OOPS! I DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN...

For me, following a trend or any latest fashion has always been a pain... in the wrong place. As far as I can remember, I have always been experimentative about my looks and my style, since my college days... last couple of years of my graduating period, that is. Coming from a family like mine, I always had this pressure of looking-'decent'-factor about my appearance rather than attractive. Fashion was not only debatable-it was despicable, worrisome and damnable in our family. I have always been made to understand from my school days that a 'decent girl' is the one who wore her skirts or frocks below her knees. That included even the school uniforms-white shirts, atleast 2 sizes larger than the actual fit and pleated grey skirts falling below the knee-level, hair tied or pleated in 'two', broad red-ribbons intact. Any teacher or sister who would notice anyone with their skirts above or at the knee-level, would pull open the hem-stitches of the wearer or call up the parents summoning for new 'longer' skirts immediately. If it were for my teachers at school, I'd still be sporting oversized 'decent shirts' and long 'granny-skirts' and if it were for my parents, very loose salwar-kameez with dupatta intact and pinned up in the 'right' places. Fitted jeans labelled the girl-wearer as 'super-fast', so wear if you must, there were 'baggy-jeans' available in the 'decent' category. I did sport that kind of a look till I was maybe in the second or third year of my graduation in college.

As I started reading more Fashion Magazines with shifted interest to the glamorous Fashion-designing world from the boring accountancy balance-sheets, I became more and more aware of the latest trends, colours, designs and styles suited for different individuals. I still can't get over the first reaction emitted by my college friends when I wore black-nailpolish for an annual college function (a shade which was a specially ordered via someone coming back home from abroad). It matched perfectly with my attire and make-up, but even though it complimented my looks, it was not accepted and highly criticised and discouraged. Nobody had ever heard of the smokey-eye-effect at that time, forget about gothic make-up. One of my friends even offered to repaint my nails with her matte-pink polish over my black-coated nails, to 'normalise' my look. Of-course I did not relent to the offer. Slowly, I designed myself short kurtas with patiala pyjamas as an alternative to the very draggy long salwar-kameezes which everyone wore. The short kurtas looked smarter and were more convenient when worn loose even without dupattas. But of-course, the trend had not started then, and no matter how covered or decent they were to me, eyes were rolled up and eye-brows raised. My parents were enraged and asked me soon to discard away my 'fully-faaltu' designs.

Soon after I completed my college, graduating with accountancy honors, and discovering my new-found passion for fashion-designing, I shifted base to Delhi from Guwahati (my hometown), of-course with much opposition from my parents, who thought Fashion-designing was not a career at all... an MBA degree or Bank P.O. would have been a much preferred option. However, I moved here and as I stayed away from home and far from the constant scrutiny of my parents, I found myself being free to choose my clothes and styles that I liked to carry on myself. I gave away all my salwar-kameezes that I had carried with me to Delhi, to an orphanage. Then I started wearing clothes I found more comfortable to work in. As I was always on the 'go' mode, designing-classes in the morning, part-time job at the 'Habitat Centre' in the afternoons till late night, I was mostly in jeans, 6-pocket-cargos, tees, shirts and kurtas. It was utterly convenient to board a bus or cross the busy ring-road in a hurry, without my age-old salwar-kameez-dupatta get-up. The jeans or the cargos and kurtas with pockets made everything fit in place, handier and hassle-free. I felt free and more confident. I seldom wore salwar-kameez ever, after that. (And my ma still longs to see me in them.)
Next, I got my waist-length hair chopped off to a shoulder-length step-cut. It made me look nicer and much younger. It was also more easier to style as well as to maintain my hair.

For a couple of times when I visited home during the holidays or for any other festive ocassions, each time sporting a new-look, my parents, sisters and relatives expressed shock. But then I realised and made my folks realise that people would say something or the other anyway. If I put on some weight people would remark on that; if I lost weight they would still have a problem with that. Ditto for my hair-style and dressing. Then my parents stopped being shocked any further... or atleast they stopped reacting any more...
Of course, when I went home wearing my newly acquired low-waist levi's as the fashion had just hit Delhi and the other metros in India, my ma was scandalised. She couldn't understand whether I was gaining height or losing weight, as to why the jeans always remained there so low. Also, when I donned my new 'dirt-look' cultured denim jacket (not to mention it costed me a fortune), my dad soaked it in surf-exel for two nights straight before washing it clean with all his might, until the brown colour of it was replaced by no colour or almost white. While I did not realise that my jacket was missing, my dad was so proud of his washing ability that could have given any washing-machine worth its price a run for its money. When he mouthed a string of (un-wanted) advice on how I should wash my clothes more often and I realised what the context was, I could have shouted my guts out in horror... because my priceless jacket which I had even hardly worn no longer looked its worth...

