Season of White...

The season of white never quite ends. At least, for me. Summer, almost always, predictably, is like a set stage for doing whites – not that you are left with too many choices if you think of the heat and humidity part of it. Post-summer, you had to deal with damp weather, rain-soaked spirit, bad hair days, mood swings, and perhaps endless wait for a call that never came – and of course, you could not rely on your whites! And, you were right in doing it, I say. Then, in came the festive season and you simply went all out with the bling and zing! Eid and Dussera have already seen you in your fun-and frolicking avatar. That enthusiasm was legitimate too – orange, fuchsia pink, golden yellow, midnight blue, vermilion red, emerald green…But, now what? Repeating the same bright festive shades this Diwali would be like killing the flavor by overdoing it. I say, save it for other times. And, let’s do the WHITE – one more time, while others are donning the cliché, you BE THE CHANGE! 

image courtesy - getty images

Let’s start at the beginning. What could be more basic yet brilliant than a white chikankari kurta over a pristine white churidar? Just the right thing your fashion doctor would have advised after the OTT evenings and nights of sequin seduction, embellished embroideries or dollops of georgette glam. Keep it simple. The cut should be classic, no fuss. Length should be below knees or just kissing your knees. Anything shorter would make it look like those obnoxious all-purpose kurtis. Excuse me, didn’t we have enough of them? White chikankari on white is one timeless piece.

 image courtesy - myntra.com

If you still are brooding for some color, pick up one with multi-color thread-work. The base should be no-nonsense so that you can make it work wonders with your accessories - silver jhumkas or chaand-baalis, a stack of glass bangles, bindi, and kolhapuris.

 image courtesy - getty images

Go for a bit of height with the high-heel ones or stick to the regular flat ones for that strong I-don’t-depend-on-my-heels-to-lend-me-confidence look! :-) 

 image courtesy - kolhapurtourism

You can give a short dress or a short skirt in multicolor prints – floral or traditional motifs, an entirely new look by pairing it with a crisp white cotton shirt. You can also wear it with buttons open over a basic vest, tie the ends in a casual knot, and you are ready for a day out with buddies or for some pre-diwali shopping. 

image courtesy - chictopia

Ballerinas, peep-toe pumps, or for a funky and edgy look, you can try out embroidered jutis too. Keep your big hobo bags handy and or pick up one of those jholas for a chic look. Plus, layers of neckpieces, chunky or dainty, but more than one, to ward off any monotony.

 image courtesy - purseblog

White denims, anyone? I say, get one, girls. This one can serve for multiple purposes and can see you through seasons with the right kind of styling and accessories. The tone-on-tone look creates for a soft, maiden-like look which is very fresh.

image courtesy - chictopia

Sailor stripes can go really well with your pair of white denims. Converse shoes, a sweat-shirt (may be, a pink one), a hoodie, and a classic watch on your wrist can set you right. 

image courtesy - getty images

I have saved the best for the last :-)…How can you ever go wrong with a classic white shirt and a pair of blue denim? Divine! For accessories, keep it minimal – a classic watch and a statement bag can make it work for you. 

 image courtesy - fashionfilly

Season of white, like the season Love, never quite ends! Thank God, there are still a couple of things that are neither replaceable nor disposable. Class is just one of them!

Of Malls, Music, and Mr. Khanna

“1500…yeah, okay...umm..well, what about the watercolor painting in frames?..” – It was another ordinary afternoon in March and ideally, I should have been at my workstation glancing through some training material stuff which deals with something as uninspiring and insipid as a client business sub-process scope. But, I was not. I was not in office at that time of that mid-March afternoon, with my face cupped between my palms, elbows on desk, and eyes at the monitor. Instead, I was zipping through stores and stalls at a city mall. 

