XOXO (Arya)

So. Now for things that are of great relevance. Globally.

I found a style inspiration. When I was on my way back to Bombay last weekend. (See how I never write?!) Anyway, it was one of those movie-like 'Aha!' moments. Ever watched the show, Gossip Girl?
Heard of Serena Van Der Woodsen? It's her. And no, it's not because she's hot. I'm not hoping that by picking her, I'm going to magically get her amazing body or glorious hair. (Damn the Bombay humidity.)

It's just, the tastes match on many levels. I tend to go with the messy-hair, bohemian-with-an-edge thing like she does. I'm very likely to wear a floral dress with a leather jackets- just like she is. I LOVE my legs (as you may have seen from my proud display in the previous post), so shorts are my Number One fix on days that I feel shit. While I have a truckload of shorts, her collection is enviable, to say the least. Man, if I could get my hands on those Tibi leather shorts she wore.



I could've died and gone to heaven. Plus, we both have a thing for textures and prints, and mix-and-match outfits.
Like this dress. This is EXACTLY like something I'd wear. It's Jenny Packham, I think. Enough to make me swoon.



And her wedding dress. Sigh. It made me melt. Ah, Georges Chakra. I could just marry you.



But, most importantly, my current dress obsession is also one she wore on the show. It's a green lace Zuhair Murad. And I just want to die. LOOK AT IT!



But I've become boring. I wear jeans and t-shirts and old jackets now. With flip-flops. FLIP-FLOPS.
Can you believe it? It's just ridiculous. Which is why I want to go shopping. Get the groove in place again. I do know that when I go back home, I pamper myself every day. I take long baths, steam, use face packs, hydrate my hair. Here, there just isn't any time. So here's the plan. I will shop here. Get the raw material ready. And when I can, and I have the time to look awesome here, I will.

But when I go back home, I plan to be the boss of everything. Watch me, world. I will finally let my Serena out.


So. My major fashion related plan for the next ten days- as long as I'm in Bombay, is to shop. Shop, shop, shop. Off the road, in thrift stores. One or two keeper pieces from the brands that created them. Shoes, skirts, shorts, tops. The mixing and matching will do itself.

And while she's not the brightest, I understand Serena best of all the characters on the show. She's unashamed about her indulgence, but she's also relatively no-nonsense about the things that matter to her. I wouldn't say I identify with her, or that we're similar in any way- just that I understand her. Her fashion sense, however, I identify with wholeheartedly.

You know what my favourite thing about Serena is, though? She's so fearless. I mean, I wish I could step out in the day in those heels. But I can't. I'm too chicken. So I trade the heels I wish I was wearing to my trusted flip-flops. Her clothes, her shoes, her hair- make her the person she is, in so many ways. And in so many ways, she wears her personality on every piece of clothing, every accessory, every hairstyle she's wearing. If there's anything I could learn from her, it is to be more fearless in fashion.

And it's a lesson for everybody. Fearlessness. Because who the hell cares.

Love,
Arya.

(PS: I just bought an adorable floral jumpsuit and an amazing strappy bohemian top at lunch. Writing these posts makes me so hungry. Not for food, though, apparently.)

The Drinking, The Dancing and All That Jazz (Mila)

Everyone needs to loosen up every once in a while.

Alright, this is one overdue post. When Arya went back home, I told myself that I needed to get over myself. Thankfully, a good friend of mine- let’s call her Emma- came to Mumbai. She has a gang of friends here in Mumbai and asked if we could go clubbing with them. First, I was surprised. A hanger-on? That’s what I had become? But then, Emma’s the type who’ll go out of her way to make sure that you’re feeling awesome. So we went. We shopped forever and finally landed up at her friend’s house where we were set to change.

Did I mention her friends were fashion students who studied in some fancy Parisian college in Mumbai?

Well, they smoke only Dunhills- I loved them when they offered me mine. Usually, I;m awkward and silent around people who I don’t know. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t THAT girl.

They dressed me up, gave me accessories and shoes, did my make up, straightened my hair and they were so damn nice. I realised that I need to stop condescending people who do not have literary inclinations. These people could give no two fucks about Austen but they’re awesome.

And they had a car! We crammed into it and would have died if we were claustrophobic but it was fun. I haven’t been around Mumbai in a car. We drank in it and then went to a swanky bar and then Emma warned me that they had often been thrown out of there for not meeting the age limit. Sometimes, I feel fed up with that damn thing. I like my petite figure and my short hair but I am so sick of being stopped everywhere. But they didn’t stop me that night. I went in and we danced. We danced our hearts out.

