out loud to me. And to me that's art. Anything that engages audience and creates a dialogue is art for me...

In one of his interviews, Anish Kapoor said, "Art should be able to say- 'Come on in'..". And I know what he means. Sometimes like a dazzling blinding light, sometimes a pithy pleading darkness; sometimes an extension of your own thoughts, grey, blue, gold or yellow. Art is colour and the lack of colour in your head. The depth and shallows in your soul. His instillations, engage you enough that get your thoughts naked at certain level. And then you see the brightest startling monochromes in the wildest of hues.

Next series of short write ups are inspired by Anish Kapoor's work.

Tagged as 'monochrome in coloured hues'

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Delhi

In The Arena...

2011-03-01T17:52:00.002+05:30

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Theodore RooseVelt

Defines me.

Only Time...

2011-02-07T13:32:00.006+05:30

Photography clicked by Kaurwakee.

The Time demanded that we hold hands

And I dug my nails into the skin of your palms

Tears of crimson strained your white shirt.

The Time demanded that we become lovers

And my body wrapped around your dreams

Asphyxiating bits of them till they startled.

The Time demanded that that we walk away

And we drowned our dreams in abysmal ocean

Ink blue dark seas with undying unfulfilled longing.

The Time demanded us to break away

And we tore apart these strings of silver

Every fiber, every nerve in the body ruptured.

And then in the end, the time demanded to halt
Solicited us to stop the ancient war and give up
The hearts gasped and the clock stopped pulsating.

( Love The E. Hemingway poem " The Age Demanded" and somehow weaved these words in my head.)

The Coffee and The Salt

2010-12-01T12:49:00.003+05:30

He typed with his fingers perpendicular to the iphone. He loved technology but never got used to these touch phones. Given a choice, he would willingly go back to everything that came with push buttons and keys (okay! May be qwerty keyboard). A pair of thin-rimmed spectacles on rested on his characteristic nose which was the most noticeable feature on his face, not only because it was long and sharp, but also, because it somewhat contracted when he frowned each time he didn't agree on something or with someone, which was, when he was in the worst of moods.

But, what would strike even a stranger the most about him was his confidence, which, to Maria, always seemed as an intrinsic quality in
him. This confidence was always well-displayed in his talks that would
seem pompous and slightly conceited to a person who would have woken up on the wrong side of his bed on the day of his conversation with Ashish. But, if viewed optimistically, Ashish's talks were the kind that could make him everything but a misfit in the sales profession, for, they lacked blatant self promotion and had depth that an average salesman could not fathom.

For Maria, his talks had always been a symbol of his idiosyncratically ambitious nature, just like that of any other man. His loud voice was, in, synonymous of his direct, honest and impulsive nature.To the people who were not his best of friends, he seemed like a conceited, rude person who lacked empathy and who was too fixed a person for their liking.But his near and dear ones always spoke about him in a euphemistic manner.To them, he was an affectionate and dependable soul who always tried to keep up to his word. They always described him as an idealist. A bit isolated but the most giving soul. It was for these reasons that Ashish's friends adored him and so, they always chose to take his tactless speech with a pinch of rock solid salt.

The autumn of 2010 had started approaching and coincidently or unfortunately, the autumn of Ashish and Maria's two and a half years old relationship had set in too. They had already outgrown each other.

The charm had faded and Ashish had started finding her too complex for his direct and simple self and even tried questioning her a couple of times about the "awkwardness" and "distance' in their relationship. She always brushed aside the topic thinking that he was over reacting.The irresponsibly detached manner and ignorant way in which Maria answered Ashish's questions, was something that he had never seen or noticed about her ever since he knew her.

And so the distance widened. On the days that he had nothing to do, he would call him at least thrice a day and on those when he was busy with his work, it felt like a vampire on his soul to even call her once a day. His behaviour perplexed her, even further.

But in spite of all this, it was Ashish who was almost sure, that, for him, winter would never approach, but he gathered all the optimism that he could have possibly gathered in an entire lifetime and kept his fingers crossed so that nothing would go wrong. He even told Maria in one of those serious moments, "I'm hoping for the best but expecting the worst." Maria hadn't, yet, sipped her coffee even once. Normally, she always liked to have her coffee really strong. The taste that her tongue experienced each time the bitterness of the coffee touched it, was something that seemed to her as a part of herself that had been there ever since her existence.

Whenever she thought of Ashish , she couldn't help feeling that he had brought out the worst in her, though, she was very much aware that she had affected him in a similar manner.

She also liked to have her coffee piping-hot, but today she had been holding the coffee mug in her hand for more than half an hour and the steam from it had blended into the cold December wind, just like the moistness in her eyes had washed into her nostalgic world.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to bear her soul of its weight. But, she was surprised by what she thought at that moment; she remembered some of the things about Ashish that she had not remembered ever since they, had ended their relationship. She remembered him as the most dependable and protective person in her life who had never once let her get out of the car to purchase even a bottle of water. She remembered him, for forever persuading her to put on weight, for his habit of eating healthy food and for chiding her each time she added an overdose of spices in her food, since he
regarded it unhealthy. She remembered their first kiss. And that time it seemed that it will last forever.

The moistness in her eyes was becoming even more apparent. Suddenly, she remembered something that evoked a kind of sensitivity and empathy in her that crushed the wall of indifference that, she had built around herself since the past few months; it was their last hug. It had been the best hug that she had ever received in her life, for many reasons. It was not a sexual hug, but one, which was full of warmth and gratitude, one that said only two things, "I have loved you the most." And "Please don't let me go." She sipped her coffee. Her tongue seemed to have become numb or immune to the bitterness of the coffee, but there was one flavour, the taste of which was very distinctive on her tongue, of the tear-salt.

( shoe girl wrote this 6-7 years ago. This was on my old blog which is now deleted.have suitably edited the story because I wanted the protagonist to have an iPhone and it wudnt have gone with year being 2003. I usually don't write much fiction anymore)

Quantum Physics & Love

2010-11-22T17:11:00.001+05:30

I stopped studying applied sciences after high school. I preferred to pursue a career in communications and marketing. But I could not give up my love for physics and in particular Quantum Physics. And every now and then I pick up a book with a vengeance to ‘crack it’ but by the time I put down the book, there is more questions and often more confusion. About 18 months ago I wanted to write a blog post on how love is similar to the concept of quantum physics, fascinating and yet unanswered. You think you have figured it all out but then the variables change! Finally got around to this post today.

Quantum physics is a branch of science that deals with discrete, indivisible units of energy called quanta as described by the Quantum Theory. And at the risk of offending the scientific community, this definition can be easily manipulated to the matters of heart that exists in discrete units of energy called ‘love’ (which like quantum theory, no one really understands).

Here are the main ideas of ‘Quantum Theory’ when drawn parallel to the concept of love

Energy is not continuous, but comes in small but discrete units. Love too happens in crests and troughs! In small packets of discrete units. (I’m so tempted to use the poetic version of word discrete here, but I shall refrain)

It is physically impossible to know both the position and the momentum of a particle at the same time. The more precisely one is known, the less precise the measurement of the other is. It’s not about the researcher’s ability but rather the nature of the system. Yes Heisenberg! You are the man! You understood love like no one could! Because you could measure ‘uncertainty’, that forms basis of any relationship. So, the more you know about one half of the puzzle, the less you can be certain about the other. You have to acknowledge that, no matter how precise your tools, there's always an element of inaccuracy. So dearies, welcome to the science of love.

The movement of these particles is inherently random. Anyone, just about anyone who has been in love will appreciate the meaning of the word ‘random’#nuffsaid

The atomic world is nothing like the world we live in. Tell me about it. The world we live when in love can put hallucinogenic drugs to shame. If drug authorities could make LSD like elements illegal, they should start with LOVE.

They say that Quantum physics gives an insight into the fundamentals of universe. No wonder, every time I have picked up a book on this subject I can’t help but co-relate its concepts to the matters of heart, love, romance, infatuation, heartbreak etc.

Just the way the Uncertainty Principle applies even when no one's altering anything, your relationship is changed whether you set out to define/improve it more accurately or not. Because when you don't bring up things like commitment and trust and passion and ‘where-are-we-going’, your partner is in some way affected by your lack of question. And when you do question, the variables change of course.

As Niels Bohr said, "Anyone who is not shocked by quantum theory has not understood it.”

Just replace the word Quantum by Love and the quote still makes sense!

Things that the Shutterbug Missed

2010-10-20T10:45:00.001+05:30

I'm a nerd. I read a lot. Having stated that upfront, I think it's fair to admit that I spend 70 percent of my google reader power and 50 percent of reading time on articles about photography. I travel some 20 days in a month. And what keeps me going during these days away from home is photography and my camera.
But reading these doesnt always mean that i am able to implement every point. I guess thats why there isnt a substitute for experience. In my last trip to Jodhpur I realized a few things that I had read about but did not implement.

1. Carry a torch in camera gear bag.

Scott kelby said, " carry a torch, just don't ask me why " ! I didn't ask and I didn't carry a torch. So when drove a the way to Nahargarh fort to shoot sunset, I realised I got too late to capture the light. I trekked to one end if the fort on the top and got busy shooting. By the time I was done, it was almost dark. Now all forts aren't lit up. Trust me, I must have thought of Scott kelby some 20 times as I managed to find my way back in pitch dark. Now I have a torch in my bag. I would rather carry a fewer lenses but I ain't forgetting the torch.

2. Use mosquito repellent

I know it sounds silly. But if u are shooting close to water in India, chances are you will be bitten black and blue by the time you finish your shoot. I'm definitely putting a mosquito repellent ointment in travel photography survival kit.

3. Reset settings at the end if the shoot

Ken Rockwell insists that one must reset all settings before shutting down the camera. It seemed like such a sane advice that I didn't implement. So after a spree of night photography done on 1600 iso, I totally forgot about checking it when I took some friends hurried morning shots. Results: they came grainy and blue! And because of stark sunlight, LCD preview wasn't too much of help :(

So here were the things I read and learnt and missed. Hopefully you will remember them and be shutter happy!

Written from my iPad so Im hoping there aren't glaring typos XOXO shoe girl

Movie Review- NINE

2010-06-16T15:44:00.003+05:30

“ You kill your films several times, mostly by talking bout them…a film is a dream..”

The movie is set in Rome, in 1960’s. A maestro’s journey and struggle as he tries to put together a movie. A similar struggle resonates in his life he searches and oscillates through various women. His wife, dead mother, his mistress, and his muse- the women he loves are the women who consume this worn out creative genius.

The opening musical sequence sets the tone for the movie. From Madonna to a tramp…‘Guido’( played by Daniel Day Lewis) – weaves his emotions through the conscious and subconscious contributions of these women.

Watch this movie for the power packed performances of the women in Guido’s life — mother (Sophia Loren), wife (Marion Cotillard), muse (Nicole Kidman), mistress (Penélope Cruz), reporter (Kate Hudson), colleague (Judi Dench) and whore (Fergie). The loosely wound plot revolves around the indisputable feminine life force of these women and how they steer his life.

I watched this movie on the flight. Back to back (twice). And everytime it gave me goosebumps.

This broadway inspired movie promises some amazing performances. Watch it for the style of Italia. Watch it for the beautiful women. Penelope Cruz’s opening performance made my toes curl. It’s a sizzling rope dance performance. Orgasmic is the word. She made me want to swing my loyalties to loving women for the rest of my life (and this ain’t an exaggeration)

Un-layering the character of Guido Contini will resonate with a lot of creative people. It’s the will and burning desire to do something outstanding but not getting around to find that right button to hit.

“I can hardly get to stay up, and I still cant sleep” Guido’s musical sequence is particularly impressive, mostly because it’s a superlative performance demonstrating the addiction for life and demanding the 'universe arranges for what you want'

The musical sequences don’t just erupt in the movie but employ themselves for completing the story. And the script by Michael Tolkin and Anthony Minghella is sharp and crisp ( which is rare for musicals). The art direction by John Myhre is stupendously good.

Guido’s wife’s sequence, played by Cotillard is mesmerizing interplay of sexuality and sadness. She has played a high emotional character with effortless grace. One of the lines she says to Guido is ,"You are just an appetite, and if you stop being greedy, you will die. You take everything...."

Daniel Day Lewis plays Guido with utmost style. It’s been a while since I saw someone carrying off smoking with this panache. Somehow, you understand how he loves each of these women and yet you forgive him for his cruel ways. He manages to love all of them and alienate them at the same time.

Nine is an exceptionally well-crafted film. Watch it for the love of cinema.

Monsoon Wardrobe

2010-06-09T15:27:00.003+05:30

A Sexy Jumpsuit, Bright Flip Flops, Statement Umbrella, A Backpack Tote, Scarves, Clear PU Trench Coat, Eclectic Earrings to complete the Oomph Factor for a Rainy Day

I Make Lists, therefore I Am

2010-06-09T12:29:00.004+05:30

I make Lists. I make lists for everything. I make lists all the time. I’m obsessive compulsive about making lists. I make lists like a maniac. There is nothing that gives me more pleasure every morning than clearly drafting the things to do on that particular day.

My desktop is littered with Digital Post- it notes. My Iphone has at least 4 apps on making lists. I carry more than one notepad at all times and it has varied lists neatly documented. If 'anything' comes on my list, it gets done. I don’t remember when I got addicted to making lists. I think I get it from my first boss. My first boss was quite a german in her ways of working. As a newbie in corporate world (read – bottom of the food chain), I survived through carefully created lists .

Funnily though, I have a damn good memory. I remember practically everything- dates, time, people, everything. And so I wonder why I make lists? I make lists of work to-do, my travels, things I will pack before a trip, grocery lists, people to call, laundry to be washed (and in which order,), bookings to be made, bills to be paid. If I’m planning a dinner, everything goes on list. From food to crockery to drinks. If im going on vacation, everything is listed to the tee.

My friends think I make lists because I’m a control freak. My family thinks making lists is a hobby now (!!!! like really?) My team thinks I may be super organized. But the truth is , I feel incomplete without my lists.

May be I make lists to put a method in the chaos.
May be I just like writing down things.
May be I AM a control freak.
May be I just enjoy scribbling on beautiful stationery.
May be I suffer from undiscovered syndrome of 'making lists'

Here goes the list of why I think I make listsJ

See… I told u !

Shoe girl is currently enjoying Bombay rains and is making a list of things she wants to do in monsoons.

Airports- Where Is the Love?

2010-06-02T18:57:00.002+05:30

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends......” – Opening Quote of Love Actually

Whoever created that Love Actually scene of ‘finding and seeing love at the airports’ must be seriously delusional. I might not have the authority to condemn the writer but I most definitely have some authority to talk about airports.

I want to talk about airports. I spend hours at them. I travel for work. I travel a lot. And it might sound like a uber glamorous thing to some but believe me, traveling and spending hours at the airports is nowhere close to being 'the' George Clooney of Up in the Air. Especially as I write this, my flight is delayed by some three hours.

Airports are hostile. Its full of flight staff that is overworked and sleepless. I see fake smiles and the carefully modulated tone so as to not sound irritated. I usually take flights in mornings or late evenings. And I see no love at the airports. I see red-eyed tired people, glued on to their blackberry or Iphone. I see a lot of them floating around in the bookshops but fewer people read books nowadays. I see parking hassles and 10-second goodbyes outside the airports.

Airports are an organized chaos. Flights are usually delayed like a domino effect. Airline food is forever unappetizing. Everything is either rushed or delayed. Even the Spas are not as comforting as I would like them to be.

Seldom, rarely I see people jumping and hugging their loved ones outside the airports. And sometimes when I see these moments, its like a chicken soup for the travelers soul.

The last time I saw a guy drop his girlfriend at 5.30 am on the airport. And amidst honking horns and the usual chaos, they hugged for 30 seconds with eyes closed. I guess that must be the remaining fragment of 'Love Actually' that Hugh Grant spoke about in the movie. It was an exception from the rule.

The Must Haves this Summer

2010-04-08T22:17:00.017+05:30

So the sultry Indian Summer is back! And before I had the time to chase that ice cube down my back, the summer sneaked up on me and the sweat drops tricked on the bare skin.

So here is my uber hot list for this summer! List of things that make me look forward to this summer!

_______________________________________

A Juicy Fragrance! Something sweet, something spice, something with oranges and lime, a hint of cinnamon and a whiff of green apple. A Scent that lingers through the sweaty afternoons and hints that remain through the evenings. My choice of fragrance this summer is ' Be Delicious' by

DKNY. Now that's a scent I would want to bite into...

