I'm Breaking Bad.

(...care to hoots whatever it means to you!)

F**k (beep) man!

I’m neck deep in Breaking Bad. 

Okay that’s not what I exactly mean by saying that. (For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, read on. For those who do, “Yo man! Hi faai! You know what um talkin’ ‘bout, Yo!). I don’t mean I’m neck deep into shit. OMG, my language’s really gone for a toss. All thanks to Breaking Bad! Ah, alright. I mean I’m into watching this show Breaking Bad day and night. You know what I actually started watching it an year ago. Saw the first season. Kind of decent I must say. Then I never went back to it for reasons even I find difficult to reason with. And then someone told me watch a hell lot of shows and movies (and I literally took this one piece of advice to heart!, so, you know…) Anyway, so what my point was there’s this chemistry-teacher-turned-into-drug-manufacturer character called Mr White, rather Walter White who really got onto my nerves. No, no. Not that way. In a good way. He comes across to me as extremely relatable. And debatable. And that’s what exactly got me writing this post.

Yeah I know you’d want to ask me this million dollar question “Why him?”, when there was so much buzz around the world for uncountable things and when I’d decided to exile away from my blog for so long! What on Earth moved me so much to make a comeback with Breaking Bad, and with one of its protagonist? Well, I’m just trying to be obviously not be precise and specific in telling what made me go bipolar, but then, since as a responsible writer (I like to call myself one!) I do feel I owe my readers an explanation, so here’s one. An incident happened which like with a/its flash of lightning took away my interest in writing. (Yeah I’m watching the Flash too). OK, I got it. I’m cutting the crap out. I just was sometimes very pensive but lazy, and vice versa. And the other times, I was too hurt to share. So I decided to keep it to myself and sleep over it! (I’ve been sleeping a lot, you’d say)

But here I’m. Alive and kicking. Back with a bang. And so getting back to what I was saying was Mr White, as they call him, is intriguing like hell to me. Like I said, he’s both relatable and debatable. And if you know me, you’d know it’s the latter quality that got my fingers typing here. Relatable because he does what I did some time back and because him and I are similar in incalculable measures. Not that I too have lung cancer, Jeez! God forbid! That’s not why I find him even remotely relatable. And debatable because what he does is perceptive. We’ll come to that, later! 

Walter White, or Walt in short, does something which in an ideal and legal world, is illegal, and punitive. Owing to his cancer and short supply of time he has, he intends to earn enormous amounts of money. And all this for his FAMILY. Yeah family comes first. Wife, children, they are the ones he wants to leave all his hard earned moolah for once they are on their own. And he reluctantly, snaps out of their life. So the catch here is “good, pure intentions”. Hold on to it. But, in order to be able to turn himself into a cashing machine, and stack in rolls of dollars enough for his family for the rest of their lives, he does the unthinkable. Yeah, he becomes a drug dealer. No actually a drug manufacturer along with his partner cum student Jesse, who deals with the dealer shit. (To all Jesse fans, I’m not sorry that I’d like to keep his mention minimalistic. He’s not my fav. And that’s just a limited expression of saying how useless a character he’s). I’d like to clarify here that drug manufacturing is the debatable part, and not relatable!

So if you’ve got the hang of the story you’d understand my fix. What if I try and juxtapose the show and the real world? And scoop out the illegality from the picture. What if one knows he’s wrong but still he does what he feels is right for the greater good? Who should be the judge here? What’s right or what’s wrong, shouldn’t that be more perceptive! Shouldn’t they be two sides of the same coin? Yeah I know moral policing and stuff. It is what your closed ones resort to once you, out of guilt and embarrassment and your love for them, confine into them. And it is justified, they should have known why were they being kept in dark in the first place, and why did you lie to them and why for once you denied the universal applicability of “Honesty is the best policy”, and why this and why that and blah blah blah! (This list is never ending, I’m tellin’ ya). All this is a matter of perception I say. Everything is right, everything is wrong. It is just that which side are you on. (Wow, I can rhyme as well!). I believe while making a decision the best thing you do in that searing jiffy is the right thing, the worst thing is you do nothing. When I was in my teenage, everything in the world, according to the antidote of moral policing injected into us since birth, fell into either of these two categories: wrong or right. Black or white. Now that I am an adult, and I can see through and read in between, I have accepted that some things fall into wrong and some things fall into right. There are things as Black, and there are things as white. But most things in the world aren't either! They are in between. Like the grey clouds that carry the silver lining! They are neither black nor white. They are Grey. (Ae, don’t you get ideas! I’m certainly not talking of the Fifty Shades of Grey!!!). Had it not been for the grey thunder, there wouldn’t be no silver lining. 