Emma was wearing Aldo heels that was as long as an Reynolds pen. After a while,  she was about to cry so I offered to switch. We went to the balcony where couples were making out and did it- the switching, I mean. When we went back in, we went and sat at the bar just to rest her feet. And then, a really drunk guy came to me and then held out his hand asking me if I wanted to dance. I looked at him. And I was about to refuse. And then, I remembered the damn bucket list. So I accepted.

I went and danced with him. He was average looking but piss drunk and he was starting to get into my personal space. One song was enough for me- I smiled at him and then went to Emma. “They’re waiting for us!” I fudged, hoping she would catch on. She did, of course. Only my drunk guy’s friend had kept badgering her to dance and had finally only relented when she let him buy her a drink. So when I went to her and told her about how everyone was wondering where we were, she had just told him that she wanted Redbull in her vodka cocktail. “You promised me a dance!” said my drunk guy, angrily. I knew better than to piss him off.  “I’m just going to be back in two minutes.” I said earnestly, smiling at him. And then we walked to the other end of the club and stayed away from them forever. But hey, I did it. I went clubbing and got picked up by a guy.

After a while, we all got tired of the club and we left. Seven people fit into one Maruti Zen or some similarly small car. But the guy, sitting to my left, Neil I think he was called was damn cute and great conversation. We drove around the city- the whole city- for about three hours and then finally everyone became hungry so we stopped at this place where we could get Chinese food. As we drove over the Sea Link, I knew for sure that I loved this city where so many people like me live and breathe and fight every single minute.  Finally, I came home at 4.00.

And then I slept like I hadn’t slept my whole life.

Make Way! (Arya)

Hallelujah!
Do you, or do you not, LOVE shoes? I mean, don't they just sweep you off your newly adorned feet, and take you a new kind of heaven? I love shoes. They make life a little better. You know? They really know how to make your day a whole lot better. So I was having a bad day. I come home, and bam. A pair of gorgeous Nine Wests from a friend abroad, who had promised me a birthday gift. I love you. If you're reading this and know who you are.

This not a picture of the shoe. This is the picture of A shoe- I took it off the internet (God, the resolution) because I was too lazy to click. I got back an hour ago, and I have to be at work in five. But aren't they the best? I know. I almost feel afraid to touch them. But no. I'm going dancing on Tuesday, and I'm am going to wear these. That's it. So that at the end of the legs I'm so proud of, are these divine gifts of the Gods. And the cousin. God bless her. Really.
So, to match my new shoes, I got colourful hair! A blue and purple streak each, natch. God, I love colourful hair. I have to let my inner kook out sometime. Turns out, it was this weekend, when I was back home. I missed home. Man. I got warm food, that had actually been cooked for me, and that I didn't have to pay for. It was divine. There was air-conditioning in every room, and a nice fluffy blanket to snuggle under for the entire twelve hours I slept for the two nights I was there.
(Speaking of when I was away, Mila needs to stop being depressed and having us find out only when we read her posts. Worrisome, that girl is.)
I met my...errr...boy...person. Friend? I missed him. You know that feeling, of returning to something familiar? It was that. Except quadrupled. We drank chais, smoked like chimneys and spoke about everything in the world that could possibly be spoken about.
And then, before I started my journey back to Bombay this evening, I got nice and drunk. And a little high. Needless to say, the ride was reeeeaaallly fun. For me. Probably not for the friend who was travelling with me, though. I think after a point, he just wanted to shut me up. Not more than the annoying kids who seemed to have taken over the vehicle, though. Ugh. I hate the kind of kids who yell and run. I want to eliminate them. I mean it.
And I think I made a promise to make out with me friend. "And maybe more.", I think is what he said. I didn't protest, but I didn't say yes. I'm a cow. Honestly. I'm a big sex-doesn't-change-anything activist, but there are people who you'd want to sleep with. And then there are just the...NOOOOO!s. He's not at the top of my 'Hotties I'd Like To Make Sweet Love To Forever' list. Besides, much as I'd like to deny it, I'm very worried that I might be one of those people who can't sleep with anybody but the person they're with. Dammit! I'm faithful?! I never would've guessed. Well, no, actually, I don't think I am. I'm just looking for someone at par with the person I'm currently sleeping with. As of now, there doesn't seem to be anybody worth it. So faithful until proven otherwise, I suppose.
When did this post become about cheating?
I just want to put on my shoes, dance, and show off my new colourful hair to the world.
Make way!