Next big essential this summer is a crisp white sexy Kurti ( Tunic). A sure way to beat the heat - the stylish way. Cottons Jaipur has a great range and fabric just breathes life into your skin!

Whats a summer without some bright juicy colored handbags. This season, I totally heart the yellow tote from Charles and Keith. The bow detailing is feminine yet sleek.

Slip into pretty flats. Gladiators look Hot with Shorts and Cropped Pants. But to me Summer is all about colors. Pick up footwear in shades of blue and teal and any dreamy shade you fancy.

Go minimal on make up and keep it simple. I'm totally addicted to sheer gloss that makes that pout look so full and perfect. A 'no clump' mascara and mineral kohl to complete that fresh look for summer.

And don't forget a good good gooood sunscreen!

Stock up some Absolute Tropics in your freezer. This citrus flavor vodka is so right for your palette this season. Have it on the rocks or add a some OJ and Fizz to it.

Don't be afraid to get your mane cropped sleek and edgy this season. Choose a convenient 'wash and wear' look and generously mess up your hair with some texturizing wax!

Summer is about all things tiny and all things pretty! Pick up a new statement key chain. Invest in eclectic trinkets. Charms, bracelets, anklets, the works!!! I'm in love with a broach I found at MNG outlet!

So Whats on your sizzling list this summer?

Comfort...where art thou?

2010-01-04T22:34:00.007+05:30

What is comfort? One of those thousands of word we use without being able to define it. So like all times, when the word gets stuck in my head, i looked it up in the dictionary.

Comfort: (noun)

1. a state of ease and freedom from pain or constraint

So dear friends, what brings you comfort?

I thought my first post of year will be a well crafted ' list' or the usual overrated resolutions. But after first day of office, I suddenly realized, the year didn't seem so new after all. There is a corner of quietness in this city bursting with life. And the corner of quietness is everywhere. And there in the corner lurks a tiny dot of comfort. A small speck that makes it all okay.

And day in and day out, when it gets too tiring or nomadic, I search for that comfort.

Comfort is in that white shirt that fits you like heaven and makes you feel like a million dollar. Its in finding a hundred rupee note in old jeans. Comfort is what I find in indulging in a foot massage ( once in a while). Brown paper bags at that expensive grocery store. The aroma of freshly baked bread. Long showers. Lovey Dovey text messages. Long conversation with dad on a movie's screenplay. A pat on the back, a hand on the head. All the things that bring smiles.

Comfort is in Mom's old sarees. Dad's Old watch. Friends and lazy afternoons, and Sangria and cooking. Comfort is long showers at midnight. The smell of old books. Books Books and more Books....

Comfort is in the last sip of stale wine and frozen pizza after hangover. Comfort is in memories of friends who live far. Comfort is in knowing that there are always handful of people you have earned in life who will run to you when you want them to, no matter what...

Only Time...

2009-12-31T09:29:00.003+05:30

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, and yet we had nothing before us.

It was a decade of change; it was a decade of consistency. It was an endless anthology of a wild child; it was an anthology of heartbreaks. It was an assortment of most amazing friends; it was an assortment of foes. It was years of laughter, it was the wrinkles of grief. It was eagerness to grow up; it was desperation to hold on to innocence of childhood.

It was the warm monsoon of Bombay; it was the cold cold Delhi roads. It was jumping in trains without confirmed tickets; it was airport lounges in colors of beige. It was talking to dad from hostel at Rs.16 an incoming call; It was about no time to pick up the phone to say hello. It was the pan streaked corridors of Kolkata; it was clear starry nights of Ahmadabad. It was sand on my feet; it was a sand grain in my eye. It was holding sweaty hands in a movie hall; it was about sweating it out at job. It was my first pair of nike trainers; it was barefeet life with 150 shoes. It was dreams of career behind the stage; it was day job that put me in a spotlight. It was my first sip of red wine; it was the finish gulp of Jack Daniels.

We all thought we will get somewhere, and yet at times, we all got around to going nowhere. It was an epoch of music, it was an epoch of noise. It was red brick walls that were left behind, it was the amber yellow streets that got engraved in memories.

If I could put the decade gone by in a movie reel, it will just be colors and a play of light and darkness. But then I look back and take a deep breath and say: What a time and life it has been!!

Shoe Girl still cant get over the opening lines of ' A Tale of Two Cities ' by Charles Dickens.Nothing describes the times gone by the way its opening lines does. Hence, the first few borrowed lines.

A for Addiction

2009-12-30T14:59:00.007+05:30

“You use the word addiction as if it’s a bad word….”

This is the line that I knew I should have stopped my debate on. Last week, sitting in the balcony of my new apartment in Bombay; I was taking another 'usual conversation' head-on and making a debate out of it. I wasn’t ready to relent to the fact that addiction always has to be a negative connotation. Quite miserably, even dictionary borders its definition on a precarious fine line of negativity.

( I so wanna thump the table now and say...)

Addiction is NOT enslavement! Yes, habit forming (yes) ... but not enslaving. Because we voluntarily step into addictions.There isn’t a question of ‘I can’t help’ bit about it.

Addiction is also not about being right or wrong. It’s not about good or bad. Infact addiction is about changing rhythms to life’s waltz. Addictions are what add that irresistible charm to life. That bonds us with life, things, people. Who would want a life sans addiction? Who would want a dissociated life devoid of any addictions?

So I say again...

What’s a life without addiction? What’s a morning without addiction of Tea/Coffee? What’s a festival without addiction of desserts? What’s a stress without that smuggled drag of nicotine? What’s a day without addiction to internet/ face book/ twitter? What’s a healthy life without addiction to food? What’s a night without addiction to a goodnight kiss? What’s a love without addiction of Hugs? What’s a walk without addiction of ‘holding hands’? What's friendship without addiction to endless conversations? What’s poetry if you aren’t addicted to music? What’s reading if you aren’t addicted to words that create magic? What’s a life without addiction?

“You Use the word addiction as if it’s a bad word. I'm addicted to life.. What would anyone do without this addiction?”

Shoe Girl is addicted to Her work, Music, Books, Coffee, Her dad, Colors of water, Blue skies, Travelling, Photography, Cooking, Wines, Dancing and the 'life' of thing called life!

Whats Delicious in Your Life?

2009-12-28T14:57:00.005+05:30

On this Sunday's Scribblings prompt of word delicious, I tried writing a Rock Song. And I totally sucked at it...:(

I didnt wanna write another fiction so I thought and thought, and thought a little more before actually going to dictionary.com for the exact meaning of word delicious.

delicious: adjective

1.	highly pleasing to the senses, esp. to taste or smell: a delicious dinner; a delicious aroma.

2.	very pleasing; delightful: a delicious sense of humor.

So tell me what is the most Delicious fact about you? You may be Sour with life today or bitter in heart. But there will always be something delicious about you. There is always someone who hearts your taste. Life is always made up of delicious of things.

My Top List of Delicious Things in Life are:

The Way a good perfume smells on a guy. (Not in the morning but in the evenings)
A great foot massage at 3 am after a nights dancing in High Heels
Early Morning Ginger Tea and watching Re run of friends at 6 am
Chilly on Lips after extra Tabasco Bloody Mary( followed by kisses)
Fresh ‘French manicured’ Fingers
Slipping into warm clothes after getting drenched in the rain
Hugs Hugs and Hugs
Endless Cups of Coffee and Conversations
Head Banging to Jim Morrison’s Songs
Fitting into college time skinny Jeans
Crisp White shirts … ( on me & on Him)
Hugs Hugs More Hugs
Chilean wines , esp. merlot
Scribbling messages on steam stained bathroom mirror
Post It notes around the house
Hugs Hugs More Hugs
Warm Chocolate Cake
Frozen Jack Daniels Ice Cubes
Hugs Hugs More Hugs
Beach vacations & Blue Waters

So What All Makes your Life Delicious?

Shoe Girl can write endless things of delicious life, but nothing better than a conversation with her best buddy. She is, after all the most delicious bit of life.

Dare

2009-12-21T15:57:00.004+05:30

It was seventeen months, and three weeks since I heard her voice. Sitting on the very same table I was remembering that Sunday morning. She was on her third cup of coffee. I saw her playful eyes dancing. Her finger was almost ropewalking on the rim of the pristine white cup. She had beautiful long fingers. There were still times that I looked at her not as a twenty something man but a five year boy looking at candy.

And just like that she said, “Truth Or Dare?”

I gave her a quizzical lopsided lip moment that tried hard to resemble a smile. I was hungover and didn’t have energy for another game. Honestly, I was getting tired of the chatter and ‘live for the moment’ madness of her world. My six months with her had been the time of my highest highs and lowest lows. Well! that’s how life was with her. It was all or none. After six months of heady dopamine induced high, I craved for my sanity. No, I didn’t want 3 am lovemaking sessions. No, I didn’t want 5 am taxi rides for ice creams. No I didn’t want ‘ets make six course meal at home’. It was all nice as a piece of fiction but I was soon getting burnt out with the meteor like pace of life with her.

“Truth or dare”?

Truth.

“You never say dare…ever”, she rolled her saucerpan like black eyes.

“And you never say Truth” I debated back with her. But debate was never a great idea when it came to her. She could dig her jaws in your bone to claim her victory if she had to.

“Fine”, she said followed by the longest 3 seconds of silence. “What scares you the most?”

“You … most of the times”. I said. I wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or just a non morning person in me that ended up committing a dare that looked like the truth.

“As in?” I heard her high pitched tone.

“I won’t explain. You started the ‘game’. Your turn, truth or dare?”

“Dare! And yes you can call me predictable” She met my eyes with fierce smile.

There are moments that get captured in crystal balls. That smile throwing a challenge at me was my moment.

“Ok the dare is . You will finish this coffee and walk out of this door , never to see me again.”

I saw her blank eyes. I’m sure a heard a gulp in her throat. I was expecting a huge scene here. But then she never promised to be predictable. In next 30 seconds I heard a shadow walk out of that door. I whispered under my breath and said my prayers for forgiveness. I knew I would never match her pace. And I also knew she would never go back on her dare. Eccentric lover she was.

I never heard from her. I would have expected her to question me. May be even throw things at me. But she never did. A dare is a dare. And to my dismay, I guess she fulfilled it.

Last week I got a phone call from one of our common friends. She died while bungee jumping with a bunch of friends. Some said it was a loose harness. Some said that she dared to jump only holding the rope.

Must be a dare. She was known for not going back on her dare after all.

*sigh*

Or May be she just wanted to fly and hence ‘dared’ to let go.

Thanks to Sunday Scribblings for the writing prompt.

Are We in Love with The Unattainable?

2009-11-16T14:42:00.004+05:30

Sometime Last Year, I got this SMS from my friend who lives across continents, "Why do I do this to myself. I only fall the guys who don’t value me enough. Am I in love with the Unattainable..."

I read that SMS over and over again. (I still have it saved)

I wanted to tell her,its not just you sweetie. We are all in love with unattainable.

Is it the forbidden fruit syndrome? Or are we all subtle rebels at heart? Why don’t we fall for that ‘nice guy next door’ and choose that rock star who, we know will trample our heart. (Same rule applies to guys too btw...)

Its not only in relationships. As human beings, we always want something that we somehow know, is not easy to get. Its that hot car, that brilliant flat, that mouthwatering job. If you have good job content, you want more salary. If you have great salary, you want more satisfaction. If you have both, you want more time. WE WANT WHAT WE DONT HAVE!! (and what is almost unattainable to get)

Everywhere I go, almost everyone I know is on their own trip to get the unattainable. You are in love with him, who is fond is someone else and ‘someone else’ is running after someone totally different altogether.

Why? Why is that the perfect Dopamine high of initial love reduces to “I want you but you aren’t the same anymore’ syndrome? Either you don’t win that race, or you are not happy with the prize when you win it. On either end of the spectrum, you want something that is difficult and distant.

Is it because we love the drama? Or is it simply because we crave for new challenges, in life and in love. Or is love another means to adding more excitement into your drab emotional timelines of life? Most of you reading this must have been in love with someone who didn’t love you back the same way at some point of time. (And you haven’t been that state; let me salute your luck)

You remember the crazy sleepless nights? The hoping against hope, he or she will love u back? How you wanted to turn around the world…and make this one, just one wish come true: ‘Of that someone loving you back with same craziness (and perhaps more)’

And very often you get what you want but, by then you want something more( worst, you want someone else by then).

Something, which overpowers your imagination a bit more. Something that’s more unattainable.

Are we really in love with the unattainable? Or do we only get love when we become unattainable for someone?

On that note my friends, I leave this blogpost incomplete and this question unanswered.

Shoe Girl loves the drama of love and life and is addicted to it. There is only one way to be loved, and that is someone being totally crazy bout u! Rest is all too mediocre.

Confessions Of a Shoe Girl

2009-08-05T17:26:00.006+05:30

Everyone who has an overdose of reading postcard after postcard of Post Secret project knows this uncontrollable urge to pen down their secrets. Whereas My Secrets are subject to a totally different post, here are a few of my Shoe Secrets. (Anyone know knows me knows how my world goes in dizzying spin at the topic of shoes)

Whenever I have to go out to dress up, I choose my shoes first and then the dress follows.
I can count the number of times I must have walked into a shoe shop and not but bought any shoes.( I almost always end up buying shoes)
Such times ( when I dont find shoes) usually end up with me having a weird headache.
My actual count of shoes is 157 now( I tell everyone its close to 100).
Sometimes I buy shoes and when I bring them home, I quietly sneak them into the shoe rack. This is Just to avoid the ‘look from HIM’ and him saying “Again!!! More shoes baby?”
When I look at a beautiful pair of shoes I feel they are talking to me.
The shoes usually tell me, “Come take us home, we complete your life. We will make you so happy”
My first pair of shoes that I fell in love with was not actually a high heel but a pair of plain Nike trainers.
Every time I go looking for comfortable shoes, I still end up buying a 3 inch heels. I like to feel elevated from the ground.
There are times, the heels are so high to walk in and I somehow still end up dancing in them all night. I know I won’t get this young again so I might as well use/abuse my knees while they last.
I feel I can walk into a meeting in those 4 inch heels , look at men in their eye and achieve anything.Its as much as bout me as bout those heels.
I started buying more shoes after my first ‘big’ heartbreak. I realized that shoes are better than men for my happiness quotient.
Every time I look at those pretty pair of High Heels, My heartbeat fastens, my heart does trampoline till the pit of my stomach and I know “ This is Love, This is love”
I have this quirk of keeping shoes as ‘pieces of art’ in that shoe cabinet.
Yes, I have bought shoes a size bigger or a size smaller coz they were the only pair left and so pretty. Leaving them would have been such a sin.
Yes, I have shoes that are so pretty that I almost feel guilty wearing them.
Yes, I have pair of shoes I have never worn coz Im still trying to find a dress to match with them.
And I have slept in my shoes just coz they are soooo pretty! ( and this is not insanity! its Love)

Oh Yes! If as a woman You haven't made out in high heels.... you are missing something * ahem ahem*

She Walks In Beauty

2009-07-27T14:45:00.003+05:30

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light	5
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;	10
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,	15
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent! -Lord Byron Took this photograph at a recent wedding that I attended. Couldnt think of a better poem to descrive the bride...

Stop, Smile and then Go!

2009-07-14T16:58:00.003+05:30

I like walking across to this coffee shop close to my office some half a dozen times a day. It’s not just about coffee but the ‘break’ I get while walking. Sitting stiff in front of the computer screen can become mannequin-ish at times.

And my favorite part is that 2 minute chat with the guy behind the counter. After my fourth or fifth cup of coffee, he will just say, “One more? Long day at work ma’m?” And I would smile and nod. Enough to recharge me till my next cup of coffee.

How many of us really smile at strangers these days? I often see dozen of people getting into or out of the flight without acknowledging the greeting of the cabin crew. Smiling must be their job but not returning a smile is such a rude ‘no no’ in my books!

Whenever I tell people, I miss Bombay; they never get how I can miss a congested city with perennial traffic snarls and the mad rush. But if there is one thing we all acknowledge about Bombay, it’s that people smile back at you when you smile. No matter how much hurry you are in.

I like chatting with people. Smiling at strangers. Listening to their stories. I would like to know how many kids that Autowallah has and if they go to school. I like listening to the Meru Cab guy telling me how he would visit his village in UP during sowing season to overlook the crop. Nameless people but million stories. How can you go though life without stopping to say Hi to them? Without smiling at them?