So all you stupid lovely folks out there. There are situations in all our lives. Snapping out is right. Sinking in is wrong. In the world more evil gets done in the name of righteousness than any other way, and you can’t do shit about it! (ISIS, for instance). So, Move on. Accept the Grey. And grab your silver lining! (As long its there!)

.

.

Yeah, I’m done lecturin’.

Your turn now! Or whatever! 

Midnight Musing

No one wants their life thrown into chaos. That is why a lot of people keep that threat under control, and are somehow capable of sustaining a struggle within. Yes, my mind was wandering. I wished I were there with someone who could bring peace to my heart someone with whom I could spend a little time without being afraid that I would lose him/her the next day. With that reassurance, the time would pass more slowly. We could be silent for a while because we'd know we had the rest of our lives together for conversation. I wouldn't have to worry about serious matters, about difficult decisions and hard words. But I guess l am meant to learn life’s lessons the hard way. I am two women inside: one wants to have all the joy, passion and adventure that life can give me. The other wants to be a slave to routine, to family life, to the things that can be planned and achieved. I’m victim to an everlasting Struggle.

"Struggle!" A rather unsettling word, huh? Well, for some it’s a word that drives them to excellence, others find it a word that overwhelms them with pressure, expectations and anxiety and the rest are simply clueless! And as surprising and baffling as it might sound, I've been a witness to almost all the three versions of ‘Struggle’ talked above. From the fleeting fantasies of a young girl to being a bubbly school going kid and to a more grounded and mature woman now, I’ve seen it all and believe it or not, the sweet-happy journey continues, still!

I keep wondering as to what is the ‘struggle’ against? Is it against: a person? Or some godforsaken thought of a spotless mind? a philosophical ideology that got skewed over time? Or is it that I’m fighting with my own self? 

As a kid, however never delved deeper into understanding the theory behind. When in doubt I was always told it’s an inexplicable concept, a non sequitur, and we just need to keep trying hard, take the hits, bear the blows in the gut, face the odds and in that process, sometime later, achieve (rather WIN!) sweet success.

Those were the days when I was more attached to dolls, figurines, reading comics, treating myself to cakes and candies, going to school and coming back with truckloads of homework, coaxing mum and dad to take me to the nearest ice cream shop (which I still do), and buy me funky, shining clothes from the most flashy shop in the town. Most call it the nonchalant phase of life. Nothing much to complain about and nothing much to crib for. Life was going too fast and too simple and 'Struggle', in any fathomable manifestation, was a far cry for me!

As I grew up things slowed down, life became unsparingly less simple and people and relations were not what they used to be. Someone said 'Change is the only constant' and we so agreed to it. But I ask myself, change for what? For better or for worse? And it turns out; invariably for worse and seldom for better. Life is an unforgiving experience; it tunelessly keeps you on the edge.

The pressure to outscore others and be the shining star strips one of the natural charm and glow that one prided itself on. I’m sure to have differences of opinion on that but most would agree that even the ‘better’ was a ‘worse’ at the outset. It’s the choices we take and what we make of it that matters the most. Life moves very fast. It rushes us from heaven to hell in a matter of seconds. All you need is to be aware of those moments and make the most of them whether you’re busy doing something or contemplating life.

