Don’t do the things I would do

It’s a really weird time in the world and where we once found it necessary to slow down and take a deep breath, today, deep breaths are plenty. Hearts are fuller – either from being closer than ever to your loved ones or being farther than ever to their magical hugs. Where once we made decisions on the run, today, reflections are standing their ground. In this existential crisis, there’s thought before action, and even after it. More than ever, there is a candid affair with this new-found friend – TIME. Probably casual, probably temporary, but definitely worth it. As every feeling is felt with deeper consciousness and every moment can be seen passing, experiences seem enhanced somehow – the good, the bad and the ugly. For many of us, it’s been a time to stop, refresh & reanalyse. For many of us, it hasn’t been straight forward and while we strive to flatten a global curve, we are flattening our own life curves laboriously. It’s what I call the sine curve of existence.

A little bit of context is in order, I feel.

Over the years, this blog has been that place where I’ve come to remind myself where my strengths lie. It’s the brave, new me. The one who has come a long winding way, growing both personally and professionally. It’s been a place meant to inspire. Positive and intentional. With feelers of love and hope. It hasn’t been scripted or content strategised to be that way, but, the power of believing in the existence of good in a bad place has been my modus operandi. Open wounds, insecurities, fears, judgements, disillusionment, compulsive negativity, depression, regret, and losing the will to fight – talking about these never made anybody happy. But, it doesn’t mean that they don’t exist in people who resolve to see beyond them. Internally, we give up time and again. But, we stand back up for the ones who stand with us. A lot of fulfilment comes from acceptance of what can be and what can’t, where your weaknesses will get you and where your will will take you, who stays by you and who you can never trust. A greater fulfilment comes from knowing that you kept your grace (at most times, if not all) even at your lowest points.

But what about the highest points?

To me, it’s the highest points that call out danger. Highs and lows are relative experiences. The lower you’ve been, the higher you’ll go. The lowest you’ve seen will always be a measure to the rush you feel when joy hits you in an unexpected place. You pamper yourself with joy because you feel you deserve it so bad. Because obviously, the balance must be restored somehow. All the strength you held inside you in that storm – that’s a strength you want to keep aside for sometime – holding on to it was all-consuming for a while. There’s wisdom in the storm, but somehow that wisdom is limited to bad tidings. There’s self-indulgence where there should be self-care – and no, you’re not naive to be blinded by it. You see it and you tell yourself – ‘I need to let go. Moderation can wait.’ You tell yourself that these highs are temporary and this happiness that fills your heart is a feeling you must cherish while it lasts. Because life has taught you that it might slip away one fine morning. For now, excessive is normal. It’s acceptable. It’s deserved. It’s only fair. All the reg flags are there, but you think you have time before you must abort mission rogue.

Tell me this hasn’t happened to you? Ever? In the slightest? That time you fell so in love on rebound. Or partied too hard. Or smoked too much. Drank because it felt like the greatest escape. Shopped like a maniac because you felt you earned it. Binged ate and binged watched. Became anti-social or overtly social. Worked too hard because it was a distraction. Chased money or success. Let a love-sick mind take big decisions. Became a compulsive attention seeker. Stepped on somebody’s else piece of pie. How many times have you honestly looked at yourself and known that excessive is becoming the new normal for you – and that the time bomb is quietly ticking in the dark.

Now I know that sounds fucked-up. But, let’s not be so quick to judge or be so hard on ourselves. We all believe that we deserve a certain deal from what we are dealt. Oftentimes, life throws curveballs and the game is reversed. The cards are all mixed up. There is no pure sequence. No joker. And then suddenly, the next card you’re dealt is a piece of the 7th heaven. It completes a sequence, it calls for a new story, a new chance. It floods an empty space. So you bet double. And then ten-fold. Until you are barely left with anything but some remnant pride. You plunge – knowing all too well this is a gamble, but believing in that good fortune because you deserve it don’t you? A gift for all that has been. It’s empathy vs self-pity – the emotions are confusing. Terribly misplaced. There are moments of delirium. And then, like a rude shock, somebody declares three aces. Somebody who isn’t you. You were waiting on this day while you began putting up that excessive house of cards. You always knew it wasn’t sustainable. And, crash landing now…

Back to the lows. Back to the sine curve. The periodic oscillation of up-down-up.

Nobody is above and beyond this process. But, some of these lessons stay on for posterity – only one glitch here – you can’t learn it from me. You’ll do it in your own time.

And yet I would say (like Tony Stark says to Peter Parker) –

‘Don’t do the things I would do, and definitely don’t do the things I wouldn’t do.’