I have often seen people screaming at waiters, people at ticket counters, being rude and worst still, walking with a frown. There is nothing more turn off on a date than an ill mannered companion who doesn’t treat the restaurant staff well.

Recently, I went to a café with a few friends. The woman friend ( I ‘d met for the first time) inquired about waiters name and instantly chatted up with him with a smile. Not only we were treated like royalty throughout the evening but I also got instant liking for that lady with a simple gesture she did during dinnerJ

So smile. Nothing makes that guy behind the counter’s day better than a genuine smile.

Guess What!!! Jim is Back

2009-07-14T01:23:00.005+05:30

Sometime last year, I had started witing my second blog called " In His Shoes"

I recall in my introductory post, calling Jim , my creation( and my Vodoo Doll).

Well! there is madness that makes you create characters, and so Jim was created out of my madness. Somewhere down the line, I purposely stopped writing bout him. I wasnt sure, if I will be able to walk in his shoes without tripping.

And then one fine day, the character screamed out of my skin and I had to take out my story outline and start where I left Jim...

This time, I promised Jim that we'll complete his story...

---------------------------------------------------------

Jim is ‘every’ guy. He is near perfect and thoroughly flawed. He is my alter ego as well as is my opponent. He is everything I loathe about men and yet everything I ever wanted in a perfect man. I love him and I hate him to bits at the same time. Everything I know about men and everything I don’t know is all here.

Jim is one of those stories you send to the recycle bin and yet not delete it permanently.

Slow Dancing on the Blogway

2009-06-29T12:48:00.003+05:30

You write, I write,
Of Fairy tales and yet the spite.
I sometimes read and I at times wish I Unread,
Territories we turn back on and try not to tread.
I pick the pace and you follow close behind,
Still trying to detach the lives that once intertwined.
You write of your happy life and I brag about mine,
And yet we walk the rope and stay on the line.
We had done a slow tango in another lifetime,
Tasted punishments without the crime.
Sneaking through the shadows, lingering at words,
Joining dots on the syllables that have slurred.
We exist in our different, very different space,
But you follow close behind me, keeping the pace.
You write of diamonds and I write of memories that rust,
For this dance is also a competition of who gives up first.
For every click of my heel, another twisted phrase,
Slow dancing with eyes numb and feet abaze…

And Then Sita Walked In High Heels

2009-06-11T10:56:00.007+05:30

This post is dedicated to the God that failed….And the Goddess that still makes me believe in God…

It must be million years ago. Perhaps more. When Ram & Sita returned from exile.

And

Sita walked in High Heels. Yes, I know it sounds absurd.

Sita & High heels?

To me ‘Walking in High Heels’ is not just about wearing stilettos and tip tapping all day long. Walking in High Heels is a figurative expression for also walking, sometimes in discomfort, on your toes, balancing on a tightrope called a life. All women do it day in and day out. Look around yourself and thousands of women are walking in high heels, cutting their way though challenges that we off handily call mundane life.

So … Sita Also ‘Walked in High Heels’. She walked in these shoes when she was asked to prove herself. When her husband, supposedly the most tolerant and honest man came under pressure from his kingdom and requested her to walk through that fire.

So Sita Walked in High Heels….And she passed through fire.

And so do most of us women everyday. It’s not just a question on integrity. Its about proving oneself. And I wonder why do we women have to?

Without starting a gender debate or saying that women are superior, I just want to state that we women bring something different to table. At work, we might not lead a team like a football coach but we do bring out the best in everyone in our own special way.

We walk in these high heels everyday. Step through difficult meetings, hectic schedules to end the day with a smile. And yet, ‘tomorrows’ bring more questions and treacherous roads, where we just have to ‘walk in those high heels’. With blisters on feet, we pass through fire everyday. At work, at home. It’s always those little extra inches to prove ourselves. Sometimes of our talents, intentions, hard work, integrity. It’s always that test. “Does she really mean it?”/ “Can she do it?”

Personally, I have had very few times; I had to walk through fire to prove anything. But there are always moments. When I sense the nuances, catch the subtle signals.

Signal to step into those uncomfortable shoes and walk through fire.

And then I smile to myself and think. Millions of centuries have passed. And Sita is still walking through fire…In High Heels.

Perhaps the world has gotten used to making Sita walk though the fire. There are always questions. And questions will always remain.

However, If I was Ram, I would have held Sita’s hand and walked with her through fire. For her to prove her purity & integrity to the people. And for Ram to prove his love and faith in her.

"O my lord, how true you speak! Yes, by your grace, Ravana could not - dared not - come near me. I am as pure as Fire. Hence I will prove purity of my character by passing through the raging fire flames."

PS: Oh! Did I forget to mention, Sita was exiled again in spite of ‘Agni Pariksha’. How can you blame the world for making women walk through fire everyday when it’s the God that failed us….

This post is my personal opinion. I’m not an atheist and I do believe in God. My apologies if my creative license has offended anybody’s religious sentiments.

Why Dont you ...? 6

2009-06-08T14:19:00.006+05:30

Why Don’t You…?’ is a series of things that we ignore or never get around to do just because it doesn’t occur to us. So ‘ Why don’t U’ do these things sometime…

Empty out your purse.

And if you are like me who doesn’t bother to transport all stuff from one bag to another, empty more than one purse. You will be surprised to know how many things you find that you think you might have lost.

A few of the things I discovered while emptying my purses over the weekend were

Wine cork from memorable dinners

Coins..and more coins..and more

Pens I thought I'd lost

A story I scribbled ( I get such brainwaves)

Bills which are too late to claim now:(

Polaroid pics from nite outs

Half a dozen lip grosses I never realised I posses

So what will you find when u empty that bag/ purse?

Why Dont You ...? 5

2009-05-29T10:00:00.002+05:30

Why Don’t You…?’ is a series of things that we ignore or never get around to do just because it doesn’t occur to us. So ‘ Why don’t U’ do these things sometime…

Change one thing about yourself for a week.

If you drink, quit ( only for a week). Or be a vegetarian for a week. If you wear western formals, try Indian formals for the whole week.

You will feel new, fresh.

Its amazing how something small can make you change the way u plan your day.

So What are you changing bout yourself for a week?

Why Dont You...?4

2009-05-18T14:57:00.003+05:30

‘Why Don’t You…?’ is a series of things that we ignore or never get around to do just because it doesn’t occur to us. So ‘ Why don’t U’ do these things sometime…

Try, for every few dozen e-mails you send, to write a letter, an old-fashioned letter, and post it.

Remember how it felt to receive an actual letter or postcard in the mail?

I have written mails as long as 60 pages at one time. And I some of the most important things I wanted to say in life are still written on paper...

When was the last time you wrote a handwritten letter anyways..?

Dreamer, Story Teller, Poet and a Rockstar( In that order).

2009-05-15T11:39:00.006+05:30

THE MOVIE

The movie will begin in five moments

The mindless voice announced

All those unseated will await the next show.

We filed slowly, languidly into the hall

The auditorium was vast and silent

As we seated and were darkened, the voice continued.

The program for this evening is not new

You've seen this entertainment through and through

You've seen your birth your life and death

you might recall all of the rest

Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on?

Well! This is one of the poem's from Jim Morrison's American Prayer. Was listening to it last night as I smoked my day's last Cigarette....( which was a double digit number..)

And I wanted to share it with you all.

Jim was a Dreamer, Story Teller, Poet and a Rockstar( In that order). He died at the age of 27 in Paris. His body was found in a bath tub. The world said , it was a drug overdose. But may be he just died of drowning...

Why Dont you...? 3

2009-05-14T12:20:00.005+05:30

‘Why Don’t You…?’ is a series of things that we ignore or never get around to do just because it doesn’t occur to us. So ‘ Why don’t U’ do these things sometime…

Read someone a poem.

Written by yourself or just an old classic. Read it out to your lover, dad, mom, friend….anyone. Something about poetry ....

It expresses the thoughts on the surface as well as the crust. Always conveys more meaning than just intended.

Why Dont You...? 2

2009-05-13T09:12:00.003+05:30

‘Why Don’t You…?’ is series of things that we ignore or never get around to do just because it doesn’t occur to us. So ‘ Why don’t U’ do these things sometime…

Wear a color you have never worn before.

It’s a color like ‘Bright Pink’ for me. So what is it for you?

Is it orange, yellow , purple for u ?

When you do something you have never done before, you taste the change. Its new, its fresh. It pushes your limits.
Its good to stretch.

Why Don't You...? 1

2009-05-12T14:07:00.006+05:30

‘Why Don’t You…?’ is series of things that we ignore or never get around to do just because it doesn’t occur to us. So ‘ Why don’t U’ do these things sometime…

Take a walk in the rain? Company or no company.

The rain is all yours. So go indulge in the drops. feel it on your face. feel it on your finger tips.

Remember how as a kid you would sneak out to get drenched in that first rain?

Time to revisit the joy!:)

Rub Me The Right Way

2009-05-05T00:01:00.000+05:30

These is this ‘ handmade cosmetic shop’ that you pass and the whiff of yummy fragrance just pulls u in . Now I’m a woman who has a ‘ thing’ for a good fragrance. I got hooked on to Lush handmade cosmetics a few months back. And Boy! They are good or are they good!!!!

Let me put it this way, these products just put the Sexiness back into the shower!! :P And if rubbed the ' right' way, puts you in your top spirit.

Lush Cosmetics is UK based company with over 580 stores worldwide. They have stores in Delhi, Mumbai , Bangalore and Kolkatta. The best part about these cosmetics is all of these products are made by hand. Some of them are individually hand moulded; the Soaps are hand poured into moulds and hand cut. The fruit is freshly juiced. Bottles are hand filled and labeled with the maker's name. Even the chocolate they use is the finest Belgian !! But what I love is the clever creative description of each product. Afterall, who wont want to use products with names like, French Kiss, Sex Bomb, Rockstar Soap, Angels on Bare Skin and Happy Hippy ( ummmmm!!!!!)

Love the fact that here is a brand that believes in candle light baths and filling your senses with fragrance!!

Here is a list of my favorite products and the their description as given on official website

SHOWER GEL: The Olive Branch ( I cant start my day without it!!)

The comforting olive oil and mandarin one The Olive Branch has a welcoming, Mediterranean warmth to it, with organic olive oil to soften your skin, an infusion of vine leaves, sea salt and the fresh juice of mandarin oranges. The name comes from a line from Dance Me To The End of Love ‘lift me like an olive branch til I’m safely gathered in’

SHAMPOO BAR: Godiva Shampoo and Conditioning Bar

Sexy jasmine-scented two-in-one shampoo and conditioner bar Named after the woman who famously rode through the streets of Coventry with nought but her long flowing locks to cover her modesty. Smells so gorgeous it makes you forget to put your clothes on.

SOAP: Demon in the Dark

The stimulating minty apple one It’s not really a demon, it’s an angel of a soap: deep dark green, wrapped in a layer of black wax (which you peel off before you use it or you won’t get clean). It’s very green because we make it with fresh mint and apple juice; we perfume it with invigorating peppermint and stimulating spearmint plus warming clove bud. Let it unleash the power within you - the intellectual power, nothing unpleasant!

MASSAGE BAR ( !!!! yes u heard that right!) Black Magic

Magic spells to unleash our inner lover. Black Magic is the second of the big, sexy bars. It’s for women who weave a magic spell around their potential lovers then draw them close and only let them go when they’ve quite finished with them. (This may be the next day or it may be never; you can’t tell.) This one is scented with ylang ylang, geranium and clary sage and covered in dark chocolate. Clary sage is said to help you see more clearly, to relax fully and bring out deeper responses. Geranium inspires warmer emotions. Use a Black Magic to help someone to lose his inhibitions.

So girls! Go and indulge yourself ! You totally deserve it!
And guys… why u don’t indulge the women in your life as well!
( oh yes! It might be good idea to give something from Lush to your mom for upcoming Mothers Day!!)

The Knotty Story

2009-05-04T13:18:00.008+05:30

Finally I did It. I gave in to the Scarf trend this spring summer. On my last trip to Singapore, I went crazy buying scarves at Forever 21 and Zara. Well! The joke was also that after spending all the monies on my Nikon D90, I had money only to buy scarves( and shoes..and shoes and shoes)..

But I totally heart this trend. For all those who think, scarves in winters summers is not practical, here are a few tips:

Bring on a plain T Shirt and a good scarf can add the ‘ sexiness quotient’ to it
Bright colors- Oh so summer!!
Bring out all your scooped neck ladies! Scarf can hide and show at your will.

The two basic scarves working well this season are Square and Long Scarves. I don’t wanna count ‘ duppatta types’ in as of now. But they work wonders with Kurties.

Square Scarves: The new square scarf trend is definitely the coolest this season. Worn cowboy-style, pick up checks or parsley prints. To add more Fun, go with the tassled styles. To get the look, fold the scarf into a triangle. Tie the two ends of the triangle together at the back of your neck. Then, muss the scarf to make it full and not so folded.

Long Scarves: This is the classy style. I Love the Bandhini/ Laheria patters or shaded colored ones. For material, try picking these up in lighter material like muslin or even viscose. For this season, chose long scarves that are colorful, patterned and textured. Wear long scarves around your neck, looped once around your neck or looped a couple of times and then tied so the fringe falls at chest level.

And guys! Those of you who can carry off a scarf like SRK get special Brownie points!!!

Happy Endings

2009-05-03T14:30:00.006+05:30

I am such a sucker for happy endings. The whole reason I often pick up chickflick to watch and those books to read is because I want to ‘ live’ happy endings.

Through Fiction.

Through Imagination.

Through anything.

Anything for a Happy Ending

Whenever I’m reading a book, and within the twists and turns of the story, I fear that ending will not be happy, My heart sinks…

I want happy stories.

While I was reading Twilight and fearing if Bella would lose Edward the Vampire, I got paranoid that the book wont end happily. Then this friend of mine told me one day, “ All the stories u read Doll…, they will continue till they reach a happy ending. Whats the hurry?Sometimes, it will take longer, sometimes it will be quicker, but they all reach happy endings. Trust me. All your stories will have a happy ending….”

And then I smiled.
I watched this chicklit yesterday, and I loved these few lines that came in the end.

So to all of us( including me) who often tell others about happy endings but forget to believe in it themselves.

Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up: if a boy punches you, he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs, and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending.

Every movie we see, every story we're told implores us to wait for it: the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule.

But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell the ones who want us from the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future.

Maybe the happy ending is just moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this: knowing after all the unreturned phone calls and broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment... you never gave up hope.

XOXO Shoe Girl

Of Fears and Phobias and ( Excess) Baggage…

2009-05-03T13:30:00.003+05:30

Well! I started this blog because I wanted to make it fun….
I stopped blogging a few months back because it was becoming like my old blog.

I had originally started walking in ‘high heels’ coz it was a simple thing to do. Write about shoes, fashion, movies, fun stuff. Even if it’s about life in form of a dark satire… satire it was.

I realized a few months back that my writing was reflecting too much of my state of mind. So I stopped. I held myself back from making this yet another channel of things I want to say but not being able to.

I have been meaning to write from a while now. Conjuring up fun stuff in my head. Because I wanted to be true to this blog. I wanted to refrain from bringing out my fears, phobias and baggage on this platform.

Talking about Baggage

Every time I travel I see people( and I travel quite a bit). Traveling with their bag and baggage. And every single time I draw analogy on how we all travel in life with our baggage. Some of you carry the baggage of “ being left alone” and other of being “ rejected”.

And then the overanalyzing type that I am, I often observe…"I never travel light anyways"…
No wonder I have been paying excess baggage charge throughout my life. :)

I carry my fears , phobias, baggage and shoes everywhere. ( Often stupidly being proud of them). You see we all find pride in our fears somehow. Because, more often than not, we attribute who we are to our fears( and baggage) than what we have been doing and want to do. We belive we are survivors and love to be ' cold, cynic & bitter'.

Perhaps its more difficult to move on with audacious hope and easier to cringe with our fears.

I too am one of those who places my fears and phobias with pride on the mantle. I feel like a warrior when i think of it day after day( stupid me!).... and somewhere I know that it'll be more difficult to ' survive' when i let go these fears and open up to life...

I am anything short of saying that I hug and sleep with my fears night after night( and then complain of nightmares)

Like the fear of drowning and no one around to save me.
Like the fear of calling up a friend and the call not being picked up.
Like phobia of being left alone at Railways Station….sitting…waiting.