I’m a happy girl now! The ‘been-there-seen-that’ sort. When I look back in time I see a different me. I’m not what I used to be. Life has taught me lessons galore, made me a battle hardened warrior, and I’m ready to take on the world. The days I’ve finished, I’m done with. My life is what I make of it. No matter what, I am going to mess it up sometimes. But the good part is I get to decide how I’m going to mess it up!

That’s it!

To Romeo--

Hey baby, the time after “these” years is not going to be easy, I know. My body shrivels at the thought. I know it’ll be difficult to even catch a glimpse of you. And I may have to wait for years to see you again. To hold you back in my arms and feel your heart thump against mine. To hold hands and kiss like there’s no tomorrow! Well, I know you’ll miss me too. (I’m not that bad, you know) And the stupid girl in me that loves you like mad! I know every morning you’ll wait for my phone call and to call me names over the conversation. Oh yes! Yes! I’ll miss that too. Telling you things I’d do to you to wake you up! Ha Ha! And the way you'd ask me “In health and sickness, and blah blah, Will you Marry Me?” and I'd say, without a care in the world, “YES”. 

Huhhh! Oh God! Past “these” years I’ll sit by myself, all wrinkled and taken by age to realize the golden period of my life was over. It touched me like it was never meant to be someone else’s; only mine. And it left me as if it was never mine! It always belonged to the person it was with. And then it went off. I don’t know how our story would end, but if what I feel now is true love, then it’s never too late to pen it down. There are times I want you to know I wouldn’t have found a better man than you are! I’m so happy with you. For me, you’re the perfect man alive! The world feels so complete in your arms. With you I realized how important it is to live in the moment. And that “what” and “if” are two words, as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together, side by side, and they have the power to haunt you all your life. What If? What If! What If---

You need only the courage to follow your heart. I don’t know what a love like Juliet’s feels like—a love to die for, a love to bring down stars for, a love to leave loved ones for, or a love to stand waiting in the balcony for your lover to climb up and kiss you for; but I’d like to believe since I was the one to feel it, I’d the courage to seize it. And I know I may have said this a million number of times, and maybe saying it again would make it sound a little like “I know, I know” sort but, honestly, I love you.

I do. I love you.

And I’ll do whatever it take to always come back running to you as long as you’re waiting for me on the other side. ‘Cause the truth is, and will forever remain, I’m madly, deeply, truly, passionately in love with you.

Yeah!

Oh hell yeah!!!

Forever yours in this world.

(And every other, if there’s any!)

Juliet. 

I'm talking Crap!

Too often you don't realize what you have until it's gone. 

...you're too stubborn to say, 'Sorry, I was wrong' 

you hurt the ones closest to your hearts, 

and you let the most foolish things tear you apart... 

Finally you learn to let go... That's expected of you! And once you've mastered the act of letting go you fall into the trap repeatedly, each time you let go! 

There are times when you feel out of place. As if the world’s end is inching closer to gulp you down, swallow you in flesh and bone. All you see around is people talking, laughing about things alien to you. Each of their expression and the thrill with which they gel along comes as a mockery on the limited time you've spent all your life on stuff they’re boasting about! It’s jarring. It’s suffocating. It leaves you flabbergasted. Still you endure. You let go! 

Each eye you look in reflects to you finer beauty than you are. Every face you glance around appears the most beautifully sculpted. Every person you meet happens to have some story to spin. And there you stand amongst them all hollow and lacking charm. With attributes of fewer interests to the world you’re around. You feel helpless. And Helplessness is such a rotten feeling. There's nothing you can do about it. Being helpless is like being paralyzed. It's sickness. The cure calls for a monumental effort to stand up and start walking somewhere, anywhere. But that takes a lot of time, and again an act of letting go! 

And surprisingly you still discover the nerve to you set out on a search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more approving of who you are. One who tells you it isn't a crime being the way you have been throughout. 

Your arms grope forward to find those that can guide you when your tears block your vision in darkness. So you couldn't run away from yourself any more. So that you can confess how terribly miserable you have been feeling with the way the world is. And it instills a terror in you. 

