Shoe Saga...

This was no ordinary torn, worn out shoe abandoned near a central Mumbai suburb. In its glory days, it had been an elegant pair of leather boot hailing from an expensive Italian brand, to be found to settle only around respectable feet with the slightest inclination toward the kind of flamboyance so characteristic of the 80s Mumbai. Despite the blackened edges, it still retained some of its previous glory and struck an odd sight near the contrasting green garbage bin.

I was to wait for my morning auto just a few feet away from the bin. While covering my nose to get rid of the disgusting stench, I could never stop myself from taking a quick glance at the shoe - surprised how it stood out everyday, despite my knowledge of it being there.

Thanks to my romantic self, I would spend the better half of my morning trying to imagine the life it might have seen before being dumped here. The warmth of its wearer's feet during the infamous Mumbai winter, the beads of sweat mixed with the smell of his socks during the humid days, the times he had flung it out of passion while making love to his woman, the times he had slowly and methodically tied its laces to get over the humiliation of rejection, the fervent tying and untying and retying of its laces before an interview and the last time he put his feet in it - grateful for the companionship it has offered him over the years, pained at the realisation of its inevitable end and yet excited about the possibility of buying a better and newer and probably more expensive pair. I wondered what this pair might have felt like when it was dusted one last time and hung on to the rack, never to be touched again. I wondered how it must have felt being a mute spectator to the new member of the rack acquiring its place with absolutely no history with its owner. I wondered if it shared with its successor how its owner made a squashy sound the first day it rained in the city, catching him unaware and forcing him to walk down muddy and water - logged streets in his favourite leather boots. And the darkest secret of his sniffing his socks and the boots every once in a while when he didn't have company and wonder what it'd be like to be made to go down on his fours and have the socks stuffed into his mouth, the lace tied around his neck and tugged at every now and then and the other pair being used on his exposed buttock for his alleged insubordination. And how he would weep throughout the night once the dark moments of fantasy gave way to the scary awakening of his senses.

I wondered how it came to be here, near this bin, out in the open to die its natural death. I wondered whether it was left there as unceremoniously as it's surviving now or there were silent tears or even better, a grand farewell. Or maybe during the riots of 1993, when the rest of the country was struggling with the ugly face of natinalism gnawing at the very definition of unity in diversity this country is so proud of, a Parsi gentleman was being chased by the faceless goons one fine evening and his favourite leather shoe slipped out of his feet while he was running for his life. Maybe a few feet down the road, where my auto takes a turn toward the main road is where he was finally put to rest - bloodied, bruised and without a shoe. And his favourite shoe, a few feet away from his lifeless body, stood a silent witness to a shameful history.

Dress - Linking Road, tassel neckpiece and sliders - Colaba, lipstick - Arresting Pink by Colorbar

Unequal Role Perceptions

I was fifteen when I had told a friend that I want to be a single mother because "I don't want to share my baby with anyone else." I told her that I felt my mom was capable of doing everything that my dad does if she wants to but my dad can't do the same. So, I can imagine her bringing me up on her own but the idea of growing up with only my father scares the shit out of me. I also admitted that I like boys but I'm not sure about sharing things I love with them(chocolates and books being my obvious choice back then). My friend was horrified and even though she didn't tell me, I'm sure she thanked God for not being my daughter. A decade has passed but the story remains the same everywhere.

                                                                                                                        I'm not a staunch feminist. In fact, I have chosen to call myself "not a feminist" for at least the past five years. So, the idea of some people perceiving women as weak, fragile and dependent doesn't annoy me, it amuses me. Yes, I have seen women who always need someone to fall back on but I know for sure that I can bloody well protect my child in this big, bad world and provide for them as long as I have a job and I'm physically fit.