This friend told me once, “You have as much space in ur mind for things/ baggage/ memories. As the new ones come up, old ones will get replaced.”

I hope the new ones are lots of bags filled with smiles, and happy travels so that I don’t have place in my head (and heart) to keep the old baggage….

Listening to : Gin Soaked Boy

Last day of My Life...

2009-02-10T12:00:00.008+05:30

Read this Message on Twitter by Seher: live your life as it is the last day of your life...

I thought to myself, what are the things I would do if it really was the last day of my life? And no , I wont make a 50 pointer list, but what are the last five things I would do If I had only today to live?

I would say Sorry

To friends whose calls I didnt return. Friends I snapped back at. Friends whose affection I didnt return. Hearts I broke. Tantrums I threw at my parents as a teenager. Sorry for the rude words. And the bridges I burnt because I was just so sure it was the right thing to do.

I would Believe

In Love Again. I would stop being a cynic for a day and ' believe' that good things happen. Last few years made me far too bitter than I ever intended to. So If I had only one day, I would not kill my ' want' and hunger for life before I die. I would want to dream and wish again. Even If its for a day.

I would Forgive

Him. I would forgive him for all the hurt and bitterness he filled my life with. I would forgive him for his faltering. Not because he should be forgiven. But simply because, I have carried too much baggage for too long. And now I'm tired. I hope he has a good life somewhere....far away.

I would Hold

My Dad. And tell him how much I love him. Tell him that I've spun my life around him so that one day he is proud of me. I would hold my Mom and tell her that she is the best woman I've ever met. Hold to my family, loved ones and tell them, how much I love them.

I would Make Peace With God

I used to be a great believer. And then one fine day, I got so angry ( and still am) at God that I abandoned him. I would perhaps make peace with him. Not because I believe in heaven or anything. But simply because I wont carry any of 'this world's' grudges to the ' next world'....

Now this was one honest post :-)

What would you do if this was your last day to live?

PS: Oh! I'll give away all my Clothes and Shoes to my Kid Sis:) Coz she is a sweetheart!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am Sending a Pink Chaddi... And You?

2009-02-09T12:48:00.003+05:30

I wrote this disgustingly blatant open letter to Sri Ram Sena Goons( oh they are called Sainiks??) last night. But something stopped me from posting it. They dont require as much attention!

They require a Pink Chaddi!!!!!

What is the Pink Chaddi Campaign?

The Pink Chaddi Campaign kicked off on 5 February 2009 to oppose the Sri Ram Sena. The campaign is growing exponentially (1,300 at this point in the Consortium of Pub-going, Loose and Forward Women) and that is not surprising. Most women in this country have enough curbs on their lives without a whole new franchise cashing in with their bully-boy tactics. Of course, a lot of men have joined the group as well. Here is we want to do with the Pink Chaddi Campaign. Join in. Be imaginative, have fun and fight back!

To Know more about Pink Chaddi Campaign Click Here

All she ever wanted was a little credit...

2009-02-07T18:41:00.006+05:30

Well! Well ! Well!!!!

The Title of the blog is the Tagline for the upcoming movie called " Confessions Of A Shopaholic" releasing on Feb 13th.

The story is about Rebecca Bloomwood who is a sweet and charming New York City girl who has a tiny, little problem that is rapidly turning into a big problem: she's hopelessly addicted to shopping and drowning in a sea of debt. Now does that ring a bell with all us Retail Therapy Addicts?

While in the original story( Novel: Confessions of a Shopaholic's ) protagonist was a Brit girl, I wonder why did the plot change to NewYork!!!! Also, I'm not quite liking the fashion sense of Rebecca Bloomwood in the movie because if you've read the book, the expectations in the fashion department are definately higher. Somehow the ' acid' colors shown in the trailer doesnt go very well with what I expected. Infact this one looks like a outfit straight out of Barbie's wardrobe. (Not something I would be caught dead in!!)

Here is hoping that movie packs in a little more panache and is a long awaited Chick Flick for us girls!!!

Btw, the eye candy of the movie is Hugh Dancy( from Jane Austin Book Club). He is so cute and a total package to have a crush on!!

Heres is the trailer. NJoy!!!

And About My Arch Supporters...

2009-02-02T21:55:00.008+05:30

All my life I've been trying to head somewhere.

I carry on with work routine, day after day, night after night, time and again reminding myself that the payoff will be worth it. One day. Telling myself that I have a dream and it is finally within grasp. Within my reach. If only I could just take a moment to remember what my dream was.

And while everyone is talking about love this month, I want to talk bout love too. Like most of you , I too had my fair share of heart break( or may be a bit more than my share). What started out as a lovely waltz only ended as a war hoop around some really hot, scorching flames. I transpired yet again not victorious, not stronger nor wiser. I emerged only wanting to kick the idiot who told me to "love like you've never been hurt".

And as my blog roll churns out post after post on Love, Romance and Valentines day, I have decided to dedicate this special day to my girls.
My girlfriends who have literally steered my life till here....

In between heartbreaks, running around & living alone, I made some ' real' friends. The ones who backed you up no matter how dumb you were sometimes. The ones you ran back to every time you got your heart trampled on. The ones who had endless supplies of instant hot chocolate, coffee, Maggi, great gossips, episodes of Sex and the City, that lifted your spirits assuring you that you're not the only idiot around . And to top it up, gave you wonderful guidance telling you that you better get your ass out with them tonight for some major partying.

We girls have been there for each other through bad bosses, terrible boyfriends and horrible times in the 'regular' world. I don't know what would have I done without those hugs, and midnight phone calls and endless 'insane' conversations.

Thanks Girls!
And If they say this day is about love, its gotta be about you girls. It it wasn't for u, I would have been 'done and over with' ages ago..
Thanks for keeping me breathing...

So in the spirit of this post, My whole month is about being ' Chick' and Fabulous!!

Go Away Closer: The Story

2009-01-27T15:53:00.008+05:30

She had made her plan as usual. Reaching his city a night before her flight out next morning. It had become a ritual. Stealing a night here and there. Clandestine meetings over lunch. To catch up with him.

Both them knew it will not work out like this. But they both needed each other. For their sanity. Something to hold on to. A memory. A belief. A shared history. In God or in Satan. Anything for company in this journey called life. Sometimes ‘nothing’ is the most important bit in life. And theirs was a quaint relationship developed over years. Not just lovers. Not Just friends. She was perhaps his muse and ‘he’… well he was the guy who could (and would) make everything all right.

By now she expected him standing outside the station. She would hug him clumsily and fix her eyes on his grin, but not on his eyes. Never on his eyes. Those eyes asked too many questions. Questions he did not ask but they screamed through his deep set eyes. Questions she did not have answers to.

The train was about to reach the station in about 70 minutes now. He had not answered her calls. He had not asked her coach number. But they’d spoken a day before and he knew she was coming. It was a warm July night but she felt cold. Very cold. Suddenly she felt claustrophobic in that AC chair car compartment. She needed fresh air. She needed some noise. She needed to see that train was still moving. She needed to feel that life was not still. As she stepped out on the vibrating steel floor near the pantry, and her phone rang.

“ Oh! Thanks God he called!!” she heard herself saying aloud.
“ Heeeeey !!! Where are u? been trying to reach u since longest”
“ Sorry! I’m out for a drink..”
“ Ooohh.. K ..” she didn’t ask him anything. The phone got disconnected due to lack of signal. She looked out of the moving train. She wanted to stare into the pitch dark of the earth. The moon was torn into half that night, burning in that silken purple sky, like a fervent wish. It was eight more days till the full moon. She’d heard that if you look at ‘waxing’ moon, and make a wish, it comes true. She wanted to make that wish. But she didn’t. She just looked at the moon and watched it stay at the same place as everything around it kept moving. Isn’t it ironic? How it gives us illusion that earth moves around the moon when its always the other way around. Day after day & month after month and every single moment of that day and month, how we encroach life, bordering on such illusions.

She looked the phone and dialed his number.
“Aren’t we meeting today?” four syllables were all it took to ask.
“No, we aren’t…… Sorry.” And the phone got disconnected again.
Suddenly the moon was hidden behind the monsoon clouds. Already cautioning her not to make a wish. And although the wind was blowing and tangling her hair, none of the air was reaching her lungs.
She had to muster courage. She dialed the number again. And whispered with lingering apprehension, “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes...”
“You knew I was coming to meet u. Why aren’t u meeting me?”
“Because I cant. And wont. And perhaps never will…. I cant do it anymore. And also… I found someone else…and she…doesnt want...you know ...us.”

She didn’t say a word. He didn’t say a word. Both of them were relying on the bad connection to end the call. Suddenly that 8 second silence was the longest moment in her life. She had heard of asphyxia but knew what it must feel like to die without air.

The call ended. And she exhaled, forcing ventilation into her system. The moon was out again. It didn’t make any difference anymore.

It took a quick phone call, and she rescheduled the flight to the earliest possible. She had to get out of this city. It was choking her. What followed in next 6 hours till her flight were the longest hours in her life. Her vision was blurring with held back tears. Her arms were aching because she decided not to hire help for her baggage. The hours spent in railway station waiting room was an irony.

'Waiting room’.....? Waiting for what?” she heard herself talking to life in sarcastic tone.

Dragging her ‘baggage’ into the cab, she traveled to the airport in wee hours of the morning. It is peculiar; the kind of thoughts that run in your head when u lose something so vital to your existence. Like a fast forward reel of a silent motion picture. You remember that bully who made fun of you, when you were five years old. You remember that first sloppy kiss with him. You remember that time you fell off the swing and there was no one around to pick you up. You remember walking through rain and shivering in cold because you missed your school bus. You remember the longest hug and the shortest dance. You remember sitting under the table and sobbing because you missed him so much. You remember the taste of your tears as you made love for the first time. You remember his thumb on your collar bone and his smile through your half closed eyes. You remember awkward bike rides, strained emotions of walks in winter and hot tea cups that burnt your tongue. You remember things like the ink of your pen getting dried as you attempt to solve that last question before the exam ends. How one moment in your life magnifies the farthest of memories and yet life seems so distant all of a sudden.

As if the collective sadness of your existence envelopes you and you remember things you never knew before.

As she sat in the plane, watching the crimson sky at the distance, she saw the droplets of rain on the 10 inch window. The sky color changed to grey and a lone teardrop touched her right cheek as she saw the plane leave the city and its people in the distance.

She closed her eyes and hoped she could ‘just breathe’…

Because after all these years, this one time, she knew it was finally over. It was the departure, and the beginning of the end.

"Go Away Closer….. "

Go Away Closer

2009-01-21T10:47:00.011+05:30

I came across this one picture in Goa’s quaint bookshop called Literati in 2007. And it was one of those pictures that never left my head. I think it was just before the book launch of Dayanita Singh’s photography narrative called ‘Go Away Closer’. I remember the oxymoron of the title had made me think. Made me smile and then a little sad.

A few days back, I got into searching for the same book and picture again. And coupled with this, I started extensively reading about the photographer. You can read more about her, here. The most amazing thing was that in her 26 years of career, she has just published 106 photographs!

Go Away Closer is a novel without words. It has a compilation of hand printed photographs. The unique thing I liked in these pictures is that the photographer is able to express the emotion underlying, often abstract concepts, that can only sping from someone who must have experienced the joy and pain of life, distances & emotions.

While reading online about her I came across this - “Singh establishes a connection between her personal losses, and the collective sadness due to lost traditions in the face of technology. Such opposites are ultimately irreconcilable, as embodied by the paradox of the book's title. Singh embraces this uncertainty, and presents visual clues in her photographs into which the viewer can read his or her own biography. Go Away Closer- like all Singh's books- is not about answering questions, but considering the emotion fabric from which they arise.”

I think it must be the idea of ‘collective sadness’ that must have made me remember the picture. I was speaking to my friend about this term of 'collective sadness' and she defined it for me.
“Sum total of all bad times...of all the times we fought and lost in all our lives for something or someone”

For me, ' Collective Sadness' sinks in when someone so vital to your existence goes away that it brings together all the sadness in your life. You remember things you thought you never will. It’s like the every second of sadness in your life comes together and drains the life out of you.

The question is, do you ever come ‘back to life’ after that?

The photographs are about loss but the loss that just brings u closer to the one you let go. The pictures in this book are visual riddles. Images like the Rows of vacant seats in shuttered Mumbai and Kolkata theaters, industrial work sites, and domestic and institutional rooms are all spaces the artist's lens cuts with the sense of recent departures.

Speaking of ‘recent departures’, do departures ever ‘age’? Why do all departures look ‘recent’? For how many of us, the departure of love, loved ones remains fresh and insulated from rest of the memories that left us long back…

Views of abandoned chairs and beds or a pile of floor pillows where someone must be sitting. And no matter how much your brain tells you ‘ it happened a while back’, your heart tells you… “He just left….”

It is also a book about imminent or necessary departures, almost as a condition (in every sense of the word) of intimacy itself. This makes the photographic relation a twin, or ghostly double, of human intimacy: a way of positioning oneself in relation to other people, things and moments.

I like the way photographer has taken access to another’s privacy is only through her necessary or chosen apartness, stopping at the foot of a bed instead of coming closer towards the face on the pillow.

I can’t resist giving example of us blogosphere people. Just like a lot of us read blogs of people who matter to us but stop at just that. Cautioning ourselves not to leave a ‘ foot print’ or a comment. And yet we crave to know what are these ‘people who matter’ doing at what time. We find them breathing and alive through their words and yet live in our ‘mutual aloofness’.

Intimacy or closeness is always, therefore, a regulation of distances, a mix of caution and scruple, though with the necessary provision that within an intimate relation (including that between a photographer and her/ his subject or an author and readers), one can be both the controller of one’s own distance and at the mercy of a distance imposed by the other person. Hence, such an intercourse is kept alive through an unresolved conflict between possession and loss.

In this photograph, the girl lying on the bed turns away from the source of light and also hides her face from the camera. Or has she fallen asleep after returning from school, still in her uniform, shoes and socks, shutting herself out from everything that she is expected to do with the rest of her afternoon. Who is she sending away, and whom or what is she drawing close to her with the same gesture? Is she sad or crying or is she shy and giggling?

Departure and arrival become mysteriously inseparable in some of her photographs. Like photograph of a young bride being hugged, as she already begins to look beyond the shoulder of the woman who is saying farewell to her, towards a distance that seems to give in more than her original intention. Is she going away? Is she happy? Is it her loss? Or she is looking forward to new dreams?

Going away is often an attempt to come closer. Even if it’s not done as an attempt.

Next post is a story …. called “Going Away Closer”

Pic Courtesy: Saatchi Gallery & Gallery Che mould

On Living Life "Hand to Mouth"

2009-01-18T22:16:00.005+05:30

I just discovered totally new (and literal) meaning of this phrase.

You see I’m a big foodie. I wanted to become a food critic at one time. And this coupled with fact that I love cooking, so different cuisines fascinate me. I like my pasta "Al dente" and my Gnocchi hand cooked. Bring me a Greek salad and I will demand just a little bit extra raisins and lesser feta cheese. But today’s post is not about Italian, Lebanese and North West frontier food. Its about my all time favorite cuisine-Indian Street food.

It so happened that I was feeling little under the weather this weekend. And being a north Indian, I seriously believe that ‘good’ food makes everything alright. Add my weakness of being a comfort food eater and you can complete the picture. From Kala Khatta Gola in Bombay to Em Ell chicken tikka rolls in Chandigarh sec 17( I wonder if that corner shop still exists!).

So this Sunday evening, I ( once again) gave in to my craving and headed to Kali Bari stalls of street food. From Bhel to Masala Thumbs Up the only thing I say is ‘ bring it on’. But the choicest moment is eating Puchkas( aka Gol gappas/ pani puri)

Oh God Oh God Oh God!!! These sweet and spicy thingees are so good that I almost feel I have died and gone straight up to heaven. First time my friends in Calcutta took me for street food fest, they did a bit of double take. I had 26 Puchkas non stop( yeah... so?????).

By now they are used to it. So this young guy who serves puchkas gets amazed every single time. Here, they serve it in a leaf plate and the trick is to eat as fast as it’s put in your plate. After 3-4 rounds, he starts looking at me expectantly as to when will I say “ Bus Bhaiya”( which means, I’m Done)

But me? I have to be pulled away from the stall forcefully (every single time).

