Nothing beats waking up, warm and all snuggled up under the quilt to see rains lashing against the window sill... It just motivates you to sleep on... ignore the alarm clock, forget the strong hypnotic coffee strains in the air and just go back to bed knowing all is wet outside...
I have never quite managed to capture the eloquence, symphony or relish that accompanies watching raindrops plink to the ground... To stay dry and enjoy the sight is an unbeleiveable experience, heightened where there's a strong coffee, a day off from work and hot pakodas or bajjis on the house... A great book and a comfy cushion and I am all set for the day!
The dark green trees seem to contrast so wonderfully against a greying sky, somehow it always brings on memories of weekend oil baths - maybe the glistening droplets falling of the leaflets... the world looks waxed and glorious under the downpour...
when it rains, it pours... especially a water starved place like Chennai... Incessant and infrequent rains and severe depressions last a lot longer than they do elsewhere... the streets tranform into water pools with puddles to splash muddy water onto innocent bystanders, umbrellas of all shapes colors and sizes are up and about as you manourver your way through th throngs... getting hit by a stray branch or two is also not ruled out... and should you get handed some droppings from crows - consider yourself blessed!
The whizzing vehicles splash out copious amounts of stagnant rain water as people rush to work, apart from the primary colors (red, yellow , green) no others from the spectrum are of much avail as the water mellows down everything but the brightest and boldest of the lot... as long as you don't catch a cold or fever or any other bug, you should be reasonably fine... Just grab an umbrella, dig out the more foul looking pair of floaters your own and make you way out into the world...
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
The purrrfect Curve!!
Ever since Levis started the curves for all sizes, I’ve been obsessed with finding the perfect pair of jeans – I mean, seriously, who can deny the allure of being tagged as a demi or a bold curve rather than plump or worse yet ‘fat’.. Having never owned a pair of Levis, the call of the denim was simply too strong to resist…
Not to say I don’t own any – far from it.. I’ve lived in jeans since my eight standard – thanks to my sagacious aunt, whose taste in clothes and waist size I used to share then… so much so, that my friends were surprised to see me in salwar suits in engineering; having only seen me in my jeans before that… Maybe it was just my frustration for the school uniform that manifested in my perpetual jeans-clad avatar for all post-school activities (read: IIT coaching – which I sadly failed to clear).. I had two pairs of blue jeans then – boot cut and straight… and back then the fact that I was nearly 18 kilos lighter helped a great deal in looking good :D
Crashing back into the present: after straight jeans (ye olde straight up and down original jeans), boot cut (wide at the bottom and fitting at the thighs – first cousin to bell bottoms), boyfriend (big jeans – my favorite fat pants when I feel down…) it was the turn of the skinny jeans to be in season.. these jeans form my worst nightmare – there’s nothing more humiliating than having every lump and pound of flesh acutely highlighted – which form the premise for the structure of this jeans… while they look amazing and to-die-for on the Barbie doll statistics models; they look anything but on folks with blubber like moi ;)
Being rather rotund, the thought of skinny jeans gives me the shivers and I end up looking more like a chicken leg (fat thighs n skinny calves not to mention an ungainly muffin top :P)… I did indulge in skinny jeans in the UK but went in favour of leggings which allowed some tolerance for my bulging tummy.... I gave myself a couple of months to try to reduce my waistline – so that I could splurge on my birthday in September without any qualms about the amount shelled out for a pair of jeans… and in the meanwhile all I could see when I went shopping was folks in form-fitting and butt-accentuating levis jeans – the red tabs were soooo out there!!!
With all the ranting about skinny jeans – you, my patient reader, might wonder why on earth I was so obsessed with buying a pair… well considering I have 3 pairs of black jeans (one straight, one boot cut and one gunmetal shade boot cut), 3 pairs of blue (regular in light blue from old navy, boot cut from colt in darker blue, boyfriend pair from GAP) and a green pair from New Look… so you see the only conceivable shade and so glaringly missing was a blue levis…
After my severe and failed efforts at losing weight, I resolved to anyhow ignore my obvious barrel-shape, I decided to indulge in flattering my mental image of flaunting a pair of straight jeans with the distinctive red tab a la derriere.. I walked into a store and had my measurements taken – and the lady played up to my vanity by calling me a demi-curve (something like medium fat I think)… and came back with black jeans… I told her no way get me the blue ‘uns… and since my waist chose to be an impossible size between 30 and 32 – 30 was too tight – I looked like someone about to perform an MJ move :P and 32 was too loose… I was mortally afraid of being caught with the pants down – a small tug brought them down to my knees…
I cursed my tummy for doing this to me… no size / shape looked good… and I was walking next to waif-thin ladies who were browsing mini-skirts and being served by another who had a mythical 26 inch waist :P.. the ambience did nothing to soothe my beleaguered spirits… I left the store dejected and in the dumps..