image courtesy - getty images

It was just another of my numerous one-man missions undertaken at regular (my critics say, these are somewhat, very, very frequent – but, I beg to differ) intervals at chosen locations. The goal is to zero in on some nice stuff, small something, like a silk scarf, a pair of danglers, a stack of bangles, or a cute little 5-inch Ganesha – for myself, for friends, (oh yes, when it comes to shopping/buying, the ‘I’ comes much before than the ‘o’ for ‘others’ in my alphabets and NO, I absolutely DO NOT run the risk of losing a number of friends over such a seemingly outrageous statement that comes with a whiff of a wee bit block-headed narcissism – I LOVE MY FRIENDS and my friends love me, and they are far too forgiving than what is normally expected of friends, and yes, they will remain so even after reading this!) for an empty corner at home, or as a future provision for any upcoming event (read, friends’ birthdays) or just to, you know, look at the shop windows and check out if, at all, they have got anything on the shelves worth looking at, to take in the smells and sights of the freshly displayed merchandise – I like to call them pleasure trips – at times, I come across things which later act as great conversation pieces among fellow connoisseurs, interesting, inspiring, and appealing all the way to the aesthecist in me. They supply the i-can’t-do-without dose of mystery substance which restores and revives my weary soul.

 image courtesy - getty images

So, there I was, looking for a suitable something, fitting enough to carry as a gift for a first time visit to a neighborhood family. After a couple of failed endeavors at a few stops, I found myself admiring a Durga in her full regalia, curved on a sandstone-colored block of wood. It was indeed an exquisite piece of art! Top class craftsmanship from Bengal, a classic, a real collectors’ item! 

“Hi! Can I help you?” and there appeared a man in his late thirties/early forties from some corner. I found myself in front of a kiosk, stacked with art pieces, usual dokra artifacts, Madhubani paintings, sketches, and queer looking other stuffs. With his jeans, white tee, and glasses, the only thing that perhaps set the looks of this man apart from the others visible at that particular place at that particular moment, was a completely clean shaven head (or, wait a minute, was he just bald with tufts of little hair around the edges?). A ready smile, at-your-service attitude, fluent in all three languages (the Essential three, without a considerable amount of command over which, no salesman can ever dream of charting his career graph in a city like Kolkata), and a casual approach (not persuasive – that’s a huge turn-off for shoppers like me) – Ratan Khanna would have been the best-in-the-business shop person, surprising me with his depth of knowledge as he was describing the pieces, paintings, and telling about their places, and the artists. The love and care with which he was showing the stuffs, and narrating their stories, were remarkable – the spirit was unmistakable. But, that was not all - there was more surprise in store for me!


There were a variety of ektaras there. He showed me the ektaras, and the dotaras too, detailing on the strings, the way of holding it, strumming it, and yes, breaking into a song right there! Skilled voice! The whole setting just changed in a moment! What was just another a-seller-and-a-prospective-buyer, solely and strictly, a business situation a few minutes ago, instantly turned into a performer-and-audience atmosphere. A couple of passers-by made halts. Ratan Khanna went on, now enthusiastically showing the variety of drums he had in his store – drums, dhaak, dugi, kurkuri, khol, madol, mridongo. And, they double up as great show pieces for home décor as well. He even played the rhythms on the small dhaak with drum sticks. What was equally amazing was his knowledge on the musical instruments, their usage, and their history too!

image courtesy - getty images

A piece which looked like those predictable Chinese feng-shui frogs, he enlightened me, is actually a musical instrument, very interestingly called bang-badyo - ‘bang’ meaning frog in Bengali and ‘badyo’ meaning musical instrument. He demonstrated how to play it and how to produce different kinds of sounds like a frog’s croak, or a horse’s gallop with it! Wonder and amazement were in my eyes, for this was no music workshop – this whole wonderful experience was at a city mall shop selling gift items! This is definitely what you don’t come across very often while you are out for some casual shopping!

“Google me, and I’m on youtube too..”, quipped he. He took out a card, wrote down his e-mail ids, and handed it to me. ‘Ektarawala’ read the name of the shop.