As a kid, mom was paranoid about me falling sick due to eating Gol Gappas (that’s what they call Puchkas in north India). And now, my guy is paranoid about the same. I guess it must be the rebel in me that wants to overdo eating Gol Gappas every single time.

But I love those 15 minutes. When it’s just me and the water filled crispy dumplings. I love the exact proportion of potatoes inside it.I love the whole ‘art and science’ of eating them. I love the effort of opening my mouth to make sure that I put the whole puchka ‘unbroken’ in it. I love to compliment the young vendor serving me. I love to master the art of keeping perfect distance between my plate and mouth so as to achieve desired acceleration in eating:) I love the speed of water filled Puchka reaching from "my hand to my mouth". I love to alter the sweet and spicy water and then settle with a mix. The thing is, eating Puchkas always make me smile.

You see, when it’s a food like this, you can live “hand to mouth” (that’s the way you eat Puchkas) and nothing satiates the ‘want’ for more!!

PS: If anyone of you would like to have a puchka eating competition with me, I assure you’ll beat u hands down. (and yes! This includes Vodka GolGappas as well)

High Heels & A Bottle Of Chardonnay IV

2009-01-17T14:44:00.009+05:30

Previously I

Previously II

Previously III

Maya woke up with a startle of the telephone ring.Her neck was aching from sleeping on the bean bag. What she heard froze her into the ground . The TV was still set on Star world. She fumbled for the remote and put on NDTV. Maya collapsed.

She came back to conscious with Aditya shaking her up. “Maya!! Are you ok? Hurry up; we are taking a flight to Delhi right now.”

Earlier on TV:
Keeping you posted on the developments of the breaking news of death of Jia Kaif. The body of the 27 year old creative director was found on the ground floor of a five-star hotel in New Delhi last night around 1230 hrs under mysterious circumstances. She had jumped off the terrace of the five star hotel and was declared dead on bringing on to the hospital. Sources in police have informed your channel that this looks like a case of suicide. It is still under investigation as to why Jia was in the hotel last night after missing her flight to Bombay.
In an effort to ascertain whether Jia committed suicide or was murdered, Delhi police are verifying her movements immediately before her death. They have also questioned her ex boyfriend, who was in his own engagement party at the same hotel at the time of accident, sources said. She might have been under the influence of alcohol as an empty bottle of wine and her heels were found on the terrace railing of the hotel.

Taking you to the accident site now, we have with us a few eye witness who had seen her sitting in hotel coffee shop for almost the whole evening. So far, no suicide note has been found.

High Heels & A Bottle of Chardonnay- III

2009-01-16T12:45:00.004+05:30

Previously I

PreviouslyII

Jia was silent for exactly six seconds. Maya knew it because she counted.

“He is good. I’m not sure I’m hopeful about us anymore.” Jia replied curtly.

Maya wanted to reach out and hug her but somehow wanted to watch her talk from the distance. Sometimes eyes are more soothing than the touch. And this moment, she wanted to give Jia all the space she needed. “The inevitable has happened” thought Maya. Jia has finally broken up. And Maya exhaled only to be left breathless next second.

“Maya, I am pregnant. Found out yesterday. Roshan thinks I purposely did it to tie him down and bring him to commit. Infact…he is getting…I mean he is .... actually he is with someone else as I speak this moment.”

The words were devoid of any tone or intonation. Like a flat music note, it hit the walls of the room. They were both quiet for longer than expected. That’s where Maya reached out and held her hand. Jia’s hand was still cold. She wanted Jia to express some emotion. Of loss. Of stress. Of anger. Of fear. But somehow the blankness of her eyes was scary.

“Silly! Don’t worry. I’m here for you. You take your time and decide what you want to do. Roshan may come around. May be it’s the initial shock.”

Maya knew she was lying and trying to weave in false hope to cushion her words. All she wanted to do was push this guy under the Virar fast and watch him being shred to a fine pulp.

“ I’ll think about it tomorrow” Jia said and got up to light a cigarette by the window.

“Should she be smoking?” thought Maya.
Maya wont have understood Jia at that time. Her boyfriend Aditya, adored her and she was lucky that she didn’t understand the drama of a failed relationship. With a few more smokes and last drops of remaining alcohol, they spoke. The way they hadn’t done in ages. Jia spoke about the pain and the aloofness of her being. They sang aloud to ‘Losing my Religion’ by REM and stressing on the lines that mattered.
“Like a hurt lost and blinded fool” yelled Jia. She was blabbering now. Minds incoherent and words nuzzled with pity and pain for themselves.

“Maya, you remember Shaan? Who left college in second year?”
“Who? The specky nerd? Who got ragged badly in first year?” asked Maya wondering what the conversation was all about.

“He used to help me with my physics notes and we kissed once.”
“What?” jumped Maya, “You never told me? And why did you kiss him?”
“I didn’t, he did. And I let him. That time I thought, let me do it as a favor for this guy, clearly, it was his first kiss and he didn’t have a clue.” Jia spoke sleepily as Maya rested hand on Jia’s head. It was their old gesture to soothe any kind of pain.

“But you know. I still remember that kiss. It was real and the most innocent kiss I’ve ever tasted. It was devoid of the charm and tactics. He loved me even when he knew I’m too arrogant to love him back. He didn’t have conditions. He knew nothing will go beyond that one kiss so he never tried. I don’t know why but I miss that guy”

Maya was convinced that Jia is drunk and incoherent by now. Something told her that all is not well with Jia. In years of knowing her, this is the first time something had snapped.
“Don’t worry Jia. It’ll all work out. Tomorrow morning when we wake up, we’ll figure out what to do with Roshan and…” Maya couldn’t find words. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be with you.”

“Maya, I don’t know why but I keep feeling that I ‘m falling into a bottomless pit.”

....

Currently Listening To: Where I Stood- Missy Higgins

High Heels & A Bottle of Chardonnay-II

2009-01-15T11:25:00.004+05:30

Previously

Maya looked at Jia and couldn’t point out what was wrong. She forgot how cross she was and stepped forward to give her a sleepy hug. Did Maya just felt it or was it true? Jia was cold in middle of warm April. And she held on to Maya just a bit longer than usual. Maya knew that the night will soon break into the dawn. She could sense that Jia wanted to talk.

“Didn’t you say, you’re coming to stay for a few days? Where is your luggage?” Maya asked with an amused tension on her face. “Babe! If I’d got the luggage, I wouldn’t have been able to take the last flight too. Never mind! I can live out of your closet for a day or two. Anyways next week is packed up with work and I didn’t get an off for a week”.

Why did Maya feel, there was more to this visit?

Over a bottle of Chardonnay, they ordered the 24 hour pizza and then bummed a smoke from the cute looking fellow. It was like always. Nothing had changed. It started with bitching about bosses and work followed by traffic and then lighter notes of “What have you shopped recently?” It must be 2 am or even later. Both the friends were nicely buzzed after finishing the expensive chardonnay followed by the familiar Old Monk. Pizza was followed by Maggi noodles, and the starving appetite of body and mind had started to satisfy.

“You remember that Pink Floyd song we heard in college?” Jia asked.
“Which one?” Maya questioned back
“Woman! The same which you kept playing all night before my maths exam and I got bugged.”
“Oh that one! ‘High Hopes’? Yeah... mind numbing song. The grass was greener, life was brighter..” said Maya before fading her voice into her thoughts.

"The life was definitely brighter then, wasn’t it?” retorted Jia while staring into blankness.

Maya looked out of the window at the street light and replied dreamily, “What goes by is always more charming and more beautiful. The meanings are clearer as we rationalize what all happened. Try and remember how fucked up we thought life was then. Especially when pocket money would be over every month end. But tell me why did you suddenly want to come here. Is all well? How is Roshan?”

As soon as Maya asked it, she knew she has killed the mood and regretted it.

High Heels & a Bottle of Chardonnay

2009-01-13T00:45:00.003+05:30

Maya was trying to reach Jia since over an hour now. She was supposed to land from Delhi at 10.00 pm and come directly to Olives. “Obviously she would have missed her flight and must be in the next one”, Maya thought to herself. After finishing her second round of Mojito, she decided to consider it a rain check and head back to her house in the congested Mumbai suburb. Driving home in her fiery Red Maruti swift, she was thinking about herself and Jia. They had been friends since school and went on to study in the same college. They even chose to work in the same city of Mumbai dotted with countless night outs, parties, movies and cribbing sessions that lasted the whole night at times.

People who didn’t know them almost thought they were lesbians. Woman bonding creates a sort of intimacy over the years. Afterall, no one understands a woman’s heart better than another. Of course! The guys always imagined it to be the stuff of fantasies and hoped it was true. But the truth was, together these girls could make a lot of things possible. They had been through bad results, bad boyfriends, terrible bosses, mind numbing break ups. And every time, it was just a night of rants with some wine and Pizza. The mornings that followed were usually sunny.

Maya stopped at the choked Khar Subway Jam, the sound of blaring horns made her nervous. She had sensed a lingering stress in Jia’s voice lately. It was all fine till she was in Mumbai. But when Jia decided to move to Delhi to be closer to her long term boyfriend Roshan, she knew things will either ‘make or break’. Maya wasn’t particularly fond of Roshan. Inspite of three years of dating, he still wasn’t ready to give her the ‘ring’ or move in with his girlfriend who belonged to a different faith. All Maya wanted to do was point a cursor at him, right click on it and select the delete option. But Jia had a knack of falling for the wrong guy and Maya decided to stay out of this one.

Today was an uncannily different day. Jia had called in middle of the day and said that she’ll be coming to Bombay for a few days. As the unsaid pact between the girls, Maya didn’t ask why. She was used to erratic mood swings of Jia. Her reckless abandon for life and the drama of handling things. Sometimes Maya thought that Jia has got used to the misery and her pain was an addiction. She had practically seen no good relationship and didn’t know if a man and woman can co exist without reaching for each others throats.

Walking up two flights of steps to reach her small but cosy studio apartment, Maya made a mental note to ‘ drive some sense’ into Jia’s head once they connect. Kicking off her heels at the entrance, Maya reached out for the bottle of water and plonked herself on the bright blue bean bag. She dozed off watching the re run of ‘ Friends’ for the nth time. It must be around midnight that a sharp sound startled and made her jump on her seat. Sleepwalking she opened the door after checking the peep hole.

It was time for another jolt that completely threw her out of the slumber. Jia making faces outside the door with a bottle of wine in her hand. “ Sorry girl! Don’t ask me how did I get late. But I’m here”. And with this, she gave Maya her typical north Indian hug and walked in. Maya noticed that she was barefoot. Without hiding annoyance for her getting late, Maya marched on asking, “Woman! Where the hell are your shoes? Don’t tell me you walked barefoot from Delhi!” Jia didn’t answer. She parked the bottle of Chilian chardonnay in the refrigerator and started fumbling with a packet of Pringles. “I left what hurt me” she mumbled under her breath after a few minutes. Maya didn’t understand the context immediately .It was only after repeating the sentence to herself she understood that Jia was talking bout her shoes.

To be cont..

( Currently listening to: Love song By Sara Barellies)

Games Warriors Play

2008-12-26T16:39:00.001+05:30

In the game of warriors, the struggle doesn’t end. The game is about playing it all out. It’s about slowly stepping out and treading out of the box. Sometimes, a quick marching but then, tip toeing most of the minutes. But then, another thing about the war is that the warriors make their own rules. And some of them like us don’t play by rules at all. They bend them, break them, and twist them to fit into the slow tip toeing. Like a slow dance on a Warfield. So as we draw out swords, the present moment slips by. Grasping our defenses firmly, we pile experience upon more experience. And once we come to this understanding, we will be different people from that point on, although we may not always bear that in mind.

I'd tell you how good my part of game was and you'd say how good yours was. And given first chance, I take the shot at you, just to watch that expression from sidelines. And chuckle at that cut on your left arm. You’d throw your hands in exasperation and tell me “Don’t” , in that way you usually tell me things that makes me want to preserve you, right there and then in that moment for all time, so you'd never lose your innocuous spirit of competition. I’d march on in strong strides and you'd pretend not to notice and you'd keep talking and then take your hand back to emphasize a point. I'd smile to myself because I know you so well, and because you've got spirit and you don't come down easy. But I'd be persistent and grab hold of sword with bare hands and pin it down, and we'd smile at each other as we recognized our ancient game.

Currently listening to: All I want for Christmas is you

Life after Mumbai.....

2008-12-20T00:02:00.000+05:30

I was In Bombay on 26th Nov. As usual, after work I had a plan to step out for dinner with a friend. Close to the year end, days were hectic, and I needed some ' retail therapy' to put me back in the spirit. I left office and headed towards Bandra with a plan to go across to Colaba for Dinner. Had a rain check on dinner with colleague so me and another friend fixed a plan to go to Moshe's in Cuffe Parade. Moshe's has the best food I have ever tasted.

A nagging catch in the shoulder became an unbearable pain by 9.20 pm,and i turned back midway.

I reached my hotel back at 10.25. As I entered the room, I got a call from Dad asking where was I ...

I switched on the TV and what I saw shook the life out of me.

I say on that cold white hotel bed watching the horror unfold till 5.30 am till the sheer exhaustion took over my eyes. Two days I was on tenterhooks.Watching & waiting it to end.

And the sinking feeling in my heart was this only one question, " How can someone do this to my City?"

Six months ago, my house was in Colaba. walking into Tiffin at Oberoi was the most natural thing to do.

I have partied at Polyesters in Colaba, had rolls at Bare Miyan at 3.30 am and had Chai at Gateway of India and welcomed sunrise.

How could this happen?

And honestly, unlike many of you, I cant blame politicians, I cant blame them because I have never bothered to vote. And so I have no right to find ' flaw' with the system that I didn't contribute to.

I just feel vulnerable and sad. Very sad with what happened,and I cant seem to shake this feeling out even after a month of what happened.

I have put together an 7-8 pager on ' what to do if you are caught in a situation like this?'

Most of the people in Taj, Oberoi, CST had no idea what to do in smoke, in firing, explosions. So taking help from a lot of internet resources, especially from manuals in US and homeland security documents, I've tried to put this together. Have already sent it to friends. In case you would like to read it and pass it to friends and even if you want to add to the things listed, I'll be happy to share.

Just drop in ur mail address to me, I'll send it to you. We all contribute in our own ways. This is what I could put together.

And yes, I've also registered to Vote....

PS: Listening to December by collective Soul

Update

2008-12-09T10:56:00.002+05:30

I know I've been out of action on Blogosphere since over two weeks ...
One week went a little stunned after the Bombay Mayhem. And then got sort of consumed in work. Have lots of thoughts to share. Will be posting today itself.

And I have also missed action on a lot of blogs. So a whole lot of catching up to do:)

Currently Listening: House of Cards- Radiohead

The Cold Shower

2008-11-20T19:55:00.004+05:30

She got up with a startle. The curtains masked the sunshine outside. What time would it be? She could not locate the watch next to the bed stand. Wait! She was not sleeping on her side of the bed. Hated it. Hated to lie on the bed in incoherence and not know where she was getting up from. Room was cold from the cool air waltz of the air-conditioning. Cold white sheets on her body threatened to swallow her. The fuzzy feeling of leftover alcohol taste in her mouth made her tongue feel like acrylic. She got down from the wrong side of the bed. Not that she could have done anything about it. She chose it this way.

Her warm feet touched the cold marble floor. The shudder that came as a result of the temperature contrast sent a quiver up her soul. A part of her wanted to open the windows and let the sunshine in. Another part of her just wanted to feel the cold floor. The part, that wanted her to feel the hard ground under her feet. The part, that reminded her about life being more than just a piece of fiction. The part of her, that had started coming and peeping at her ‘make believe perfect’ life from unexpected quarters.

She tip toed into the washroom. Kept her eyes low. She didn’t want to stare into the mirror. No, she was not in a mood to get amused today morning. She longed for a hot shower. To feel the trickle of drops of warm water on her skin. Anything for warmth.But her thoughts were playing a different tune. She needed to gather herself this one time. Life has to be taken out of a book now. She turned on the knob of the shower and stood there. Water was ice cold. She did not shiver. She didn’t move an inch. Perhaps the coldness outside was way lesser than her cold cold heart.

How did it go so wrong? She thought she planned life in a perfect way. He had met all the criteria requisite for happy ending. But may be she forgot to factor in happy beginnings and happy mid term in the story. And honestly, who has seen an ending?