You yearn to feel those strong arms around you to help you not tremble. Turned from the rest of the world only to be safe and protected in that embrace. To be yourself. All you make an effort is to whimper like a small animal in a trap, pushing yourself closer to him and saying in a choked voice, "I'm so frightened!"

"I know, my love," the voice would say. "I'm so sorry you were hurt."

And you would feel yourself being pulled up to him, his grip around you tight. It would be a strange feeling in that dark world around you, where not even the light of the moon cast any illumination. 

And in that searing jiffy, ALL you wish to be whispered to you is… 

"My love, there is no need to fear now. I shall protect you from those who are condescending to you. I shall keep you comfortable, and warm. I’ll be your companion. I’ll make you feel special, different from others. 

And most importantly, I’ll not let your entire life become an act of letting go!!

Just stay around me, and come what may, I’ll stay around you!!”

Till We Meet Again…

"I’ve never given much thought to how I would die, but today, this moment, dying giving birth to a new life seems like a good way to go. One of the few privileges of having met with an accident while you are pregnant, (luckily) your husband is not around and docs can’t reach out to your loved ones is that YOU get to make that one tough decision. Yes! They are mere docs; mortals themselves! At the best of their ability they give you a choice. And a choice IS all that matters in that instance of pride and excruciating loss, you’re a part of at the same time. Least, you can be anything but slow in fulfilling your duty as a mother! So here in this searing jiffy, both by choice and by compulsion, I come to a cold agreement with  my resolution, my end; and let my young one come alive through me to this world.

There are other advantages too:  After taking on that heart rending decision, like a true warrior, like a quivering individual, like a strong mother, you do find those few stolen moments to write to pen down your own obituary.

To the uninitiated, I am Tamanna Shahzaad; I grew up in a burst ling yet laidback town of Lucknow, attended school there, became a noted journalist, got married to a geek, and had a family only to find that I’ll not be a part of it towards the end. And that end would come sooner than thought. Shahzaad, my husband is a gentle, romantic, loving and an adorable man. He stood by me in my toughest of times. We have seen through tough times and rough patches. Our relationship blossomed with every passing day. He is my reservoir of strength. However, there comes a time in life when you need to look for that well of courage within yourself, in the deepest darkest unexplored corners of your mind. To my husband I might have ditched him as a companion, I promised him to stay around forever, but he’ll be a proud father. And then when things sink in, he’ll be a proud husband again to realise the mother overpowered the wife in his woman. And that his wife’s resting in eternal peace having done that!

Alas! Life takes a nasty turn and you only become a story in the end!

Life in one instance poured in an avalanche of ecstasy, more than I could cope with and in the other took away more than I could return. Sometimes life gives you no choice but to share your thoughts with the world, to tell them you’ve been strong, led a worthy existence and that you beholden to this fact!

I am thankful to many people who were an edifice of support for me.

My beloved father and mother - the pillars of my short lived existence on this planet. 

They have an impression so deep in my heart that it keeps getting indelible each day. My in-laws!  My beloved family and friends.

Now, as I look back on the people, relationships, memories and stories I left behind, I can’t help but confess how lovely it had been back then. It was a journey through bliss, only to end in bliss!

Oblivion is calling shots, and I’m content to repose. And for the last few times that my heart throbs slowly against my ribs –it’ll miss this golden disc up there every morn, and the pale white one on the dark night, that lonely walk down the memory lane, that stroll through the busy city, and the one through the sleeping country side, those never stopping roads, the memory of my child’s moves’ in my womb, that holding of hand of Shahzaad to share mutually the thrill of becoming first-time parents. Each of these keeps coming back but I have moved on. I had to.

Beautiful days! Happy to have been here. 

“Shahzaad! Take care of our child!”

Forever yours, in this world, and every other (if there is any!).

Tamanna". 

Quivering and Strong!!!

As if time had undone itself, they started it all over again. It’s good to be in love but its bliss to keep those unknown feelings under leash, and then love in all purity without saying as much.