                    On a related note, I was reading an article the other day about male rape victims finding it difficult to share their pain and seek medical help because being raped isn't "manly" and trying to carry on with their so called normal life despite the regular bleeding and the pus-covered anus. A little more research on the same topic made me throw up and cry. I kept wondering what purpose such skewed role definitions of our society served other than alienating people and breaking their hearts. Putting your wife through indirect mental torture because she earns more than you do is as bad as leaving your husband because he is a rape victim. Forcing your son to go for Cricket coaching instead of Odissi classes is as bad as not letting your daughter go to school. When would we accept human beings as human beings? I see so many brave, intelligent, powerful women wasting all their energy on the eternal I-can-do-it-better-than-you fight with men instead of trying to find out what it is that they are originally good at and focus on being the best at that instead of always trying to be better than someone. If one always strives to be as good as someone at something, the person would never be able to rise beyond that someone. I should aim to be my best. If I end up being better than a few people in the process, that's only an added bonus. Is it that hard to achieve? I dream of a society where sex would be just as menial an information as someone's blood group on a form which is meant to be used only in case of emergency. I dream of a society that welcomes both a masculine woman and an effeminate man with an open embrace. I dream of a society where I won't be judged for being a single mother and my son won't be called names if he finds my aanchal comforting even after the age of eighteen. I dream of a society where I'd be a human being first and then a woman.

Maxi dress- Emami Market, cuff and rings- New Market, silver kolhapuri- Shreeram Arcade, lipstick- Orange Punch by Colorbar

Inspiration - Muse-ment...

Oh, happiness is not what I seek.
Give me the saddening Summer creak.
And the Autumn sand.
Also, the contraband
of wars going on inside
where despite my best efforts
the devil wins bona fide.

When I pass by
your place while
being on the sly;
for me, shed a tear
or two as I welcome
like a tired child, my fear
and look it in its eye,
resigned yet calm,
kissing our dreams goodbye.


After almost a year long phase of being able to imagine only in Bengali, inspiration happened quite by chance. Dreaming, imagining and writing only in Bengali was extremely satisfying but among other things, Bengalis are also famous for being "truly bilingual". As one of my favourite authors Kunal Basu puts it, "...Because we, the Bengali intelligentsia...are this rare species on earth that is truly bilingual...Bilingualism doesn't mean being able to read street signs or being able to read newspapers in two languages. It means having two streams flow inside our consciousness. And being able to dip into one stream without abandoning the other. The educated Bengali actually had their toes dipped in both these streams. They read Samar Sen with a passion which was no less than the passion with which they read Sylvia Plath." So, being the true Bengali that I'm, not being able to pen down my thoughts in a few coherent English lines was painful and I was elated when inspiration came in the most unusual form - a few lines scribbled by fellow blogger Kshipra! And there it goes! My creative block(in English)coming to a pleasant end. And in order to celebrate it, I took the new cape out for a spin. Mixing prints is an absolute personal favourite while monochrome and stripes happen to be my ultimate solution to any fashion crisis. And that's how this outfit was born.

Shorts- B.K.Market, shirt- Colaba Causeway, cape- Myntra, brogues- Simpark Mall, lipstick- MAT4 Bold Matte by Maybelline

I'll be back with my Summer staple- maxis and a painful journey I keep fantasising about. Till then, take care and like I always say, keep it stylish.

Summer Stories...

Summer is officially in full swing, fellas! And for some reason, this year, I'm hating it less than I usually do. It might have something to do with the evening breeze here in Mumbai or the weekend beach outings though. Humid as it is, there's no denying that Spring-Summer shouts out 'bright' and 'happy' loud while my favourite season Winter can't really escape the 'dark' and 'gloomy' tags. Given my obsession with layering, I try to find ways to layer even in this heat. Back home, Summer used to be about kaal-boishakhi(Nor'wester) followed by post-storm raw mango collection, shorbot (sorbet is close but not quite the same)made with gondhoraj lebu(a variety of lime available only in Bengal), himshagar aam( again, a variety of mango available only in Bengal), staring at the scorching sun during lazy Sunday afternoons while reading and wondering if life, too, is as unforgiving at times. Things of course, have changed quite a bit here but it has been a welcome change, to say the least. The clock is ticking and with every passing day, the dreadful moment of leaving Mumbai and going back to my least favourite place is approaching closer. But this time, I'm on a mission to be happy and enjoy myself till the doomsday arrives. On that note, say hello to my daylong semi-sexy tan and my current obsession with this denim shirt!