Water ticked on her skin. She just sat under the shower. Watching the steady stream of droplets shining in the luminous sheen of the 100W bulb. Water droplets rested on her limbs like flowing mercury drops glistering with the blinding gloss. Her fingertips were wrinkled from the cold. From the wetness of water.

She didn’t use the shampoo or the soap to clean herself. She didn’t want to smell any fragrance. Nor did she want to feel anything except the cold cold water. They say water cleans it all. Will she be able to rub it off unsoiled from her life? Can water undo the meanderings of her untamed mind? That longed for the clear blue skies and vastness of water?

Knock Knock!

“Yeah..,” she replied while turning off the shower.
“Baby! Gotta leave for office early today. You’ve been there since an hour now”, he echoed from outside.
“Just a sec”, she murmured under her breath.

She enveloped herself in a crisp white towel and stepped out.

“Good Morning”
“Morning” she aptly answered. Searching for some smile, some warmth in his eyes.

She looked at him with her large brown eyes and nodded, still unable to speak due to the lump in her throat. He gave her a half smile, and then turned to walk and shut the door. She heard the door shut behind him.

She sank on her side of the bed. And suddenly the cold droplets of water on her shoulder were warmer compared to the direction of wind outside.

Sometimes even a cold shower feels warmer than the coldness outside....

The Edge of Heaven and the 4 Inch Heels

2008-11-13T11:55:00.008+05:30

I always feel that for me, to get comfortable in a city, I need to first find my feet there and do things on my own. So yesterday morning I wanted to check if some good movie is playing and I came across this one show of the movie ‘The Edge of Heaven’. I knew its an award winning Turkish/ German movie. It had been a while since I went for a movie on my own( I do that pretty regularly). And here is how the plan hatched.

I decided to finish off my work by 5.00 pm and reach a little in advance to get the 7.20 pm show ticket. I reached early and my feet carried me to my heavenly abode. I stepped into the newly revamped shoe section of shoppers stop. Like a woman possessed, I tried on shoes after shoes. I knew that I shouldn't. I knew that I don’t need them. I knew that I just bought a pair less than a week back. And then I saw this 4 inch thin heeled peep toe pumps. And I sat on the couch and exhaled. I know my heart skipped a beat. As I touched the shiny leather and a band of black satin, with a touch that lingered a little longer. Then I slipped my feet into them. As I stepped in those heels, and went a step above the ground, I knew my calling. These shoes wanted me to take them home. And that’s what I did. It was love at the first site.

I hurriedly bought the shoes and a dress to go with it. Burnt a hole in my pocket (again!) and ran towards the cinema counter to get myself a ticket. On my way I kept thinking that should Shopping malls and Cinemas be banned from being in same premises? Look at me! I came to watch a movie for 200 bucks and spent 6K on shoes and dress I didn’t need.( OK ! those shoes? I needed them. I wanted them! I had to have them!!!)

As I nervously stood in the queue hoping to get a good seat, my mind kept reminding me of my vulnerability with shoes. “You should try therapy”, my logical mind said in the silence of loud music outside.

Why cant movie hall guys get used to women walking in to get a single ticket? This chap asked me thrice,” Mam’ only one ticket?”. When I just couldn’t hold it back I gave him ‘that look’ and said, “If you want, you can bill me for two but its just one ticket I want guy.”

Peace.

Shoe Girl then stepped into the dark movie hall to catch the film.

I’m not going to write about movie review here because; you can get it on at least dozen websites. Here are 6 things I observed in the movie.

*Our lives, as the lives of the characters in the movie cross and entwine at unexpected quarters. The sense of human connections becoming stronger and thicker. A classic example of the six degrees of separation.

*Love makes you go the distance. Sometimes sooner and sometimes a tad too late. But it does.

*It’s not always that ‘Happy Endings’ occur once the distance is crossed.( ‘ Occur’ is the only word I could use) Here, twice in the movie, people die just when they think they are close to their happy ending. Ironic! Isn’t it?

*A fragile moral order flows as a surface current , above the randomness and cruelty of modern life.

*Thing can get messed up at any time. Anyhow.

*We pass million human beings never realizing if one day we’ll get connected to them. The girl who smiled at you at the shoe shop years ago, while you were trying out that beautiful crimson shoe, might end up becoming you Ex’s current girlfriend some day. Such is life!

I liked that the characters are real. Non-glamorous. Sometimes not pretty. And they all have their scars. Some physical and some unseen. More than a film, it’s an assortment of people, incidents, unflashy realities and predictably unexpected turns.

PS: the Guy who plays Nejat is Soooo hot!( in a nerdy sort of way). I almost had a crush. His name is Baki Davrak.

Currently Listening: Collide By Howie Day

IN HIS SHOES

2008-11-11T15:06:00.006+05:30

I know I run another blog with the same name and this article has nothing to do with it. This heading is chosen for a pure lack of better name hitting my brain. Recently, I was reading about a dating expert who claimed that you can tell everything you need to know about a potential date by the type of shoes he's/she's wearing.

So I will only write about what a man’s shoes might have to do with romantic relationships.

A person's shoes can tell you all you need to know -- before you ever go out on a date, cup of coffee or even meet the parents: questions such as who is he? How does he feel about himself? And what can you expect from him in the relationship?

The reason, many experts believe that shoe can be used for knowing a person better is that we don't get to choose everything in life. But we do get to choose our shoes! Shoe Personality Predictions are fast gaining momentum and are accurate because they turn the spotlight on our habits and attitudes through our choice in shoes. How we do one thing is generally how we do all things. What we choose to express through our shoes is also what we choose to express (or not express!) in life and our romantic relationships.

According to Donna Sozio, the author of ‘Never trust a man in alligator Loafers’ says the biggest clues come from three key areas: Material, Condition and Maintenance.

Material
Material is typically a sign of his 'outer skin.' Is the material of his shoes dull, shined, or 'distressed?' Is it soft, flexible or easily scuffed? Or is it hard and rigid? The qualities that the material of his shoes expresses are a sign of what to expect from him in the relationship -- especially when you see that he prefers only a certain kind of texture.

If he only has soft, easily scuffed soft leather shoes. That would indicate that he has a high level of sensitivity and he's easily hurt. Or if all his shoes are made with stiff and rigid material, he may be trying to protect himself or have put up a wall to his heart.

Condition
The Condition of the shoe supersedes the brand every time. It's not about how much you have. It's about putting your best foot forward with what you do have. That is what gets you where you want to go, especially in a relationship. A no-name shoe in good condition speaks more highly of a man than a dirty, falling-apart Prada.

If his shoes consistently are unraveled, frayed or distressed, you might want to ask yourself the question, 'Where is he is unraveling, fraying or distressed?' Similarly, I hate guys with unpolished shoes. Even body odor is forgivable but dirty shoes- No sir. To me, the condition of a man's shoes indicates the condition of his outlook in life.

Maintenance
The way his shoes are maintained offers the last clue in the shoe analysis. Just like relationships, shoes need maintenance, otherwise their condition will suffer. What is his attitude towards sole maintenance? Does he grumble and groan when his shoes need repair? Or does he do the necessary work to keep his shoes well maintained? Does he carelessly kick around and doesn’t bother if the shoe gets chipped? When the condition of his shoes needs some work, what does he do? Throw them out and get a new pair? Or does he get them resoled? How a man takes care of his shoes indicates how well he takes care of himself, which sometimes indicate just how well he is able to take care of you.

Infact Donna categorises men into the kind by the choice of their shoes. But honestly, I feel that we should not dissect and generalize it so far.

According to her, the shoes that have 'Mr. Right potential' are the ones that express the very same qualities that you are looking for in a man. This is not a 'one size fits all' situation. You need to find the right fit for you. When it comes to relationships, the wrong fit hurts more than 'just a little’

Women love shoes. They are in fact devotees of the sole. When they see that a man has interest in or respect for what they love, they consider him to have potential. When a man disrespects what women love, the natural thought that runs through their mind is, “what else will he disrespect that is dear to us?”

Men don't often say much--but their shoes speak volumes

Last word: How can you know if the guy is a skilled lover?
A man who gives himself the time and attention to leisurely slip on his shoes (rather than cram his foot in and then run out the door) will most likely be a skilled lover.

That’s a good tip:)

With Inputs from published interviews of Shoe Guru Donna Suzio

Random Thoughts

2008-11-08T20:13:00.001+05:30

I view things from far away.

One corner of my mind registers the things going on around me - a sincere minute-jotter. Nothing is part of me. Nothing is real. It's only me that counts. It's only me who remains, long after ruminations of what is gone and memories of elapsed time is scattered to the wind.
Only me, me and nature.
So what drives us?
Primeval impulses. Mechanically we go in the flow, we eat, talk, earn, and make love.
I carry on with the same flow too, day after day, night after night, time and again reminding myself that one day it will be all worth it. One day. Telling myself that I have a dream and it is finally within grasp. Within my reach. If only I could just take a moment to remember what my dream was.
Sometimes, the inside of my heart feels like vacuum. Loneliness descends suddenly, like a cold damp cloth over my thoughts. Things seem clouded. Grey mists swell around. Nothing seems real.
The moments of life lost in the process of living. Emotions take over, Passions take over. We are connected to each other by intricate webs of our emotions. Is there such a thing as happiness and sorrow after all? Or is there only one state of life?
The being state where you 'Be' , totally and complete aware of yourself, aware of your heart beat, aware of each breath you take, aware of the tangled webs surrounding u, but still realize that you weaved them all. You asked for it .
But then is there a state of mind where food and sleep does not matter, a state where you are one with the wind. Free…free from constraints, of any sort.
So the question is …What is realization? The ultimate realization?

Of Night Rituals, Morning Habits and other Quirks

2008-11-04T19:37:00.002+05:30

It’s like trying a shoe lace without even looking at the knots. Over the years we develop assorted patterns of the way we do things. Year after year, repetitively without realizing how much these innocent set of tuned actions divulge about the profundity of our characters.

Mornings are strange. Except some four five times a year, I’m never kicked about getting up in the morning. It’s a chore. But they say that the way person is in morning says a lot about them. My grandfather used to reach out for his comb and settle his hair before he even stepped out of the bed. He did that till he was about 90 years old. The flamboyance and the charm were unmatchable. One of the girls in my hostel used to love singing first thing in the morning. She was sweet but can’t say the same about her voice. No wonder in second year of college, the warden gave her the room in the far end of the corridor. Then there are others who need to see the same news they saw last night in a print form. A friend of mine won’t even open his eyes when he’d wake up. Once I was surprised to see him walking to the kitchen and back with closed eyes in the morning.

I knew this couple in college; the guy would bring his girlfriend tea and crisp toasts from canteen every morning. I thought that was rather cute before the girl would wake up with a short fuse on most of the mornings.

Some people look at their palms; others take the name of their god. And a whole lot of them start their day with ‘Oh! Fuck’ on seeing how late they’ve got up.

I hate mornings. I’m just not a morning person. All I do is switch on my world space radio and tell myself, whichever song will play will give me a ‘sign’. Needless to say that Himmesh Reshammiya has ruined quite a few mornings if my choice of channel is awful. I ‘m actually dazed till ten am or two cups of black coffee (whichever happens first). So for me, the morning meetings are the worst of the lot. Half the things go unregistered.

It’s the night that is more charming. We all have some or the other night ritual. It’s that last thing we do before the sleep clouds our conscience and ushers us into quietness. It is a custom we follow unknowingly. It’s that one sip of Brandy or a stroll in the balcony. Its that last drag of cigarette or a generous amount of hand cream. It’s that last whiff of fragrance, a glass of milk, a small prayer, a long goodnight kiss or that one sleeping pill. In one of my favorite Enid Blyton series of Malory Towers, there was a girl named Gwen who would brush her hair hundred times before sleeping. My mom likes to watch TV and she’ll peacefully sleep before the nail biting suspense thriller unwraps. My guy puts nasal drops before he hits his sleep (LOL!). In college, my roommate used to put this obnoxiously repulsive balm before sleep. Another girl would put some or the other rancid smelling face packs (my best friends roommate). The thing about studying in a hostel is that you get to see a lot of people ‘up close and personal’. It can make you a great people watcher if nothing else.

I have a weird habit of entering my bed after washing my feet. I feel that if I don’t sleep with clean feet I get nightmares. When I was learning how to read tarot cards, I used to sleep with them under my pillow. I know a lot of people who sleep with the new things they buy. A friend keeps the shopping bag closely tucked near the bed. Some people stare at a familiar photograph by the bedside lamp. I have even slept with my shoes on twice. Once when I was too drunk and passed out on bed with shoes on. Another time when the new stilettos I bought were so pretty and expensive that I wanted to check if it gives me a better sleep.

My bedside lamp has at least four books if not more and I feel rich when I have to choose what I want to read tonight. In hostel, during winters, I used to iron my bed and sleep. Years after I left hostel, I used to do it in Mumbai monsoons. There is something so comforting in a warm bed that takes away all your days stress. I have often woken up in middle of the night to make sure that the sheets are not creased. Many people sleep to music. I too did it for many years but now music keeps me awake and the memories associated with songs are usually enough to keep me stirring till dawn.

It’s that final check on the alarm and one more time that you’d check your mail. And hope ‘that mail’ hits the mailbox. Put down that book and shut that light. A few stares in the dark before you tell yourself, it’s too late and another day awaits you. I guess that’s pretty much the end (or the beginning) of the night.

Some Souls ... Some Fate

2008-10-30T10:30:00.003+05:30

She's young, smart, and successful…or so they tell her. She's got a great career ahead; she's really going places. She's outdone everybody's expectations, especially her own. Who'd have thought of it? Small town girl, Miss ‘Don't Know Nothing About Anything’ comes to wild world with a suitcase full of dreams (packed neatly alongside her sky-blue toothbrush and matching pajamas) and ricochets her way through a modern day corporate fairytale. From thick steel rimmed glasses to stilettos, from royal blue inkpots to laptops, from pigtails to Versace, she's made it big.

She's a regular party animal. Gone are the old days and gauche ways. She's been to every nightclub in town, tried every cocktail available in a best of bars (and some that aren't), she's been to all the happening places, met all the right people, she's done it all.

She's everybody's best friend; who can resist those stars in her eyes and when they tell her she's beautiful, who is she to argue.... even the bad PJ's she cracks at 4 in the morning are forgiven; everybody loves a happy gal, right? So she dances like an angel and sets the dance floor on fire. So she walks into a room in those high heels and lights it up with her smile. So she laughs away everybody's sorrows like potent alcohol does and she's about as addictive. When she talks people listen…when she walks, people watch.

You watch her too, you watch her all the time. You were there when she was alone in that corner. When she was clumsy and messed up. You were there when she knocked the door which you never opened. The calls she made you that you never acknowledged.The distance she finally covered for you. You just watched her walk away.... and you did nothing. Just stood in the shadows, with that glass in your hand, filled to the brim with that drink you never drank because you were already high just watching her. All these years, you cringed when she danced with others and silently rejoiced when she left them. You've had your share of women too, some would say more than your share, but how many were worth the trouble. By now, you've given up deluding yourself on the reason why.

Do you remember the day she wanted to weep on your shoulder and you were too scared to hold her because you had other commitments? I bet you do. Do you remember that time she asked you to dance and you gently shook your head because you didn't think it was such a good idea? Well, she may have found other shoulders to cry on and other people to dance with and you really don't have anyone else to blame, but yourself.

And, even now, after all these sorry moments, you're still deluding yourself. You think that life is finally ‘perfect’ for you. In your make believe world of ‘contentment’ with someone else. But, of course. She has run away from it… from you. Your shrink would tell you that your self-esteem sucks, but you're too smart to listen to a shrink, aren't you? Maybe that was the problem all the time. You were just too damn smart. You were smart enough to make all the choices, at the wrong time, to decide what was best for you and better for her. You had a wonderful time playing god and then walking past as if nothing ever happened. Never bothered to look back.

I salute you, mister god; you've done a damn fine job of ruining two people's lives.

So you're standing in the shadows, watching her, with that drink in your hand. You watch, but you don't see. How every time someone twirls around, she tries to sneak a glance in your direction. How every time you turn to get a refill, her hungry eyes follow your every move. And how she closes her eyes and pretends its you she's dancing with.

Two souls. Two lonely, lonely souls. Bonded by memories and separated by everything else. There's a lesson in here, somewhere. A lesson as simple as the pain of wanting and as complex as the joy in it.

Or so they say…Some souls , some fate.