Red haired lass recommends ‘Ektarawala’ if you are looking for a fine piece of art, be it a sculpture, painting, or a musical instrument item. Visit the store, see it, and experience it! It’s not a mere a shop, it’s a wonder corner where the man makes music, and if in the mood, would sell it too – but, you better not put a price :-). Admire and appreciate.

You Have Got Mail...

I love to celebrate. I love festivals, occasions. It gives me the opportunity to greet people, people who mean so much to me...people whom I like, love, and care for, people with whom I can connect and like to share things that inspire me the most. Here are some of the greeting mails, custom-made by Red-Haired Lass :-) sent to friends over the last few months. Hope, you will like :-)...

 A Foolish Pursuit...

Splash...

Moments of Togetherness...

 

Moments... 

Signed, Sealed, Delivered...

All Image Courtesy - Getty Images

Beginning of the End…May be to Begin Again...

The days are long. The nights, even longer. My eyes are burning. And, my mind is weary. I am walking. I come from a land of grey colored clouds. But, it did not rain there. For, if it rained, it could have washed away all the sweat drops on my brows, the dust on my feet. I am trudging along this path now. A narrow path, broken in places, weeds have spoiled the marble railings. Remnants of glory days from a past? May be, yes. Whose past was it? Yours or mine? May be, ours? I do remember these paths, the railings, shining white, the elegant and assuring woods…But, I know not this place, this ghost town. Dead faces speak here a language I speak not. No soul here, no kind eyes, and wise hands. Our fathers have retired to a place of seclusion living the life of a recluse. We cry and pray in these troubled times.

image courtesy - getty images

Our fathers give us the sword of patience. We carry it. I carry it. I carry it under my wings. And, I walk. When evil nights descend, I hold my sword tight. Green thunders blaze across the sky. I burn. Killer knives pierce my heart. I bleed. And, I BLEED RED.

A Death that Did Not Sell

She died a death – unwanted and extremely ill-timed. She was only eight, or nine may be. And, it happened at an obscure corner of a district in West Bengal. I do not remember the exact pieces of fact from the newspaper report and nor do I care, for her death is not worthy, in the slightest bit, of mentioning or remembering. But, still, what it is about this death that prompts me to bring it up here? I will come to that. Later. And, how did she die? Of poverty, starvation, poisoning by debt-ridden parents, or perhaps a fatal mishap? No. People, I give you the snippets of a death, unexpected but at the same time, ‘unwanted’ too.

We all love a good death – don’t we?

image courtesy - homecinema

Like, Amitabh Bachhan’s Jay died in that iconic climax in ‘Sholay’ (or, in myriad other Bollywood blockbusters like ‘Deewar’, ‘Mukaddar ka Sikander’, ‘Agnipath’). Or, like the death of the pretty, little girl in Mr. India where she died in quite a ghastly bomb blast, courtesy the evil Mr. Mogambo. We still go misty-eyed even today when these are on TV. Deaths should be like this - heroic, glorious, tragic, beautiful, and hence, memorable. We all love a good death.

But, hers is not. Hers was a complete waste. Silly girl, she didn’t know she could have chosen a proper, and better time and reason to lay her anyway-uncared-for life. Okay, now again, “how did she die?” – She was beaten to death by a fruit vendor and his two associates ‘coz she tried to steal a watermelon from the pile of fruits. She was tied to a pole, kicked, beaten severely, and her little head was smashed by a watermelon.

image courtesy - getty images

In describing this small, insignificant incident, I have tried to stick to words which ought not to evoke any sort of passion or sympathy – yet, people, does it move you? A bit? No? Right, it doesn’t move you or touch your ‘refined, intellectual, compassionate’ heart which ponders over matters demanding your urgent attention and concern. Your seemingly apathetic attitude is totally legitimate and justified, for here, there was no dynamics involved, dynamics which could have fueled your opinions, or the willingness to express it. It's pretty one-dimensional rather. It’s a case of petty theft, and the punishment - it serves her right! Bloody scum of the earth! These are the elements which grow into poisonous, anti-social miscreants - these vermin should be and must be crushed to death. She had to die. It's ‘people’s justice’ you see. You do a wrong thing, you incur the mob’s wrath, and you pay the price – people will take laws in their hands and justice will be delivered. Simple.