Of Haircuts and Terrible Bosses (Mila)

So I've been in Bombay for eight days now. In that time I quit one job because of a bastardic boss. And my other job loves me. And I can read Wattpad there. And drink chai and take chai breaks whenever I want.

First, I’m going to tell you about the bastardic boss. He’s from Delhi (I’m not surprised either) and first he tells me I've to hardly work for 15 hours a week. Then he makes me work for about 12 hours in the last two days. Also, for whatever I do, he yells and screams. I’m usually confident and you should know this fundamental thing about me- I don’t fuck up.

I don’t fuck up my work or my academics. It’s not something I live by; it’s something that is ingrained in my system. So at the job, all I did was apologize, tell him quietly that he was the one making the mistakes and listen to him call me dumb. Now, I may be a lot of things but I am not stupid. I’m the nerd, the geek, the hard working child who all the cousins hate. I had to sit and listen to this fucking bastard tell me to use my head and not ask so many questions when he was ambiguous and vague. And I’m sorry but I am going to get my instructions right because if I don’t, it gives me an excuse to fuck things up. And you will yell. Again.

Bastard.

The man  pissed me off and made me feel angry, guilty, incompetent and stupid. Though I did nothing wrong  he was just angry all the time. So finally, I quit.

And then, the world became a better place. I was so caught up with not screwing up, with getting to places and being on time that I, for a minute forgot what the summer was about. I had a meltdown- literally. I panicked and broke down and cried. Poor Arya. She had no idea what to do. It’s funny if you look at it from a third person’s view: me weeping uncontrollably while Arya tries to pat my shoulder and say the right things. But she came through for me. And she spoke to the bastardic boss- she got yelled at too but then I don’t think I've met anyone who he hasn't yelled at. She was very close to a meltdown too- she's had a rough week. (Yes, I read her post- I gave her a warm tight hug).

And we were so glad to get out of his shackles, that as soon as we got done with our job, we booked an appointment with the hair salon.  Yes, tick number 4. Off that list. We got out new shiny hot haircuts!

We considered getting Rs.100 haircuts from a hair express nearby. Basically, these haircuts are for Rs.100 and that’s it. Slight problem though- the people I know swear by it while the people Arya know swear at/against it. So there was that chance that we could end up looking like the hobos that Arya secretly wishes we were.

So, we chickened out. We paid much more and got the haircuts done. My hair is not cropped and it just reaches to the nape of my neck. I got bangs so my face is framed very well too. It’s damn nice. I kind of love it but it’s annoying when I’m travelling in the local sometimes.

We went back to Prithvi Theatre and it was beautiful. We didn't go for the plays- we just went, sat, had cutting chai and talked about everything. And Prithvi is beautiful. There was an old man who played the flute and when he saw that we were listening, he turned a little more towards us so that we could hear. There was a weird guy who just sat there and sang to himself. There were hot guys in kurtas who smiled and talked about important things. There were artists and actors and weirdos and aunties and cultured people. We somehow fit right in.

Prithvi Theatre= Comfort

Anyway, I love my haircut but this is the last time I’m cutting my hair in a long time. I want it to fall  well below my shoulders after this. There was this one guy who I liked who told me that he really like my long hair. I’m not growing it out for him. I’m doing it because when I was with him, I could see flashes of the future (like a movie montage in my head) in which I could feel his hands through my hair. I could see it so vividly that I could almost actually feel it. I want to be the person in my movie montage and I’m doing it for her.

Welcome, World (Arya)

There are things a girl will never forget.

Her first kiss, her first dress, the first time she tried mum's shoes and makeup on, and felt like she could own the world. The warmth and comfort those memories bring, are feelings only a girl will understand.

But at the turn of our twentieth birthdays, thought Mila (my roommate and persistent friend) and I, we feel those familiar feelings slipping away, flowing into the river of thoughts, identities and endless work hours that have begun to occupy a major part of our lives.

When was the last time we were that little girl? When was the last time we allowed her to spread her wings, grow up into the woman she always wanted to be?

After years of being the person we so desperately wanted the world to believe we were, we have had. Enough. How much longer could we have snuck around, being girls in private time, and strong minded intellectuals in the public arena? How long could we sigh at the glossy pages of a Vogue in the privacy of our rooms, hummed a verse of Madonna in the shower and immediately felt embarrassed, put on a flowy white skirt, twirl in front of the mirror, and then promptly switch it in for a pair of worn jeans? Yeah, yeah, don't care what people think and all that, but honestly, we're never going to be that strong. How could we- the ones who just...assumed that the girliest girls are also the dumbest ones (Fine. Not us. Me.), let our Girl Pride flag fly?