Twice more did I venture to Levis flagship stores and then again – the next time I was provided basic blue jeans with no sense of texture or proportion… they simply didn’t feel as special as a levis was supposed to… I ought to explain – having read the annals of sisterhood of the travelling pants, I decided on procuring a pair of soft, comforting jeans which would dispel the notion of being out of proportion form my head – a non-fat option if you will… not possessing the close sisterhood, I was comforted by the thought that at least I could afford the best pair – in the book, the girls bought it from a thrift store…
I ended up feeling fat cause the promise of a curve for me failed to live up to expectations… I was left looking sorry either in extremely baggy jeans or in jeans so tight that they took me a full 10 minutes to pry off.. I mean taking nothing away from the texture, fading and cut – they were amazing but there were just not meant to be – and it didn’t help that the rest of clientele looked like they could give Katrina Kaif a complex :P I mean why doesn’t someone like Khushbu or Ramya Krishnan come to levis – I think the answer is self-evident but my mind refuses to attach any import to the fact..
Finally, on the third or fourth trip, the exasperated store clerk said, “Madam, you know there are cases where our jeans may not perfectly fit a person.. so, if you like some other brand please go there”… I was appalled and walked indignantly out of the shop… I promptly bought myself a Devil’s Own (Caffe Mocha with choco syrup) and tried to come to terms with my failed mission… essentially, the dude had just trampled my mental image of looking good in Levis – I mean those jeans were somehow supposed to transform me into a curvaceous babe (well – at least in my head)… and here the guy was telling me – nope, ain’t gonna happen… well, my birthday came n went with no jeans…
I moped and felt sorry for myself… no way was I expecting to look like a Barbie doll; but some part of me craved the feeling of looking good and it became associated with Levis… finally my younger bro – younger in years but wiser in certain things came n said – why don’t you just shop somewhere else… you’ve never conformed till now… so why change – go buy something other than Levis… In a flash I understood: until now, everything I’ve worn or bought have been unique… something set apart – be it quirky cuffs from the UK or pulsar watches or 25 rupee earrings from pondy bazaar… I am not sure that they go together but – they did make me feel – not pretty, not attractive but unique… as in I was the only one with this unique mix of accoutrements!!!
I stepped out of the house yesterday and walked the breadth of pondy bazaar and stopped in front of a shop… A memory came unbidden of my gunmetal black boot cut jeans – I had bought them at Lifestyle 3 years ago… I wasn’t really looking.. I had lost some weight (8 kilos – which I’ve since then put on… naturally :D)and was thinking of trying out something.. it was with my bro then as well… I tried on this brand called Bossini… very comfortable, slightly stretchy – they still fit well today J and here in the heartland of T Nagar was their flagship store… I went in and guess what? I did buy jeans yesterday!!! Blue slightly faded – straight with just the right amount of height for some heels perhaps.. They fit snug and don’t make my thighs look fat… I don’t confess to feeling like a million bucks… but I definitely feel better… J
Now all I need is the right top :D
Not to say I don’t own any – far from it.. I’ve lived in jeans since my eight standard – thanks to my sagacious aunt, whose taste in clothes and waist size I used to share then… so much so, that my friends were surprised to see me in salwar suits in engineering; having only seen me in my jeans before that… Maybe it was just my frustration for the school uniform that manifested in my perpetual jeans-clad avatar for all post-school activities (read: IIT coaching – which I sadly failed to clear).. I had two pairs of blue jeans then – boot cut and straight… and back then the fact that I was nearly 18 kilos lighter helped a great deal in looking good :D
Crashing back into the present: after straight jeans (ye olde straight up and down original jeans), boot cut (wide at the bottom and fitting at the thighs – first cousin to bell bottoms), boyfriend (big jeans – my favorite fat pants when I feel down…) it was the turn of the skinny jeans to be in season.. these jeans form my worst nightmare – there’s nothing more humiliating than having every lump and pound of flesh acutely highlighted – which form the premise for the structure of this jeans… while they look amazing and to-die-for on the Barbie doll statistics models; they look anything but on folks with blubber like moi ;)
Being rather rotund, the thought of skinny jeans gives me the shivers and I end up looking more like a chicken leg (fat thighs n skinny calves not to mention an ungainly muffin top :P)… I did indulge in skinny jeans in the UK but went in favour of leggings which allowed some tolerance for my bulging tummy.... I gave myself a couple of months to try to reduce my waistline – so that I could splurge on my birthday in September without any qualms about the amount shelled out for a pair of jeans… and in the meanwhile all I could see when I went shopping was folks in form-fitting and butt-accentuating levis jeans – the red tabs were soooo out there!!!