Now, let me come the ‘untimely’ part of her death. I choose to call it ‘untimely’ because this CAN NOT be the time to die such a death. C'mon, I mean, this is POLL TIME in Bengal. Everybody who is a 'nobody' or an 'anybody' is trying hard to become a 'somebody' in Bengal. Donning either red or green, everyone is busy sorting out issues which are important – now, how do you decide what is important and what is not?

image courtesy - flickr 

The Current Definition of ‘Important’ in Bengal: If an issue has got the potential to feed on public sentiment, sympathy, and support, if it has got some hint of any political color (strictly, red or green - saffron or blue do not exist for us), if it has got the seed of getting any party some political advantage to score over the other in these climactic times of poll and ‘change’, if it has got some sensational connection that can make it into a ‘breaking news’ byte flashing on to screens of our mushrooming news channels.

Visualize This: Busy and important-looking news reporters in jeans, kurtis, and intelligent-looking glasses – (excuse me, I mean to say, the glasses look intelligent, not particularly, the faces of the reporters) narrating in their usually-always high-pitched, anxious-sounding voice, “...this is the place where the poor girl was…” and her mourning family, her mother and sister howling and wailing at the backdrop - if it catches the compassionate fancy of any of our big Bengal brigade of intelligentsia (a compassionate comment from any one of our eminent writers, painters, poets, singers, artists, film-makers, actors, playwrights could have taken the whole incident to another level) - it must be deemed as an important issue.

image courtesy - telegraphindia

But, no, nothing, as per the above mentioned criteria of becoming eligible to be important in Bengal, happened in this case. No one cared to stop, stare, or shade a tear or two. The news never even made it to the front page of the dailies (what?! Front page of the dailies? Don’t you know that front page spaces these days are reserved for IPL, celebrity tamashas, royal weddings, and poll campaign excesses? Didn’t you see the picture of a certain important lady descending from helicopters in remote corners of Bengal or the series of snaps where Deepika Padukone and Siddharth Mallya engage into an impromptu embrace followed by a passionate kiss on lips, yes you read that right, in front of a packed stadium audience which also included the father of the boy?! One newspaper even went to the extent of numbering the snaps so that readers do not have the slightest of confusion to figure out which state of action came after which).


I waited for a few days before writing this post anticipating that some concern must be raised, some protest must be heard somewhere. But, her below poverty-line social status, her Muslim minority identity, her gender, her age – nothing did earn her death the required political mileage to make it to one of the talked-about and debated issues across the city. It is very much fashionable and ‘in’ for the youngsters these days to hold silent, candle march. But, there was none to protest her death and demand justice. So, I come to the conclusion that her death must have been an ‘unwanted’ one – no one wants her cause. No one wants her death. It does not sell. It is ill-timed – we don’t have the time or effort (these should be conserved for the coming important days of forming a new Government and an overnight state of ‘change’ all across Bengal) to waste over such trifles.