When I went home again once, with my newly acquired tan and permed hair, my folks thought I was dating an afro-american, not a south-indian. "Or was it the South-Indian's influence for my new look?" they asked. I couldn't convince them that it was my choice, not his. Yet again, when I did the poker-straight-sleek look, my ma lost her sleep imagining me losing all my hair and going bald one fine day. Next, when I tried the 'out-of-bed' look, my (then) boyfriend's parents sympathised with how much work I might have had to do or how little I might have earned, so as not to be able to take proper care of my hair. They tried to help and suggested oil-therapy atleast twice a week with genuine coconut hair-oil, especially brought in from Kerala...
With tassels, funky belts, chains, wristbands, broad-netted hairbands and pointed boots to my credit, the reactions evoked were so much more interesting! A colleague of mine said that my feet... actually my boots (which were so new at that time that I was the only one wearing them, atleast at my workplace... some two years back) looked like a witch's feet. So much for my custom-made boots with the exclusive 4-inch heel, made to order from the downloaded print of an international footwear website.
Right after my Goa trip, I went home sporting my hippie-boho-look. The concept was as alien to them as 'walking a mile-crossing the river-to school' was for me. So when I wore my handkerchief skirts at home or a shirt-kurti over the traditional 'mekhela-chaadar' for a family function, I wasn't surprised when my ma sported a 'this is satan's spawn, not mine' look.

The last time when I was annoyed to a great extent, was when I bagged an assignment for 'Schwarzkopf' the famous German hair product company. A German expert was flown in who gave me a new look with a nice style and coloured some parts of my hair, mostly hi-lighting at appropriate areas (the same look is seen in my profile picture with the red-tshirt on). When I walked into my workplace after my assignment was over, most of my colleagues were seen emitting muffled reactions. Only a few liked the look and some were blunt enough to say that it was looking 'horrible'. But that was a part of my assignment with an international client and they paid me... good. And most importantly, I liked it on me. Still sporting the Schwarzkopf-look, when I went home in April with expected reaction, my parents had a problem this time because they thought I now looked younger than my age. Till that time I thought it was a good thing to look younger than one's age (especially when you are on the wrong side of your 20's and still happily single). But my parents explained that if I looked younger, I'd be approached by younger guys for marriage, which is again not a very commonly accepted phenomenon in case of an arranged-marriage.

After the initial gnashing of teeth, swearing under my breath with clenched teeth and listening to the boring lectures from dad and prayers from my ma (as always) to let this be the last time, I tried patiently to explain to them why they need to let me be myself. I talked about my individuality, my modelling needs, women's lib and what not. When everything failed, I reversed the game. I mentioned how I do not grudge them their need to dye their silver strands into jet-black.. how inspite of me suggesting them co-ordinated clothes for a social-do, they would still wear what they fancied... that, it was them who taught me to assert my choices and decisions... And oh! How I simply controlled my urge to laugh out loud when one of our rich relatives tried to understand fashion and bought me a oh-so-bollywoodish 'Bunty-Babli' salwar-piece with 'gota-patti' sequins and dollops of colours and frills...

While all of these debates and convincing can be thoroughly time-and-energy-consuming, they are thoroughly amusing as well, atleast for me. All these debates contribute majorly to my eventful and action-packed 3, max 4days stay at home whenever I visit. But deep in my heart I know, whoever I am or whatever I wear, whether the world accepts me or not, my family and my circle of the closest friends, still will. That's love (for the real me)... that's trust (a belief that I'd never really cross the line)... that's family (who are the closest and most dearest to my heart)...

PATIENTLY WAITING FOR A TRAGEDY

Ma called up today morning at about 9-ish. It was unusual as I spoke to her yesterday only. And from the little quiver in her voice when she spoke, I could make out there was something wrong. My sleep vanished instantly and I sat up to listen to her carefully. She started with her usual, "Are you still sleeping? Its past 9am..." bit. (That's mid-day for her and dawn for me)

Then she came to the real point and it hit me hard... Planetary positions may trigger an earthquake in Assam tomorrow at around 8am. Its magnitude to expected to be of 8.5 by the Richter Scale, which is of a great intensity... almost that of the Tsunami...

For a moment I felt like losing consciousness but ma still kept on talking about their plans.... how she plans to cook everyone's favourite for tonight's dinner at home (just in case...), how she would go to her yoga classes tomorrow morning at 5 and then coming back she plans to make breakfast sooner than usual and if in case the earthquake doesn't happen, what she plans to buy as a gift for our neighbour Dutta-aunty's new-born grand-child...

Just after hearing this much I could not register anything else in my head, the rest was all blabber. My whole thought-process froze and I got nervous... I still am. I asked them to just start off for here right away. But she would not listen. Neither would my dad or my sisters. They would just wait there and be prepared to face come what may. Scenes from the movie TITANIC keep flashing by infront of me and in my mind.... how they all embrace death when they are caught in that sinking ship. What do you feel and how can you prepare for such a natural destruction? I don't know. But I can only pray that a miracle happens and prevents this earthquake from taking place. Amen!