This summer is going to be a momentous one. We're pulling out that girl. Wearing her on our sleeves. Giving her her release. Allowing her to sing her Madonna, and wear her skirts, and put on her makeup, without caring about what anybody would think.

It's time to trade in those baggy jeans and loose t-shirts you put on every morning to tell the world you're too smart to give a fuck, and put on something you PICKED OUT after HOURS of deliberation, instead. Because who the hell cares. Those people who say "OMG, makeup? YOU?" are not the ones who get to call the shots. They're not the ones you're putting on the makeup for, either. You're doing it for you. (Right. King of cliches.)

Not that we're advocating the whole "be-a-virgin-and-love-pink-flowers" outlook. We don't even like pink. Well, Mila does. I don't. But what we do know, is that everybody deserves a girls' night out. And to compensate for all the tomboy-ing dilly-dallying we've been doing for the last four years of our lives, we're doing thirty girls' days out.

And because we have no other POSSIBLE way to allow ourselves to be those girls, we've gone and made ourselves a list. Yep. A list of things to do this summer. Everything we've always wanted to do, but never allowed ourselves to. Not lame-ass things, like bungee-jump, or scuba-diving. Tiny, important, colossal tasks, that we will accomplish.

In the biggest, most pulsating city in India. Nay, the world? Bombay, here we come.

And just in case you're thinking of us as high-waisted dungrees-and-thick-glasses wearing, braces clad closet lesbians, you're wrong.

We're pretty regular, if you think about it. Writers, adulterers, we swear like seamen and dress like them, too. (I want my Aldo boots, dammit! Enough of these ill-fitting jeans!) And we're in Bombay for the summer. Nice little innocent workaholics.

Love and hugs,

-Arya.

(Look forward to our list. Trust me, you should. It's going to be fun. And if you don't have plans for the summer, no matter where you're sitting, we have a couple things that could help you spend your time.)

;)

To a very, VERY adventurous thirty days. 

Welcome, World (Mila)

Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I don’t know who is staring at me.

When I look back at my brutally short life, I wonder where I lost myself. I know exactly where- that doesn't help. Through my childhood, I have struggled to find myself- I still don’t have all the answers. And now, I study in a swanky college and I am working in Bombay over the summer. I am the smart one, the geek, the one who reads a million books. I am that girl who is scared of relationships, of emotional bondage and of cockroaches (they’re creepy, don’t laugh.) And now, I am tired. I am tired of being that girl who is one of the guys, I am tired of being the nerdy best friend, the one sporty one.

This summer, I am going to be the person I've always wanted to be.  I want to wear skirts, lipstick and high heels. I want to be proud of the fact that I love chick-lit and Gossip Girl and Sex and The City. I want to tell people that I know my Coco Chanel and that my bag is actually Fossil. I want to tell people that behind the baggy clothes, I actually have a slim figure.

I met Arya in college- we’re roommates in Bombay. (Have I mentioned that we love Bombay? Bombay -not Mumbai- is the city of dreams and desperation, of love of hope and faith. It is the New York of India) We had bonded over our love for classics, capitalism, theatre and politics. And guess what? Over Marlboros and Menthols, I figured out that she had a pair of Tres Mode heels hidden in her suitcase while she wore her father’s large shirts. So, we were travelling back by the Mumbai Local and we've come up with a bucket list for the summer. You can read it here.

Every time we do something on the list, we’re going to write about it. It works well because I had wanted to write The Great Indian Summer Novel, and this works well for me.

But the actual story doesn't start this summer- it probably goes back to our messed up childhood. No, we didn't know each other as kids but we Indians have similar parents. But for me, it goes back to the semester. It has been one messed up semester. I don’t know who I am, what I am doing (with my career) or my life. I liked a guy but it’s not going to work out and now, the world is different. And I need to change in order to keep up the pace.

So, we've the summer in front of us. Now we can talk about our smoking in the house, the wine and beer every other night and use un-parliamentary language without worrying that our parents will see it and be screwed by the conservative aunts and uncles and neighbour of the world.

What is the summer at the end of the day?

A collation of memories that seem more dreamlike than ever. When the heat passes, we remember only flashes of it. We actually remember the places, the people and the situations. We remember the smaller details like the ice cream, the pleasant midnight breeze and the satisfaction of slumber. We remember the people we were and the people who we became.

That is what this summer is going to be about. 

Love,
Mila