• 

Stay home, keep your loves safe. And, if they are away from you, remind them often that they are so very loved. Let the continuous waves of up-down-ups not dim your inner light. If it’s a dark time, you’re probably on the side of the moon where the best music lives. With it, you’ll live to fight another day.

Until next time,

XOXO

The 30-something rebellion

How Hollywood-ish is the 30-something rebel livin’ la vida loca (living the crazy life) of her 20’s? The fact that I just typed out livin’ la vida loca goes to show that I belong to the Ricky Martin fan club era days. And yes, I was in love with him – then. Back in the day.

So, without delving too deep into the absolute pathetic existence of my 20’s and the reasons behind it (primarily just me), let me summarise. Single child. Formally educated. Nerd. Solitudinarian. Scientist dreams. No fear of missing out. Non-risk taker. Non-adventurous. Sucker for routines. Strongly opinionated. Inferiority complex & body image issues. Obsessive compulsive. Sarcastic to the point of no return. OG dreamer. Ahead of her times. Never fitting in. Didn’t get along with many girls (still don’t). Handful of real friends. Music & books for company. Occasional mug of beer. 8:00 PM curfew. Protected & under surveillance (and put that into an Indian home context). Piercings, tattoos, sex and drugs were words we did not use. Belonging to a ‘good family’, that lives in a ‘society’ (I’m not sure where all the others live?!).

This is not to say that I was unhappy in any way. I was blessed with family, love, a comfortable home, and more than enough to cater to my needs and even some of my wants. Which may be why I never felt the need to add another layer to my existence. It was, if I may call it so – flat. But, as with cold beer or hot women, flat is not the way to go. Predictable is boring. It sure might be reassuring, stable, safe & organised – but really, we’re talking about a 20-year old here and not her health insurance.

I can’t deny that as the 20’s brushed past me, my bucket list of the wild/crazy/adventurous/fun things I wanted to do someday, stretched to infinity and beyond. All I did, was to write them down neatly in my handy dandy notebook, numbered by priority (OCD, remember?). Don’t feel bad for me; I checked some of them off. And some, I feared, would just be ramblings of a forgotten life. The opportunities were plenty, but I found myself weary of taking them. Insecurities, family, fear of judgement, falling in love too soon, being focused on creating a stable future, and overall, being almost too proud to be able to hold myself back from ‘distractions’ – kept me from realising that control is so overrated. And sometimes, experiences (both good and bad), when in moderation, are the only goddamn ways to learn, weigh & forge the life you want to finally live. I didn’t want to make mistakes. But, soon I knew, I’d much rather have learnt from them.

Small mistakes in the 20’s means smaller mistakes in the 30’s. No mistakes in the 20’s means boulder-sized mistakes in the 30’s. If there’s one thing you take away from here, let it be this. Because protecting yourself from the unknown is like having a hard shoulder to cry on when the known isn’t (and will not be) everlasting.

I learnt it the hard way, so I’m entitled to preach.

But, like Mick Jagger sang “old habits die hard, harder than November rain” – it takes conscious choices to change patterns. So, I’ve tried to let go. Done what I’ve felt like doing in the moment, without too much thought or self-judgement. Essentially, I’ve been living the present. And, concentrating on getting some stuff done from that bucket list.

And, I feel happy.

But, there’s more meat to the matter. Because, at 33, you gotta do it all with grace. You can’t get away with things while you make the young-dumb-broke-single justification. Somewhere, you gotta balance the act. You don’t want to be a 30-something wanderer, you want to be a 30-something rebel. And yet, nothing’s nice overdone – not steaks, not cinema, not makeup, not rebellion.

Any rebellion is a craft – carefully planned, executed and mastered.

So, here’s some more free advice.

The last thing you wannabe is a 30-something trying too hard to be a wannabe 20-something. Not cool. By all means, do the dumb shit – but you’ve earned the wisdom of a decade more – so know when to stop, and where to draw the line. Know who to tell, and how much to tell. Know what to wear, how to behave, when to shut up, and where you’re unwanted. And please please stop saying – “30 is the new 20”. It isn’t. Just like blue can never be the new black.

There’s grace in acceptance – of age, of smile lines, of greying locks, of post-pregnancy stretch marks, and more so of preferences – quiet over loud, nights-in over nights-out, ‘me’ time over crowds, fitness over smokin’ hot, classic rock over pop, buzzed over smashed, conversations over sex, and Jockey over Victoria’s Secret.

It’s really okay. The spark in your soul and the soulmate who sparks it, will never get old – at least, not in spirit.