Zi rolled his eyes and took J’s hand. His hands tightly clasped around hers, with the pulses of their wrists beating together and his fingers feeling up her nails and knuckles. It gave her a feeling of nervous clutters in the best way. For a moment J froze. In the next she took his hands and interlaced her fingers through his. Zi looked at J, his lips parted in surprise, but then he smiled innocently and gave her hand a tighter hold and a godly comfort! 

A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were the two, who had never considered each other beyond friends till date, between whom no word or even look of lust and infatuation had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of dissonance and boredom that settled around them there, their hands instinctively sought for each other. J has marveled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that he would reach out to her so, and, as she has often told him, there is in her also the instinct to turn to him for comfort and protection. So they sat there hand in hand like two children, with Zi's fingers writing words on J’s hand, and peace settled around them like a blanket while they played the game-of-words. 

Well, it seems to me that the best relationships - the ones that last - are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been clicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with. You rise above mediocre lovers. You mutate to soul mates.

Zi and J found the perfect companion in each other. J would complete sentences that Zi left mid-way in a conversation, like she was there in his mind playing the telepath. Zi talked to her about everything under the sun. In lighter conversations they even discussed adult stuff, and marveled at their compatibility with each other. (Sounds fun!)

And there were other things that gave them greater fun and kick. That what made things happen to them in their head! Like when Zi almost thawed when J, sat pillion in that spacecraft, and wrote long secret sentences on his back all the way they flew. And J blushed away from pink to red when Zi took a back seat only to plant a thousand pecks on her cheeks, and neck and shoulders and arms while she maneuvered the "Blackbird". He would be lost in the scent of her body, her hair. He would peck her on her eyes and her forehead. He would bite her on her ears, at times on her neck as well. He would grab her tight, tightest; with all his strength.

And it happened that magical evening that Zi began, and J waited, heart throbbing in her throat. 

“What?” she asked, just as his head swooped in and his lips touched hers. She tried to speak, but one of Zi’s hands held the back of her head, and he kept his lips pressed against hers, kissing her softly but with a Zi-like determination.

Zi tilted his head to kiss her more deeply, and she felt totally lightheaded and numb, both at the same time. Then she remembered to breathe through her nose, and the numbness cleared a tiny bit. Somehow they were pressed together, Zi’s arms around J now, sliding on her rib cage, his hands flat against her back. J stretched on her toes and held Zi with all her might. Like, the two stood there as one body, one soul. 

It was incredible. They loved it. She loved him. He loved her.

Pure bliss it is to be there, and not to be there!!! Ah, what happiness it is to be with someone who keeps you happy, to press hands, press cheeks, smile into eyes, to kiss with all purity, to hug like divine…

“My family left me to die,

BUT I’VE FOUND MY HAPPINESS”

"My wrinkled countenance reflects my misery,
my dirt-lined nails exude my toil.
I'm.
A mother. A daughter.
A chaste. A sinner.
A women. An Indian."

The other day when I was out to capture poverty dwelling in slums for a photography contest, I met Anwari.

Anwari, 50, huddles around the dark, dirty sludge-laden meandering lanes of the Naza market, in Lucknow, day and night, playing a waste-picker.  In between gathering all dirt and sludge, the frail wrinkled woman smiles, and agrees to pose for me when Jahan, her best friend joins her. United by a common fate, the two women engross themselves in work and chatter, cherishing a friendship that goes beyond age, work hours and gossip.

Anwari’s parents abandoned her when she was in her metric. Being a girl and the only child to her parents proved fatal for her. Too young to shoulder the burdens of an unsupporting family and teenage trauma, she smiled through it all 40 years of life, with Jahan, as a waste gatherer!

It’s been five-years-and-a-half since Anwari was diagnosed with the cancer of the nasopharynx (nasal part of the throat). Back then, as a school girl in a village, she’d dismissed the headaches and fever as common flu. To avoid taunts from her alcoholic father, she suffered in silence. It was only when Jahan saw traces of blood running down Anwari’s nose, she realized something was horribly wrong with her best friend and she took her to a doctor. “I was going mad with pain. I’d scream for hours,” Anwari shudders. Tired of her outburst, Jahan decided to take her to her village, where her parents lived.