image courtesy - hardknocklife

Flashback Mode: A few years back. A young guy in his twenties committed suicide on railway tracks. A suicide note was found confessing that no one is responsible for his death, yet, there was provocation, and resistance from the rich and influential family of his girlfriend which led to their separation and consequently, to his death. Soon, investigation started. Big names started to tumble out of the dirty bag. Names were taken, bribes were given, promise of justice was delivered, people took notice, and one particular political party had the foresight to make it a state-wide issue blaming the Government for sheltering the wrong-doers and for the complete law and order failure in the state. Soon, the state witnessed an unprecedented surge of mass movement demanding peace and justice slamming the Government. Anything and everything ranging from pollution, corruption, inflation, power cuts, traffic snarls, potholes on roads, global crises, Al-Qaida terror attacks, neighbor’s son’s poor marks in Board exams, break ups, bad hair days, pimples, no signal on mobiles, no appraisals, bad hangovers – everything was started to be linked up with the incompetence and ill-governance of the three decades-spanning Left Front rule in Bengal. Elections came. The Opposition cashed in on the issue. Media gave full support. And, coverage too. The brother of the deceased was made a candidate. The leader of the Opposition, with her head covered in the pallu of her sari touched the feet and seeked blessings with a beaming smile from the mother of the deceased. Point was proved. Hearts were won. Seats were lost. Victory signs were flashed. And, winning smiles were exchanged.


Now, what is so wrong with the little girl’s death that could not fetch her the a sort of popular martyr status? What were the operational factors in that death which are obviously lacking in her death? Why is no one talking about such a ghastly crime being committed? Why is our minds divided in our reactions to two different but fundamentally similar (any death, unnatural, untimely, is disturbing, unfortunate and if it is plotted or perpetrated, it is to be condemned) incidents? What is this politics behind such discrimination?


Question: The guy was young, good looking, educated, employed, belonging to the minority community, and most importantly, his death was for a reason far more ‘popular’ (a young guy killing himself for the cause of love, the fact that the rich family of the girl was opposed to the match and tried every trick in the book to separate them, evokes pity, sympathy – Tollywood came up with scripts bordering along the lines of a similar plot with fresh faces, the movie became an instant hit, made good business, plus created debates whether or not it was based on real life characters and incidents) and thus, attains the ability to appeal to mass imagination and tug at the strings of our hearts, has immense scope of capitalization and and hence, bankable. Is this the reason why that particular incident kept up the public and media attention while this ugly (I can imagine her under-nourished frame, patchy, brown skin, yellow teeth, mud and dust on her feet and ankles, unclipped, dirty nails, running nose, mop of hair with no touch of oil, dressed in a faded frock with no zip to keep the pieces together) little girl failed in her death too, to achieve the status of being talked about when she’s gone?

image courtesy - getty images

Perhaps she could have chosen to die a month ago - probably then, the political parties would have spared a thought to consider if at all her death is eligible to be made into an issue. Now that elections are over and poll results are out, just bury the ghost and move on! You don’t have any other work, or what!

What All Has Been Happening?

image courtesy - getty images

So, tell me what all has been happening these days while I was gone. Farewell of the spring. Exit purple ruffle dress, neon color tights, red mouths. Arrival of a summer, relatively cooler. Early summer thunder showers, evening drizzles, grey-colored afternoons. Full-on summer. Enter white, lots of it, and some more white. Cotton, linen, block prints, chanderi, mulmul, slouchy denims, black vests, gloss, white shirts, chikan kurtas, kolhapuris, toe rings, beach wear, straw hats, wedding seasons, jasmine on buns, big red bindi, coral hued eye shadows, killer looks, dimples, one glance. Hearts stolen. And, what else? :-)…

A Promise Renewed...

image courtesy - getty images

That I will be with you – if not every day, then at least, on most of the days…

That I will write to you – if not one whole letter every day, then at least, once in every week…

That I will read to you – if not every tale that has been told in the world, then at least, the greatest of them ever told…

That I will share everything with you – if not everything, then at least, most of the things which are worth sharing…

That I will listen to you – if not every night, then at least, on those nights when you need me the most…

That I will laugh with you – if not at every joke you tell, then at least, at the funnier ones…

That I will sing to you – if not the sweetest of melodies, then at least, those which are only for you…

That I will agree with you – if not for every cause, then at least, for those which will make you happy…

That I will stand by you – if not at every step, then at least, when it’s difficult and lonely…

That I will come to you – if not for every reason, then at least, once - at the end of my day…