Over-sized denim shirt, eagle ring- Colaba Causeway, maxi dress(worn as a skirt)- Sudder Street, earcuff- Linking Road, jooti, cuff - New Market, lipstick- Arresting Pink by Colorbar

I'll be back with my third obsession stripes(denim and monochrome being the other two)hopefully before leaving. Till then, take care and like I always say, keep it stylish!

The City of Dreams

You know how some people say the entire concept of a place having its own distinct vibe is overrated? Well, let me tell you they are ABSOLUTELY WRONG and I'm a living example of that. If you are a regular reader or connected to me on social media, you'd know about the slow and dangerous depression that started taking over my life ever since I had moved to Indore. I tried embracing the place- exaggerating the quality of dahi at 'Joshi ke dahi vada' and extending the time in the gym but with its not-so-charming small town vibe, closed people living in an age where women are supposed to do all the household chores and keep quiet if they are harassed on the streets, banners and hoardings urging people to quit drinking and eating non-veg or be hanged if the non-veg happens to be beef...Indore just never worked out. I was slowly turning into a person I didn't know- introvert, pessimistic, cynical, irritable and snappy. I also kept falling sick often and the experience of going to a doctor and describing my problem in Indore had been so bad for me that I preferred gulping medicines down day in and day out and stay indoors instead.
                                                                                                As they say, after every dark phase, there is a silver lining. In my case, it was an intimation from the Management regarding my temporary posting in the Mumbai office. Even though I was still recovering, I was elated and couldn't wait to leave! And then came the much-awaited day when I could finally say goodbye to Indore even if for a few months. I woke up the next morning, somewhere near Sion, already feeling the infectious positivism I find Mumbai synonymous with. I could already smell the fish and seafood, see the bustling vada pav stalls, feel the sand and water under my feet, hear the Colaba hawkers calling out to me in my mind. The City of Dreams represents the undying, indomitable spirit of life to me. People do everything they can here to earn themselves a livelihood. And despite poverty, inflation and all other common problems(other than safety of women) Mumbai shares with the other Indian cities, the people in Mumbai just refuse to let these get to them and make them unhappy. Every person has different sides to their personality and each place uncovers one of these. I'm no exception either. The moment I arrived in Mumbai, gone were the depression, the urge to lock myself in a room and cry for hours, the withdrawal symptoms and everything else I had been struggling with. When I ordered my first vada pav in two months at a roadside stall near Chandivali, I was a happy soul and it hasn't changed since then. Small, small things make me happy in this city- a long walk all alone post 11 p.m. without the fear of getting groped, watching people rushing about in one of the local railway stations during the peak hours, looking at the street lights and the cars whooshing past them when I wake up after a rare nightmare(traces of Indore I'm slowly and methodically getting rid of), the city talking to me when I stick my head out of the auto to embrace the fresh morning air on my way to gym early in the morning, the vada pav wala near LnT crossing who never forgets to make my vada pav with extra green chutney and no sweet chutney...and all I feel coming out of my heart is gratitude. Gratitude towards life for giving me a chance to be happy again, to get my dreams back in exchange for the nightmares I had been dealing with for the past few months, to live...
                                                                                                                                         And since this city has healed me so soon and so perfectly, here goes an outfit as a tribute to my second favourite city(Kolkata would be Kolkata and hence, my favourite city always, no matter what)-

DIY distressed denims and crop top- Jabong, satchel bag, ring and spiked loafers- B.K.Market, waistcoat- Colaba Causeway, shades- Myntra, lipstick- Orange Punch by Colorbar

Ever since Debi distressed this pair of denims for me, I find myself reaching for it at least once every week. And since my love for layering refuses to die even in the humid Mumbai weather, the waistcoat had to find its way with the crop top. The serene beach, the wind in my hair and the sand under my feet took care of the rest. I'll be back with more florals, pastels and everything girlie and meanwhile, you take care and like I always say, keep it stylish.