Jahan’s friendship brought Anwari a temporary relief, but her parents abandoned her for life this time.

“They don’t want me to live with them,” says Anwari. “Though I have explained that cancer isn’t contagious, they think they’ll get it from me.” Unable to bear the humiliation she faced every day, Anwari tried to commit suicide, and once again was consoled by Jahan.

A convulsion of pain ran across the length and breadth of my body and I sat there frozen. To begin a lighter conversation with Anwari, I spent an hour with her chatting about everything from her health to her favorites. Soon the old woman transformed to a bubbly teenager. Slowly the conversation drifted to Azam, a man in his late fifties, Anwari’s co-worker and also a cancer patient.

The old man is thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. Anwari considers him the perfect man for her. They are together all day. Oblivious to others, they find solace in each other. Anwari is wary of talking about him, but the shy smile at the mention of his name is testimony to the surreal bond they share at the second innings of their age. The duo is unaffected by the glares of the society. “He understands my pain better than anyone ever can, barring Jahan,” says Anwari. Azam has given her hope for a future she did not believe in. “I asked him, jokingly, if he’d marry me, and he said he would if he had his own house,” she blushes.

P.S. – Anwari and Azam are currently undergoing treatment at a local hospital, courtesy Jahan. 

Some "Marriages-Relationships-Aftermath -- Blah! Blah!" crap. 

 The fable of a multitude of so called modern relationships is a variation on a common theme: the conspiracy between men and women to murder the Powerful. Usually when we think of power, or two married souls ponder over it or even more when just two opposite sexes get pensive about the power of power.-they think of external powers, and of powerful people who have institutionalized “marriage” in the world. And being victimized by this powerful notion I used to think I needed a powerful man, someone who could protect me from the harshness and evils of the dirty world. What I've cum to realize is that evils of the ugly world that confront me every now and then-mostly when I’m all by myself-are a reflection of my own dilemma, my internal state, my mind. The powerful man I was looking for would be primarily, someone who supported me in keeping me on track spiritually and help me maintain clarity within me that life would pose fewer problems.

I no longer yearn for a husband who would say to me, “Don’t worry, honey. If they are mean to you, I’ll beat them up or buy them out”. Instead my only heart pines for a life partner who prays with me regularly so that fewer monsters from the outer world disturb me, and who, when they do, guides me to look within my own consciousness for answers to combat false patriarchal power.

And I believe this is what every girl and the woman in her desires in her perspective of the institution of marriage. Both men and women at some point in time do incline to marry. But how much of their desire is natural and how much of it is cultural is still remains a million dollar question. What is certainly natural is our desire for the beloved. What is cultural is our tendency to forget that a piece of paper cannot tie hearts together. The issue is not whether we marry but whether we allow any choice of lifestyle to impinge on their ability to fly.

I once heard someone say that women, married ones in particular can’t write for nuts. I don’t believe this is true, but I understand what it means. The crux of the matter is marriage is not a mere convention but it is often looked as one and, as such, will sink instead of uplifting a woman’s spirit.

Today, with the advent of technology and various social networking boards, I see relationships losing their sanctity. It’s all in the open, and it’s mostly more of open ones. Trust is ever losing. Like all other things, people flaunt break-ups and separation more prominently than engagements. One cheating on the other is a clichéd story. And the impact of these sites is so much that a girl literally ended her life reading her husband’s latest status about their ‘’spiltsville’!!!    

Huh! Is that all we value relationships for??? I’m afraid if our relationships agree to this in the affirmative!!!

Let technology serve our love for one another. And not for our mutual destruction. Let intelligence lead us to peace and not to war; to commitment that involves complete surrender. Let our actions be used to heal and not to further wound.

Being in a relationship means much more than fighting, cheating, doubting, and then separating! And as women we must keep this message alive. We must understand its importance and relay it to others. Whispering it in the dark and shouting it in the light of the day.

.

.

.

Yeaaaah! I’m done. That’s it!

