? ??????????????Kiss Under Tree? ????? ?? ???Rating: 4.2 (126 Ratings)??2 Grabs Today. 14887 Total Grabs.
??????Preview?? | ??Get the Code?? ?? ?????????????????????????????????? ????Easy Install Instructions:???1. Copy the Code??2. Log in to your Blogger account and go to "Manage Layout BLOGGER TEMPLATES AND TWITTER BACKGROUNDS ?

Thursday, May 9, 2013

A Postmodernist Scribble

Be it the ├╝ber cool Punjabi guy I met on a bus or the Brahmin aunty, with skin as smooth as an ukdicha modak I bumped into at Gokhale’s… people are pretty excited when you tell them that you’re a student of literature. Little do they know how it twists your sensibilities, rendering you incapable of being comprehended by the rest of the world.
  1. It begins with reading between the lines. It might start off with something as simple as a newspaper headline, moving on to the larger issues which blur the lines. Later, all you’re left with are fragments of your own imagination.
  2. It screws your relationships with your close ones. From Shakespeare’s Orlando to Nicolas Sparks’ Noah, I grew up knowing a certain breed of men, only to discover it doesn’t exist!
  3. I just can’t seem to accept the digitalised version of love. While half the young people I know are happy expressing their feelings through Whatsapp, Facebook and Skype, I still wonder if he’d like my handwriting in my home-made scrapbook.
  4. Your protagonists are revolutionaries. Che Guevara. Robinson Crusoe. Virginia Woolf. Ismat Chugtai. Literature, especially romantic, makes you victimise yourself. It might not be a bad relationship after all. But it is only when we make it out to be one that these guys will come to our rescue!
  5. The most dangerous waters I have dared to venture into, is feminist literature. Once you've stepped over the boundary, there is no return.

Since the time I finished my Masters, every day has brought in something new. From running a fashion magazine, driving a gypsy, throwing myself in the middle of the ocean to throwing up out of a running train ,posting controversial stuff on my blog and dating the wrong or not-so-wrong men, I've done everything. But one I haven’t found the perfect answer to one question — marriage.

Mother who refers to me as a freak/nomad. Good-for-nothing distant relatives who want me toruffle the lives of ‘matured and responsible’ software engineers. Committed friends. Gym aunties. Grandmothers smelling of Pond’s talcum powder. Train aunties whose indirect judgement I'm subjected to, every morning. They all want to know who he is. Though I wish I could tell them that I'm as curious as they are…

Occasionally, there comes a point in life where wearing satiny LBDs, coral lip glosses, late night chats and candlelight dinners don’t matter as much. And that’s when you realise that even though love and marriage are ingrained in one another, they are poles apart. I've been in love — truly,madly and deeply, only to realise that it doesn't always translate into a marriage. And then, like a quintessential Bollywood movie you think you’re different from the rest of the lot and that someday, you’ll pass the agnipariksha to be in his arms. “Bitch, please,” would be Seeta’s answer.

I'm not saying that you won’t love the person you marry; I’m just saying that it’s difficult to fall in love all over again, especially when you go from mid-twenties to late-twenties in no time. Although the perfect Armani wearing kind-hearted man with gelled up hair and a neat stubble is a dream,there are going to be men around. You just need to pick the one you’re comfortable with, the one who’ll stand up for you when you know you’re in trouble, the one who’ll be sensitive to your needs and most importantly, the one who would proudly flaunt you before the world.

Love is complicated, and the single-girl-in-the-city tale is even more. But then who can tell when a miracle will happen?

Monday, March 4, 2013

Wear it with a twist!

As a kid, I had to wage a war against my mother to let me keep my hair long. While she insisted me on wearing a not-even-close version of the Lady Diana hairdo (done horribly at the parlour around the corner), I wanted to flaunt those tresses. Finally, it was my dearest grandmom who jumped in and lectured my mom about how hair is a woman’s most treasured asset.

Although mid-length, layered and highlighted now, my hair was, as O Henry would describe, “a mini cascade of brown waters”, and I loved it will all my heart. Aaji devised many ways to tie them up. Since there weren’t too many accessories back then, so plaits, plaits and more plaits was the way to go!

The ritual began with a champi. During exams, when the hair kept falling all over my face, Aaji wove it tightly on the tip of my head, like a modern day crown braid. No-fuss pigtails were worn by everyone in school. As a teenage athlete, it kept me cool, too. The best part — you didn’t need a holding spray to eliminate flyaways.

Braided bangs, however, were my very own invention. I practiced them during daydreaming sessions and boring lectures and voila, didn’t I master them. Lately, I’ve also learnt to accessorise them with neon threads and bling clip-ons And even though my hair is a little shorter than usual these days, a few pumps of Dove Elixir and a French braid totally helps me keep bad hair days at bay!

Thursday, January 31, 2013

A silken surprise

So the other day, a gift hamper from Sunsilk was waiting to be unwrapped when I got home. Encased in a wooden basket, the Sunsilk Perfect Straight shampoo and conditioner were laid down on a piece of purple satin. Tearing the transparent plastic with uncontrollable enthusiasm, I decided to try this latest launch.

As the editor of Hair magazine, I've come across a lot of hair products, but none like this one! It’s been about eight months that I straightened my hair, and the curls have now begun to grow out. In a routine when hair spas and blow-drying becomes a tough task, the Sunsilk Perfect Straight came to my rescue. 

Since the shampoo and conditioner work together to straighten your hair as it dries, I can now step out of the house with utter confidence, knowing that it will align itself beautifully, no matter what the weather is!

And yes, the fruity-floral fragrance totally makes heads turn ;) 

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

A fresh new page...

The New Year celebration has become an obligation. There were times when the threshold seemed like a Laxmanrekha, but the other day, when my Mom called up to ask what I was drinking and my darling sister wished me a Happy Birthday instead of Happy New Year, I realised that times are changing. Surely a lot of parties happened. And while people were dancing, spilling drinks, making out, puking and breaking expensive Bone China, I was sleeping like a baby under the stars. 

I was one of you as well. Living a lifestyle in which Mango is supposed to be worn and not eaten, Zara gives you orgasms and sprinkles of Cool Water are enough to charm a man. If relationships were based on one's affiliation with rock bands and football teams, life would have been so much easier. But it's not that way, it can never be that way. We are plagued by postmodernism, inhabitants of Eliot's Wasteland, living in an unreal city. Love, why not? Maybe because he has a Facebook fan page. For me, because he's as much an adventure junkie as I am; he's a voracious reader and he spells right, too. That's how our generation makes decisions. But I guess it's all so slippery. Is it quicksand, or is it just muck? I can't really spot any lotuses mushrooming around, because we're too busy tagging people. While our spirits are soaring, values are witnessing their downfall.  

How different is the year going to be? Full of debates and discussions. Damini, Nirbhaya will surely find a replacement, something bigger, if the nation does not somehow shut Pandora's box. Ex-boyfriends will kill their ex-girlfriends, I hope you know that's the latest trend. Salman will make another hit movie at our cost, and we'll eventually find that special someone for twenty thirteen and make Jeremiah proud. 

As depressing as this sounds, there's still hope. We probably need a sixer to win (and that's even tough after God has announced his retirement), but it's not yet over till it's completely over. We could all do our bit. Take the train and read more than sulking in the traffic. Jump a couple of parties and learn horseriding instead. Whatever you do, nothing  can beat that piece of satisfaction of having done something constructive. The resolutions might have flown away with the booze by now, but the year has just begun for most of us. It's not too late. A fresh new slate awaits your words!