With all the ranting about skinny jeans – you, my patient reader, might wonder why on earth I was so obsessed with buying a pair… well considering I have 3 pairs of black jeans (one straight, one boot cut and one gunmetal shade boot cut), 3 pairs of blue (regular in light blue from old navy, boot cut from colt in darker blue, boyfriend pair from GAP) and a green pair from New Look… so you see the only conceivable shade and so glaringly missing was a blue levis…
After my severe and failed efforts at losing weight, I resolved to anyhow ignore my obvious barrel-shape, I decided to indulge in flattering my mental image of flaunting a pair of straight jeans with the distinctive red tab a la derriere.. I walked into a store and had my measurements taken – and the lady played up to my vanity by calling me a demi-curve (something like medium fat I think)… and came back with black jeans… I told her no way get me the blue ‘uns… and since my waist chose to be an impossible size between 30 and 32 – 30 was too tight – I looked like someone about to perform an MJ move :P and 32 was too loose… I was mortally afraid of being caught with the pants down – a small tug brought them down to my knees…
I cursed my tummy for doing this to me… no size / shape looked good… and I was walking next to waif-thin ladies who were browsing mini-skirts and being served by another who had a mythical 26 inch waist :P.. the ambience did nothing to soothe my beleaguered spirits… I left the store dejected and in the dumps..
Twice more did I venture to Levis flagship stores and then again – the next time I was provided basic blue jeans with no sense of texture or proportion… they simply didn’t feel as special as a levis was supposed to… I ought to explain – having read the annals of sisterhood of the travelling pants, I decided on procuring a pair of soft, comforting jeans which would dispel the notion of being out of proportion form my head – a non-fat option if you will… not possessing the close sisterhood, I was comforted by the thought that at least I could afford the best pair – in the book, the girls bought it from a thrift store…
I ended up feeling fat cause the promise of a curve for me failed to live up to expectations… I was left looking sorry either in extremely baggy jeans or in jeans so tight that they took me a full 10 minutes to pry off.. I mean taking nothing away from the texture, fading and cut – they were amazing but there were just not meant to be – and it didn’t help that the rest of clientele looked like they could give Katrina Kaif a complex :P I mean why doesn’t someone like Khushbu or Ramya Krishnan come to levis – I think the answer is self-evident but my mind refuses to attach any import to the fact..
Finally, on the third or fourth trip, the exasperated store clerk said, “Madam, you know there are cases where our jeans may not perfectly fit a person.. so, if you like some other brand please go there”… I was appalled and walked indignantly out of the shop… I promptly bought myself a Devil’s Own (Caffe Mocha with choco syrup) and tried to come to terms with my failed mission… essentially, the dude had just trampled my mental image of looking good in Levis – I mean those jeans were somehow supposed to transform me into a curvaceous babe (well – at least in my head)… and here the guy was telling me – nope, ain’t gonna happen… well, my birthday came n went with no jeans…
I moped and felt sorry for myself… no way was I expecting to look like a Barbie doll; but some part of me craved the feeling of looking good and it became associated with Levis… finally my younger bro – younger in years but wiser in certain things came n said – why don’t you just shop somewhere else… you’ve never conformed till now… so why change – go buy something other than Levis… In a flash I understood: until now, everything I’ve worn or bought have been unique… something set apart – be it quirky cuffs from the UK or pulsar watches or 25 rupee earrings from pondy bazaar… I am not sure that they go together but – they did make me feel – not pretty, not attractive but unique… as in I was the only one with this unique mix of accoutrements!!!
I stepped out of the house yesterday and walked the breadth of pondy bazaar and stopped in front of a shop… A memory came unbidden of my gunmetal black boot cut jeans – I had bought them at Lifestyle 3 years ago… I wasn’t really looking.. I had lost some weight (8 kilos – which I’ve since then put on… naturally :D)and was thinking of trying out something.. it was with my bro then as well… I tried on this brand called Bossini… very comfortable, slightly stretchy – they still fit well today J and here in the heartland of T Nagar was their flagship store… I went in and guess what? I did buy jeans yesterday!!! Blue slightly faded – straight with just the right amount of height for some heels perhaps.. They fit snug and don’t make my thighs look fat… I don’t confess to feeling like a million bucks… but I definitely feel better… J
Now all I need is the right top :D
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Where did my thoughts wander off....