Fashion just got trendier this summer!

Kurtas with leggings, cropped pants, multiple skirts, cotton tees and tanks – Hey girls!!! I've got you some quirky summer fashion styles! 
(With expert inputs from Abhijeet Sunny).

Whether you are planning on spending a day at the poolside, frolicking on the beach or simply running under the sprinkler, cool summer wear for hot lazy summer days is a must. Keep the heat at bay and look stylish and hip throughout the season. Beginning with the most basic of summer requirements – Shorts and Cropped Pants - The rising temperatures seek out the rising hemlines to make a hot fashion statement. Bermudas, both short and long, and a variety of cropped pants; capris, gauchos and ankle length pants are in this summer, besides the comfortable, cool, airy, easy-to-wear outfits.

That's just how women like their clothes to be during summers and what's better than our Indian kurtis, salwar-kurtas and saris to beat the heat?

While some of my friends vouch for the Indian wear, others simply fall for western counterparts. For all our lazzy lasses Indian clothes serve the purpose to the T. They are airy, breathy, loose and size-friendly and so they are best suited for the season which lasts for almost eight months. "Nothing other than the kurtas teamed with jeans, churidaar or loose salwars make me feel at ease during the peak summer season", tells my best pal to me, and I laugh heartily at her little nose trying its best to align itself to a thousand facial expressions displayed in a fraction second! "Zoya, you're impossible! And I love for you for it", I said. 

Anyway, the point to be driven home is if the thought of lots of bare skin this summer makes you want to hide under a baggy cardigan, take a fresh look at how to make fashion work for you right now. Nowadays, kurtis can be teamed up with leggings as well, or with those desirous what they call it 'dhoti' salwaars, which gives it a cool trendy "cut above the rest' look. And I believe girls and women alike are really keen on wearing denim capris and lose tank tops for the comfort that they provide. 

But but but....! Here comes the twist. My dear friend Abhijeet Sunny, a promising name in the glamour world, a fashion designer by profession and a fashionista at heart is not of the idea that Indian women tend to wear more Indian clothes during summer. 'Although I agree that Indian clothes make you feel free, fashion trends in India have changed. Indian women have come off age with respect to their style statements. Chic is in vogue, for all seasons. The Indian-ness in the clothes is alive but in a different way. They wear tunics with huge hats, stilettos with polka dot shorts, English bail-bottoms with camouflage print camisole tees, skull print Bermudas, animal prints with jeweled collars, tiger face motifs and high strap sandals to go with. They are experimental, off track, unusual, contemplative and yes, in rhythm, on beat! I don't think many young women would be seen sporting a salwar-kameez unless it is for a formal occasion,' continued Abhijeet, and I, without blabbering much, nodded dutifully.

On second thoughts, I did agree gone are the days when girls felt uneasy wearing short-lengths or, for that matter, they hesitated endorsing western stuff. Now, it all wraps around sporting the newest trend, be it college or your workplace. We have all the more freedom to experiment with our wardrobe with these new skirts which are the best to beat the heat, but in finding your perfect skirt length, a word of caution for all my lovely beautiful women here. My fashion wisdom says a skirt's width should never be more than its length to transform you into a summer fashion diva. 

And then even the scorching heat can't stop you ladies from sashaying around this summer with the season's 'it' look. So go ahead you beauties, summer fashion is again at your feet!

Its a matter of time. Give it time. 

Sometimes you 'HAVE TO' settle with destiny's cards...

Even when you deserve more, and your conscience ticks you off a loser! You develop a hateful vehemence for yourself. Every passing second your world seems inching closer its end. 

Doomed, cracked into N pieces, smashed to smithereens, you do acquiesce to life's mockery. The dream you chased religiously drains you out of the last drop. For little you knew in the beginning the loss of it could be so devastating. 

Forlorn you remain, battling hard to prevent your worst fears stare you in the eye! You writhe in pain. You scream, shout; grapple to hold on...

Courage becomes a pretense when you long only for your time to come by!

Yeah 'Time'.

It hurts hard. It heals forever.