Cleaning Up My Closet

2008-10-27T11:55:00.004+05:30

Monday Morning just before a festival like Diwali can be really challenging when it comes to waking up on time. And then comes even bigger challenge… WHAT TO WEAR. Something that can be qualified as festive and yet formal for a Monday morning.

Opening my cupboard, I had to scream, “Oh No!” It was a mess. Now let me state a few things here. I’m a very ‘organized’ and ‘Spic and span’ kind of person when it comes to my room/ my house. My friends tease me as Monica (from FRIENDS). But My closet is my very very personal space. This is usually cluttered (aptly). In this new house, I have two full length cupboards stuffed with clothes. I cant discard them and I cant stop buying the new ones. Hence the ‘Oh No!!!’ screams in the morning because the clothes were falling off.

Now this may sound like meaningless information to many but women will relate to this method of segregating clothes. Western Formal, Indian Formal, Indo-western, semi formal, T shirts, clubbing clothes, party clothes, boring party clothes for the boring parties, 'I will surely impress you' clothes, new denims, old denims, ' very old denims, torn denims you love some much that you cant ditch, college T shirts, torn & tattered T shirts (sentimental value), clothes that fit very well, clothes that I have grown out of but aim to fit into one day (READ: inspirational). Then there are ‘must haves’ of this season, ‘Not sure if its in’ for next season, ‘ I’m positive this will come back into fashion’ clothes. And then of course everyone has the clothes that they buy but not sure what to wear it with!

I now have another category ( unfortunately a growing one) of the clothes I've got as presents. Especially from my guy. His sense of fashion as weak as a electricity supply in a single phase. You see, I can’t wear them (that GREEN SHIRT!!Ugg) and I can’t discard them. So I just park them to an old dark corner in my closet.

If someone would device a method to interpret personalities by looking at people’s closet, I would be a ‘collector’. I just find difficult to let go of things I buy. This includes the wrong buying decisions as well.

But the reason of writing this post was something different. Today morning I got reminded of dad when I opened my closet. As a kid, I had my own space since I was 4 or 5 years old. My room, my table, my cupboard. And he insisted that I clean it all myself. So I grew up with a fierce sense of personal space. The good thing was, I was never afraid where I’d keep my personal diary (because no one would touch it). A not so good thing was the sense of responsibility and the pressure that came with managing it on my own.

It was almost a fortnightly Sunday ritual. My closet would be messy and then dad will come and take out all the clothes out and throw them on the adjoining bed amidst my protests. He would just say, ‘Now clean your mess.’ And I would (I had to). Spending Sunday s doing the unglamorous work of arranging my cupboard was a detesting thought (it still is) but as I grew, I learnt to take out time every now and then to do it myself. There were times in middle of exams that I’ll start with the cleaning ritual and mom would offer help. But I was too used to ‘cleaning my own mess in my own way’ by then. Over the years, it became therapeutic in a way. Every time, I would need spring cleaning in my head, I’d start with my messy closet.

So a day before Diwali, I pondered. This is my Closet and everything inside is mine. I know, It has got messy over time but one fine day, when I have energy to do so, I’ll throw the clutter out and rearrange life. New form, new lines, new arrangements.

And then till the time, it gets messed up again… I wont have the ‘ oh no!’ moments.

Cheers:P

Shoes and Wine

2008-10-25T11:57:00.003+05:30

Spent my Saturday doing some random photography. I usually shoot outdoors and most of all love to click people. Nothing better than a human face/ shape as a subject. But wanted to stay at home today so thought, why not shoot a few of my shoes( I have almost 92 pairs:)). here is the shot that describes weekend. Pretty shoes and some good wine.

This is my one of my fav pairs. Its basic black with a huge red ruby stone. Picked it up from Charles and Keith store in Delhi. The best thing about this high heels is that its an 'Any time. Any occasion. Any dress' kind of shoe. What I like best is the red stone color. Its the shade of Merlot Wine.

Will Post rest of the shoes in subsequent posts...

A Whiff of Memories

2008-10-24T10:34:00.005+05:30

Last week I was in Delhi. And the conspicuous smell of approaching winters was in the air. The dewy fragrance of garden curled its way to my senses. Numerous wafts of flavors bring out arbitrary reminiscences. The mellow heat of march announces the start of summers.

The most vivid ones are of the school days. Especially of the new books at the beginning of every year. The brown paper covers. My animated enthusiasm about the crisp new pages has always remained in me. Even today when I step into a book store, the heady scent of books is compelling enough to stroll around and pick a few of them.

Every time my nose twitches to catch the notes of various scents, familiar memories plays back in the mind like a re run of movie. Fragrances and memories are alike in many ways. They get relegated to unknown corners of the mind and riposte when you least expect it to. I remember people with fragrances as well. For dad, it’s that childhood memory of tobacco mixed with after shave. Some fragrances are elusive. Like a honey blossom kind that I get when I open mom’s cupboard.

Just found out that the word ‘perfume’ comes from Latin origin and it means ‘through smoke’. But isn’t that essence of all fragrances. It disappears and sublimes into nothingness even as you live it. Life sustains just a tint of smell in form of memory.

It’s the smell of steaming idlis in neighborhoods of Bangalore in the morning. The sniff of omelets at Ajmer station. The cutting Chai in Mumbai. The aroma of home cooked food. Coconut oil in hair on Sunday mornings. A whiff of Single malt while having a drink with dad. That expensive leather bag you want to keep wrapped up. The fresh basil used while cooking. Stale wine from last party reminds me of a board game with friends. The reek of alcohol after a night of getting wasted. A room full of pizza crumbs and salty smell of tears after a heart break. Mango bloom and summer treks take me to my childhood. Fragrance of mom’s old sarees winds into my thoughts and I wonder if I’ll be happy like her some day. I can raise memories with fragrances in my imaginary scrapbook. These tints hung in the air transport me back to places.

Books with yellowed pages, dog fur, bouquet of sharpened pencils, crayons, freshly mowed lawn, unfinished oil on canvas, smell of earth after the rain, smell of sea and sand, love letters with drops of perfume, new shoes from the box, laundry dried on a sunny day, that breath, the smell of saliva on your skin. The whiff of first love making. Sweat and tears mixed with smell of rubber. The memory of the salty smell of his skin. That last kiss and breath mixed with insatiable greed to never let go. The meaningless perfection in how his hands smelt on your face. It is the odor that completes the experience of a memory.

‘When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered…the smell of and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls…bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory’- Proust

These days Shoe girl is enchanted by Sarah Jessica Parker’s perfume- ‘Lovely’ and Burberry’s ‘Weekends’.

Walking Barefoot

2008-10-22T01:38:00.006+05:30

She looked at the bed. It looked comfortable. White and crisp. She had come to this hotel on work before. But this time he’d booked a better room. She wondered what the view from the window would be like. She didn’t have energy to get up from the couch to undraw the curtain. She heard the familiar sound of water in full stream. He was taking a shower. He told her how much he’d like a hot shower. The dinner was ordered in the room. A penne carbonara for him and a simple spaghetti arrabiata for her. A candle was lit and wine ordered. She was wearing the little red dress he’d gifted her in the evening. It fit her at just the right places. Enough cleavage- Check. Enough leg visibility – check. Enough fragrance- check. Six inch heels- check.

They spoke about politics and sports as they ate food. She nibbled on a slice of garlic bread while making a mental note to pop a mint after dinner. They spoke at length about Sachin’s new milestone. He was glad she liked sports. A woman you can talk about sports to, who understood the adrenalin rush and the sweat was always a turn on.

He looked at her as she wrapped the spaghetti in the fork and rolled out her tongue to eat. Watching a woman eat could also be a part of the fore play. He would steal a look to see the way she would press her lips after every bite. The way she’d open her mouth and he’d see a glimpse of her tongue followed by the teeth. He nails were neatly trimmed and the tips were white. Then she would lift the wine glass and the Merlot red color would compliment her lips.

The dinner was finished and they both knew what would follow. The room was charged sexually as they waited for the plates to be cleared out of the room. He felt in control of things. She precisely knew the sequence of events will follow. The dress was taken off and but she didn’t throw it aside. She neatly folded it and put it on the couch. The lingerie ritual was as expected. It was removed with surgeon’s precision. The cold sheets touched her back as she closed her eyes and submitted herself. A manipulative moan at the right time and a perfect arch of back did the trick again. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her. His eyes were wide open as always. She thought he’d say something but he didn’t. She was glad in a way.

The alcohol and the fatigue had started playing by then. Sweet sleep was setting in. She looked at his Rolex parked at the bedside lamp. It was 2 am. She tiptoed to the bathroom. It was her turn now. As she stood under the shower she pondered if she wanted to increase the water temperature. The cold bits pinched her skin but she let it be. Pulling out a pair of old jeans and a black T shirt from her oversize hand bag she applied moisturizer to her face.

She could hear him snore now. Slipping into her heels, she picked up the white envelope from the familiar place. He always keeps it near the TV. Looking at the red dress, she decided that it should be packed. She hated the dress but shoved it into her bag.

It took an hour of cab ride. She got stuck near the airport. There was a traffic jam even at that unearthly hour. She slipped out of her stilettos before she turned in the keys of her apartment. As she treaded in silence, the cold marble floor numbed her feet.

Her housekeeper was fast asleep on the kitchen floor so she dropped the idea of coffee. Se just went her room and stood there for a minute. He was sleeping the most peaceful slumber. Her sixteen month old baby was sound asleep. She held his bed sheet in her fist and took his breath in for a while.
“Mommy will do anything for you baby”, she whispered as she smelt Johnson’s baby powder and milk in a familiar concoction of smell. She tucked away the envelope in her locker. “She was a single mom and proud of herself”, she echoed within and popped a pill before sleeping next to her kid.

In His Shoes

2008-10-21T14:06:00.003+05:30

In last few years, all sorts of media have been flooded with stories about ‘Single woman and the city’. I keep wondering, why haven’t I read or seen much about ‘A single guy in the city.’ A story of his heart breaks quirks and innocuous attempts at finding love.

Now I am a thorough bred feminist and wont leave an opportunity to tell the men that we woman are smarter. But I have been wondering for a few days if it’ll be ‘fun’ enough to get into a guys shoe and write on things that he feels, imagines, touches, sees and interprets. We woman always complain that men don’t understand us but we can read them through and through. This story is an attempt to skim the truth of this statement from the farce.

In His Shoes is a story of Jitendra Malhotra aka Jim as his friends call him. Like I have written in the blog, Jim is your average, everyday kind of guy. The intention is not give him any shade or make him ' Real' or ' Fictious'. So he walks trough life tripping, falling and sometimes crawling.

I also want to establish that a whole lot of things might not be amusing for few. Men will not agree to a lot of stream of thoughts. But Jim is my creation and my Vodoo Doll. And I’ll hold the strings here.

The Men In My life- Part 2

2008-10-20T08:04:00.001+05:30

RHETT BUTLER

Any girl worth her salt who has read Gone with the Wind must have fallen in love with Rhett Butler. Ironically, when I read Gone with the Wind for the first time, I completely ignored Rhett. I was too mesmerized by Scarlett O Hara. It was only the second time I read this book in college that I understood Rhett. And I told myself, only Rhett could Love Scarlett.

Rhett Butler is another man with the darker side of grey shades (I have a knack of falling for the wrong guys). Loves gambling and is a speculator. Women see him as handsome and dashing, and an infusion of ‘bad boy’. He has just enough ingredients to turn them on. His love and devotion for his child made him sexy, and he spoiled the women he loved. Needless to say, we all women like guys who spoil us.

But I loved the way he loved Scarlett. Period.

He is the only guy who sees through her meanness and arrogance. She is incredibly selfish and petty at the same time. She marries him for money and security (her third marriage). And the man still hopes that she will love him back one day. The patience this guy shows is commendable. Loving and waiting for someone for twelve years mustn’t have been easy. Throughout the story, I empathized with him and kept hoping someone would love me like that. Irrespective of me getting mean, rude and nasty. Wonder what it would be like to have a guy you can run away from and keep coming back to. Whoa! That was me as a teenager I guess. (We all believe in fairy tales at that time and ask too much out of life.)

Some of the Rhett Butler’s lines that I love

"I love you. Because we're alike. Bad lots both of us. Selfish and shrewd but able to look things in the eye and call them by their right name."

"No, I don't think I will kiss you. Although you need kissing badly. That's what wrong with you. You should be kissed and often by someone who knows how."

"I can't go all my life waiting to catch you between husbands."

Rhett can see through Scarlett’s eyes. Her thoughts are like glass house to him and he reaches out to her every time she needs him.For a woman (and that too a strong woman) a man being able to read her like a book, can be a strong pull and an incredible turn on.

Rhett also introduced me to the universal truth of “men will never demonstrate their love for you” (when you want them to). But when they do, one must be nice to them. The quaint thing is, we women are too proud to be good to men. We all have a Scarlett in us, who will go weak in the knees when Rhett kisses her but she can still reduce the relationship to shambles and watch him walk out and cry after that.

Never learnt the lesson…

My heart was broken when he walked out on her. I never read the sequel because I could not bear to see Scarlett struggle to get him back. There is nothing more heart breaking for a woman than to see the man she loves walks out without the hope that he’ll come back. That too a man who can love her like nobody can. Sometimes a woman can muddle up the relationship single handedly.

I’m told that the sequel brings them back but the truth remains that in ‘real’ life, Rhett Butler (if exists) once walks out, never comes back.

Sex is in the High Heels

2008-10-19T04:48:00.002+05:30

Sometime early this year, there was big news flash about how high heels can improve your sex life.A study suggests Wearing high heels may improve your pelvic floor muscles and in doing so boost your sex life (!!!)
I'm not sure how much of this might be true but definitely High Heels ‘while’ making out can definitely improve a lot of things.

Physically high heel shoes, and specifically the sexy stiletto, are the source of much debate. Everyday a new study comes out with resounding voices saying that high heels are physically detrimental. Foot doctors say that continual use of high heels with narrow toe space can actually lead to foot deformities. They also say that among the litany of problems to which stilettos and other heels contribute are knee and back problems.

I have been through article after article, TV show after TV show explaining the science of High Heels. They all say the same things. It makes the leg look longer (and men lust after long legs). Some say that when it comes to women, ‘tall is attractive’. I personally have mixed view on this. I have a dated a guy who was over six feet and I didn’t ‘have’ to wear high heels to match upto him. (I was rather happy being petite one in kitten heels at that time.) Other experts of women anatomy say that ‘in addition to making women taller, high heels force the back to arch, pushing the bosom forward and the buttocks rearward, thus accentuating the female form’ (What crap!!!)

My favorite quote on this is by a super model called Veronica Webb: ‘High Heels puts your ass on a pedestal, where it belongs’
To me a good pair of high heels is like a hot sports car. You might not need it but you ‘want’ it, crave for it, savor it, and worship it. You got to have it.

High heel is paramount of feminism. Women who wear stilettos, not only do it to feel sexy, they also enjoy their stilettos and all the nuances that come along with them. It puts you inches above the ground and you look at the world in ‘eye’. For me, the more difficult the day at work, the higher the heels. It’s a simple math. It’s the ‘balance act’ that helps me balance my mind. In Allison Pearson's bestselling novel I Don't Know How She Does It, the protagonist is a professional woman who continually refers to the "armor" she wears into the office. Whenever she has a particular need to impress, her suits get more expensive and her shoes get taller, she pointedly says "Walking is not the point." The point is power and autonomy.

High heels give you that confidence that oozes sexuality. After all ‘good sex’ is only when you feel good.

On being Happily Unmarried

2008-10-17T23:25:00.003+05:30

I was in Delhi last week and as usual I think that Delhi is ‘THE’ best place to shop. My friend was running a stall in the night flea bazaar at Select Citywalk Saket. After meandering along the eclectic stalls in the up market Flea bazaar, I thought let me step into the mall and get myself a pair of shoes ( again again again!)

That’s when I came across the brand new Kiosk of HappilyUnmarried products. Happily unmarried creates and markets some uber cool bunch of things. It was started by two of my super- super seniors at MICA.