It has been ages no strike that – eons since I last posted – 2 years spent in the UK – in the land of the British – where it is most difficult to understand some of their accents; yet glimpses of pure genius when someone touts a 20 pence coin on the street as ‘serendipity’.. where words like ‘tacit’, ‘moribund’ and ‘asinine’ are dropped every day into standard tea time chit chat…
In the land where I met worse bookworms than yours truly and folks (a la senior citizens) who read J K Rowling in the same breath as Longfellow, where the library is probably frequented more than a place of worship and where next to an umbrella, a book is the staple of every carry bag, I lost my tongue…
From paying my respects in Stratford to walking down Baker Street and to strolling the cobbled paths of Oxford, my English sojourn was relaxing and rewarding. From crumbling castles to winter wonderlands; football matches and musicals, theatre and country trails – each place was uncluttered, unfettered with roving guides who monopolize the experience with their brash baritone. Left to explore in my own sweet time, with no hurry or rush, the cooling climes proved sedative to any focused thinking…
Of course, I am ignoring the obsession with football, fetish for fish and chips and a universal thronging for weekend ‘reality’ shows… I chose to ignore these minor hassles and satiate myself along the footsteps of legends like Wordsworth, Milton and evergreen gems akin to Frances Burnett (A little Princess) and Enid Blyton.
I’ve often wondered how the prose of the British seems to flow mellifluously as compared to their cousins across the pond. The proof as they say is in the pudding or rather in the land. Whether it be the dragon-lore imbibed Cardiff; or the plucky Irish – home of Artemis Fowl; or the bloody feuds of Scotland which inspired R L Stevenson’s Kidnapped; the expanses of Britain are varied and composite. Each region has its own specialties producing the delectable feats of literature I love. The structure and fluidity of the English prose is at odds with the casual complaisance of their American brethren… but the core point remains – you cannot imagine fairies in the concrete jungles of New York while they seem plausible in the flowery meadows of Britain….
The frenetic London city with landmarks in modernity like the Gherkin and the Lloyds building also boasts of ghost walks and jack the Ripper tours at night through unsavoury lanes and baritone guides who ensure your shackles will rise during the course of the tour… The folks in the adjoining pubs enroute also ensure to add to the drama and ‘fear factor’ – an experience truly like none other!
Go on.. find your favorite authors and follow them to their hometowns… savor the sights that flavored their musings… enjoy the blustering weather and blooms in a land where everyone young and old alike are avid readers… and where the dingiest looking book store keeper will be able to chatter hour upon hour of authors you feel are obscure and recommend books based on your reading appetite… living among such stalwarts made my prose seem weak and childish in comparison to their regular speech… But now, looking back, I think I might have learnt something after all..
In the land where I met worse bookworms than yours truly and folks (a la senior citizens) who read J K Rowling in the same breath as Longfellow, where the library is probably frequented more than a place of worship and where next to an umbrella, a book is the staple of every carry bag, I lost my tongue…
From paying my respects in Stratford to walking down Baker Street and to strolling the cobbled paths of Oxford, my English sojourn was relaxing and rewarding. From crumbling castles to winter wonderlands; football matches and musicals, theatre and country trails – each place was uncluttered, unfettered with roving guides who monopolize the experience with their brash baritone. Left to explore in my own sweet time, with no hurry or rush, the cooling climes proved sedative to any focused thinking…
Of course, I am ignoring the obsession with football, fetish for fish and chips and a universal thronging for weekend ‘reality’ shows… I chose to ignore these minor hassles and satiate myself along the footsteps of legends like Wordsworth, Milton and evergreen gems akin to Frances Burnett (A little Princess) and Enid Blyton.
I’ve often wondered how the prose of the British seems to flow mellifluously as compared to their cousins across the pond. The proof as they say is in the pudding or rather in the land. Whether it be the dragon-lore imbibed Cardiff; or the plucky Irish – home of Artemis Fowl; or the bloody feuds of Scotland which inspired R L Stevenson’s Kidnapped; the expanses of Britain are varied and composite. Each region has its own specialties producing the delectable feats of literature I love. The structure and fluidity of the English prose is at odds with the casual complaisance of their American brethren… but the core point remains – you cannot imagine fairies in the concrete jungles of New York while they seem plausible in the flowery meadows of Britain….
The frenetic London city with landmarks in modernity like the Gherkin and the Lloyds building also boasts of ghost walks and jack the Ripper tours at night through unsavoury lanes and baritone guides who ensure your shackles will rise during the course of the tour… The folks in the adjoining pubs enroute also ensure to add to the drama and ‘fear factor’ – an experience truly like none other!
Go on.. find your favorite authors and follow them to their hometowns… savor the sights that flavored their musings… enjoy the blustering weather and blooms in a land where everyone young and old alike are avid readers… and where the dingiest looking book store keeper will be able to chatter hour upon hour of authors you feel are obscure and recommend books based on your reading appetite… living among such stalwarts made my prose seem weak and childish in comparison to their regular speech… But now, looking back, I think I might have learnt something after all..
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