When I was studying there, the legend was that these guys decided to abandon the corporate Jig and open a café at Goa.After shopping for some stuff at the kiosk and finishing my Diwali present shopping for friends, I called up Rajat Tuli, one of the owners of the brand. I wanted to congratulate him because the newer stuff added to collection was very creative. Also, I sheepishly asked him.” Did you guys really run a café at Goa?” to which he said yes. They had some innovative milkshakes at the cafes and perhaps he was being generous so he shared his fav one with me. I have tried it at home and it tastes kickass. Its Orange Juice Milkshake called- ‘Something- Something( actually I don’t know ‘ what’ ) Sunrise’

‘Something’ Sunrise

1 Cup orange juice1 Cup Milk
½ Cup Crushed Ice
Put all in a blender and process for 2 minutes or until frothy and blended. Top it up with some vanilla Ice cream if you are not on Diet!

In case you guys want some ‘out of the box’ Diwali things for your friends, you can also purchase the stuff at one of the many stores/ kiosks that stock the material. My personal favorites are The ‘Sandaas’ ashtray, The Beer Glasses and the Bhojpuri Shot glasses (These are the best!)

Source of Pics: Happily Unmarried Website
PS1: I can’t get over the Bhojpuri Shot glasses
PS2: Anyone ever thought of starting something called ‘unhappily married’? * LOL*

The Men In My Life- Part I

2008-10-15T23:05:00.000+05:30

HOWARD ROARK

“Howard Roark, Rand's main protagonist, is "tall and gaunt"- "His hair was neither blond nor red, but the exact color of ripe orange rind." An aspiring architect with a unique and uncompromising creative vision, he contrasts sharply with the staid and uninspired conventions of the architectural establishment. He ignores the driving preoccupations of the world around him: wealth, status, social standing among the elite. Roark takes pleasure in the act of creation. But, he is constantly opposed by "the hostility of second-hand souls", the second-handers; those unwilling or afraid to recognize his creative ability."

Well! This is how a lot of people and Wikipedia defined Howard Roark.

For me, Roark was tall and strong, not particularly muscular. He was all straight angles, like the structures he build. He is introduced, standing naked on a cliff, laughing, staring down into the caverns of granite. He’s a rebel, and doesn’t confirm and thus his dean threw him out of the college. The authority as usual, couldn’t stand the challenge.

Howard Roark, to me, he was anything but a protagonist. He was antithesis of whatever was expected out of him and may be that added to his forbidden charm. Here I was learning to be ‘sane’ young adult and Howard Roark comes marching in my life and talks about ‘WHY?’ At the risk of sounding too dramatic, I’d still say that ‘why’ approach clicked with me and I was never able to live the ‘sam(n)e’ way again. Howard is not just the hero but also the defendant, the guy who faces most disappointments and yet doesn’t react to it. He is about the‘I’. And that ego and arrogance makes him the eye of the storm throughout the story.

And then there was Dominique Francon. She was his alter ego. I can recall the part where she sees him, drill in hand, all sweaty, and there's no turning back. The sex explodes in a "rape by engraved invitation," as put by Ayn Rand herself.Throughout the book, one gets glimpses of her masochism and the pain of not being with Roark. But it was the way she would smoke that fascinated me. That’s precisely the time, I wanted to try my first cigarette which I did.

A particular line that stayed with me: "I could die for you. But I couldn't, and wouldn't, live for you."

What influenced me most was the way book ended. The trial chapter of Fountainhead is underlined in my copy of the book and my thoughts are scribbled all over the pages.
Howard Roark was a creator. A hero that was selfish, aggressive and fierce. Hardly a role model till the book finishes. But Roark taught me that it is okay to be a cynic and yet believe in what you create. It was an important part to learn to stand upright in front of any opposition and see that you don’t bend down. It is also okay to break down as long as you want to stand up again.

Even till today, every time I feel people around are vultures that don’t want me to breath, I pick up my old copy of fountainhead. With pages turned yellow, I open this one page and tell myself one thing that Howard taught me.

“I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone's right to one minute of my life, nor to any part of my energy, nor to any achievement of mine No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need.
I wished to come here and say that the integrity of a man’s creative work is of greater importance than any charitable endeavor.
It had to be said: The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing. I came here to be heard in the name of every man of independence still left in the world. I wanted to state my terms. I do not care to work or live on any others.
My terms are: A man's RIGHT to exist for his own sake.”

The Men In My Life - An Introduction

2008-10-10T21:39:00.000+05:30

Life is like a piece of fiction. You sit at the corner table of Costa Coffee and sip the bitter black coffee and almost clench your eyes at the ‘ asked for’ taste. You gently tap your fingers to the song playing in the distance and the back of your neck feels the heat of someone staring from the back.

That’s a minute in my life. And that’s the fiction and drama that I think I purposely weave around.

Perhaps it was my insatiable habit of reading. It was my solace. My escape, my retreat and the reward all rolled into one. From Enid Blyton to Milan Kundera. All my answers were in the books. And I guess, so were my questions. Over the years, I breathed into smell of newer places, new fiction and a few men that made me stay awake. These were the characters I fell in love with. From my teen years till today, I have imagined and created photographs of these characters I read about. They were the perfect friends and even better companions.

Although my writing is bordering on the idea of ‘reading erotica’ and ‘imagining men’. But believe me, these guys are unbeatable.

From cold hearted and aloof heroes to the warm hearted friend. I think I have given more love to ‘fiction sweethearts’ than any real guy I ever knew. These men would come alive on the pages and each one cast to perfection by the author. Marching, raging and most of all trying (but sometimes failing) to love. And yet I won’t scorn at them or dismiss them. Instead, I would do something I have perhaps never done in ‘real life’. Through the pages, I would reach out to understand how they became that way… and love them for what they are

In the next few posts, I’d re live some of the romances and trace back on how I came to love them.

The ' Mee Too' of Being in Love

2008-09-27T11:54:00.005+05:30

Its like a flash of lightening followed by thunder and then you hear music. Something tells you ‘its happened’ and know you are in love. And while this is happening, your neurotransmitters are working their way up to your brain almost like Cupid’s poisonous arrows. The heart beats faster and your blood pressure rises and sometimes even your knees go weak. Well! Thanks to your Dopamine levels, you feel you ARE in love.
But what happens after that? There is a less talked about phase between the exhilarating ‘falling’ and eventual ‘we need to talk’ phase. And that’s precisely what I call the ‘ Mee Too’ phase. And don’t miss the ‘M’ with a double ‘e’.
It’s the time when the two people in love start the ‘mee too’( sometimes, one person in love, that is if you are masochist to fall in love with someone who doesn’t love you back). It usually goes like this...
“You like rock music!??? Mee too!”
“Oh Mee too love traveling”
“Mee too love PG Wodehouse”
“Ayn Rand? Yeah. Howard Roark is my fav character too”

The people in love are so desperate to link to each other and connect at all levels that a weird pattern of acquired similarities arise. One of my friends, a great creative writer falls in love with this brilliant girl. Sure a great couple. And one fine day I find that his blog layout has become almost like hers (sans the feminine colors! Thanks god!!). Another couple I know insists on wearing ‘color coordinated clothes’ for all occasions. It was fine until the guy realized that he had close to dozen shirts of same color in his wardrobe - all in shades of Pink.

I ‘m sure I must have been in such phases as well but I guess I was too headstrong to do ‘ mee too’ and perhaps the guy must have made a few alterations. But when I look at some of these ‘fresh from the oven’ couples, I wonder if love is about finding the different you or the similar you? Since when has being in love become being sibling like similar to your partner? More so, will the love really last once you realize that you two are very different and the things you said you liked don’t mean much to you.

The question is not just this, but also for how long can you guys be similar with acquired choices before you hit “We need to talk” phase?
PS: I love the ‘feeling of falling in love’ and it usually happens to me when I see an irresistible pair of high heels.

On Women, Chicklits and Other Eternal Questions

2008-09-22T12:18:00.007+05:30

I spent the weekend just lazing around and reading on my bean bag. And when I say reading, I mean 3-4 hours of just getting stuck to one place. With water (or diet coke) in the radius of 1 feet. Sometimes I even postpone my comfort break because I ‘Just won’t want to get up’.
The weekend started on Friday with an all night movie marathon of chick flicks, followed by the Saturday and Sunday on finishing two chick lit books.

My guy finally asked me, "Girl! Don’t you think it’s too much of this chick flick stuff this weekend?” I lifted my gaze from the book. And very absently, not even looking at him said, “Nope! Its ‘nice’. You should read a few too. Will teach you a thing or two on ‘What Women Want’.” That statement of ‘ What Women Want’ is an eternal phrase that makes men throw their hands in exasperated manner and basically shut up. So I got back to finishing the last fifty pages of my second book. It was 1.30 am and I had to finish it to beat my next morning Monday blues.

Traveling to office today, I wondered that why every woman I know indulges in an occasional chicklit read and pesters her guy to watch chick flicks with her. I figured out that Chick Flick (or chicklit used for a similar literature) was a term started in 80’s. Chick flick is slang for a film designed to appeal to a female target audience.

A lot of guys I know moan and groan at the very idea of watching a chick flick. Although I know quite a few adorable ones who enjoy a good romantic comedy and aren’t afraid to admit that. Contrary to the general perception, Chick flicks/ Chicklits aren’t (only) about guys, shoes, money or sex. It’s about women, their confidence, and bonding and complete butt kicking attitude. And guys, the oohs and aahs we do are simply to convey you the point-“Idiot! You should be doing this!!!” So when we cringe on our seats at the sight of that LV bag or candle light dinner or vacation or just making a hot bath – get the message- YOU SHOULD DO THIS TOO.

To cut the long story short, here are a ‘few’ reasons women love Chick flicks/ Chicklits

*These books/ movies inspire us to look good and feel good.
*They transport us to the time when we’ve bonded with our girl friends and make us look forward to more such times. (Honestly! Nothing better than female bonding)
*Makes us believe that bitching is good( almost works as a therapy)
*Shows that sensitive caring loving (and good looking) guys exist. So these books / movies keeps the optimism
*Tells us- Its ok to be single
*Also tells us- Its OK to be married
*Buying that Rs 4000 pair of shoes is totally worth it. Its infact it is an investment.
*Proves that women are Smarter (and Superior and Better!)
*Binging on food while having a shitty time is totally acceptable.
*Things like bad bosses, bad boyfriends and bad hair days will all pass.
*Our Quirks are universal( so its ok to obsess about weight, hair, skin, shoes, clothes, guys blah blah blah)
*And the best is- Everything gets alright in the end and ‘Happy Endings’ exist.

So smile and take it easy …

To read about 20 best Chick flicks of all times click here

The Mojito Spell

2008-09-19T17:14:00.007+05:30

There is something romantic about food and drinks that make people create stories around them. Bordering on romance and fairy tale-ish scenarios, most of the stories are about origin and history. Its about the kings and palaces, coffee plantations and pirates. Every story about a particular drink transports you to a different time and place.These stories (and drinks themselves) have been particularly fascinating for me.

One particular drink which brings with it , the stories of travel and pirates and drunken nomadic wanderers is Mojito. The name Mojito (pronounced as Mo HEE Toh) comes from African word Mojo which means to ‘place a little spell’. It is believed that even till today, Cuba’s oldest drink continues to place a spell on people who drink it.
Last week I had this strong urge to have Mojito (must be a spell I guess). And I wanted to make it the traditional way and not the usual ‘mix the drink’ and ice way. I dug out all the cocktail recipe books I had to find out ‘The Authentic Mojito Recipe’

There are countless recipes for the Mojito , but this version is the one, Hemingway himself enjoyed at the Mojito's place of birth: La Bodeguita del Medio in Havana, Cuba

Place the 4-5 mint leaves into a long Mojito glass (often called a "Collins" glass) and squeeze the juice from a cut lime over it. You'll want about two ounces of lime juice, so it may not require all of the juice from a single lime. Add the powdered icing sugar, then gently smash the mint into the lime juice and sugar with a muddler (a long wooden device). Add ice (preferably crushed) then add the Havana Club Silver Dry rum and stir, and top off with the club soda (you can also stir the club soda in as per your taste). Garnish with a mint sprig.

I often like using a granular sugar instead of syrup or icing sugar. The sugar grains friction work beautifully to muddle the lime and mint together. Also, instead of using lime juice I often like the muddled lime in the drink.
Brown sugar when used with darker rum also makes it less of a summer drink, if you wish to sip your Mojito in autumn.
Another good variation worth trying is to use sprite and ditch the sugar and soda part.

Planning for a Mojito Party

Generally speaking, you should plan to serve one drink per hour per guest. Depending on the crowd, perhaps two drinks per guest for the first hour and one drink per hour thereafter. As a general guide, for every 15 mojitos you plan to serve, you should have:
1 750 mL bottle rum
12 limes
45 mint leaves (about one package from a grocery store)
1 liter bottle club soda
4 trays of ice

Making Pitchers of Mojitos

You may want to make a Mojito pitcher (or two or three) before the party starts. This is especially helpful during the beginning of the party when you will be greeting your guests and trying to serve multiple drinks at the same time. With pre-made pitchers on hand, you will have time to mingle and will not be stuck behind the bar keeping everyone waiting for their drinks. Once the party gets going, you can start bartending. To make a pitcher of Mojitos: Muddle 4-5 limes, and about 20-25 mint leaves (depending on size) in the bottom of the pitcher. Fill the pitcher with ice. Add about 1 ½ cups rum . Top with some ounces of club soda.

A word on the Glass
If you are making individual Mojito glasses, then Collins is a better choice but if you are serving from a pitcher then I usually prefer a high ball.Also if you dont want to muddle the lime and just use lime juice, High ball glass will work for you.

The Bacardi Mojito Site is quite cool with many variations of the traditional recipe. I particularly like the Strawberry Mojito.

So Do the Mojito Spell!!

Walking On the Roads of a Different City

2008-09-16T14:45:00.000+05:30

Recently Moved out of Bombay… to guess where? Kolkatta!!! of all places…
After a long fight of not giving up Bombay…( and fight it was!) I finally moved here.
And day after day, I try not to crib and dislike the place. But it takes my every ounce of energy to do so. Compared to all the good things my friends told me about this place, I’m still trying to discover as to why everyone on the road either smokes or frowns. In college, I had a crush on so many of my bong seniors but everyone looks alike on the roads of Kolkatta.

I almost launched ‘I Hate Kolkatta’club but old bong crushes and a few friends just prevented it at the last minute. I wake up and try finding one good thing about the city everyday and counting it before I sleep. It’s just been a week here so this exercise is not testing my patience as much as I thought it would be.

I honestly don’t think that culturally rich city and the similar clichés apply much here. But what I really liked is that it’s very walkable. Whenever I've traveled abroad and spend most of the day walking to my destinations, I wished that streets in India were more walkable. You know! the kind that makes you step out of your heels in evening, grab your Ipod, wear your clogs and just walk.
I managed to find a few places in Bombay you could do that but I think Kolkatta can qualify for the same. In the afternoons, I step out of my office to grab a cup of Americano. I like my coffee black and bitter and unfortunately the office vending machine doesn’t meet the criteria. So the coffee shop guy is a newer friend who loves to discuss the Mamta Banerjee stories while he makes my ‘ Black Coffee – No Sugar’.
I also like that Crossword- The Book Shop is at a walking distance. I like the idea of book shop round the corner. It’s a mental comfort. A good book can take me away from reality and I live that piece of fiction long after it has finished. Even if nothing goes my way the whole day, I can pick up a book before I head home in the evening.
I also like my new house. Its huge place with lots of windows and loads of sunlight. I love the white muslin sheer curtains on the windows. I have a dedicated study which has a whole wall lined with books. My room is painted in sunflower yellow and bright blue. It has the most comfortable couch on which I put my feet up and throw my head back.
I just bought a breakfast table for the kitchen where I plan to cook and sometimes just sit and read while I bake lasagna.
Oh yes …, my guy bought me three full fledged shoe racks which are all packed with shoes and more to go!
So me, ‘The Stranger in the Strange Land’ just hopes that next time I step out in my high heels, the grey rains of Kolkatta doesn’t dampen the spirit.

The High Heel Monolouge

2008-09-15T12:16:00.000+05:30

Contd.

… So I deleted all my earlier blogs( ok … not deleted all, hidden a few..! ) and started this new one.
Did a lot of spring cleaning lately.... Change of place and a bit of change of face as well

I wanted to write… about walking in High heels.. and working in High heels… about my 'Arch' Supporters… bout my 'Sole' Searching…....And Earth Under my Feet.
And maybe if I am too drunk while writing some day…. I’d talk about my Achilees Heel
For now… Nothing is better in life than a pair of 4 Inch Stilettos

Untitled

2001-01-01T05:30:00.000+05:30