Until next time,

XOXO

Circles

I never really understood what coming a full circle means. I mean, how do you know the circle is complete? When do you know that you are ready to take your twig to the beach, and start over with new circles?

I suppose some would call it closure, or acceptance, or moving on, or realising a dream, a vision, a goal. Or starting where they left off. Or maybe even, finding something that was lost. A person, a feeling, a spirit. Coming to terms with change. Understanding that it was for the best. And finally realising that everything is exactly the same now as it was when you began. Except that, you aren’t.

Beginnings always hide themselves in ends.

And mostly, you can’t tell one from the other. At least, until a certain time. Beginnings, ends, phases in between – their territories are often murky. There are highs like never before, and lows like never before. There are fragments of peace, of limbo, of waiting for the next runway train to hit or the desert storm to leave you blinded. But, the highs – those are the most confusing, most fulfilling fragments. A high is a high because it has a trigger. A catalyst that fuels the trigger. And as long as the trigger and the catalyst are something you can control, something that is real or tangible, you are in a safe place. A happy high. Minus the trigger, can you still find your happy place? I’m not too sure. You can never really be sure. Until the day that trigger is you. Something inside you.

The lows, they have triggers and reasons too. But, more often than not, in this period of steady, slow, unperturbed change, they become self-inflicted. Living in the memory of a bad feeling. Putting your mind and body in the same situation that you know is going to leave you free falling – and not in a nice way.

Hopping between these surreal worlds of love, hate, regret, acceptance, anger, remorse, loss, strength, joy, calm, hope – can be tiring, confusing and may seem fantastically pointless. Compartmentalising, practicality, conviction, maturity – suddenly you need to put them all into grand perspective. Something that seems impossible because you simply feel so so tired. Love, life and everything in between will hit you with a few shots of dopamine every now and then, but like a shot of coke, its temporary. Nobody is naive enough to be unconditionally happy anymore. And so, the circle remains half-doodled.

Here comes your constant. A constant against which you measure your truth. Something that helps you absorb the reality around you and the surreality inside you. Something that is neutral ground. Positive. Not something that helps you escape, but something that helps you stay. Not something that you can’t do without, but something that adds beauty to what you already have (and we all have something to live for, so let’s not go there). Something that should never be perfect, but something that you can live with for at least a while. Nothing too intense, because there you may be unintentionally crossing the fine line between staying and escaping. Something super solid. Stronger & saner than how you feel right now.

After the constant, comes the most beautiful phase. Where all of the confusion, although still surging, comes with some answers. There is a little more clarity, a little more living in the moment, a little less conversation, a little more silence – the good kind. The switch between the highs and lows are fewer, calmer, more organic. There’s some balance within. It’s easier to see what’s real and what’s a part of the game you’ve made up.

This, by no means completes the circle. And this by no means promises that your constant is here to stay. Things are always ambiguous – dynamic – floating. The constant may stay, or go or change into something else, someone else. You may come back full circle to the place that made you or the place that broke you. But, there won’t be a definite end or a sure-shot beginning. No perfect circles. Just a lot of in betweens. Some tolerable, some not.

Finding a place to plant your feet (and your heart) in the in betweens, is what endurance is all about. It’s not that ‘nothing is permanent’ – it’s simply that ‘we want nothing permanently’.

You change. They change. The world around you changes. None of it is because of you, for you or without you.

The trick is to get as much ending as possible into your beginning.

Until next time,

XOXO

The Serendipity of Falling in Love

It is true that everything has to wait for it’s time. Just like this blogpost that has been scheduled atleast 5 times in the past few months and never been published. It’s just one of those things that I’m not generally good at – writing a partially fictional essay about relationships.

And hence, a tiny disclaimer — this piece scrapes the lines between fiction, fantasy and reality. It comes from a place of inspiration, but a lot of it is a figment of my greedy mind’s imagination. It’s my interpretation of a magnanimous emotion; one that is deeply understated as being in love.

Haters of mush – steer clear.

Lovesick folk – this is your music.

“One fateful night, a fortunate stroke of serendipity knocked at my doors. This night inched languorously towards the day, stealing my sleep in its wake. As I was lying in my bed, imagining the stars that I could not see, the grass under my skin that I could not feel, and hands that weren’t with me to hold — something changed. My heart may have skipped a beat, my mind may have played a few tricks on me, and my palms may have felt sweaty all of a sudden. It was a moment I remember, a moment of rebirth, a moment of awakening, a moment of intellectual curiosity. If I had waited too long to do what I always intended to, then this was the universe gently nudging me forward to take my leap of faith.

It was as if I was watching myself from afar, in slow motion — feeling my chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm of unfamiliar notes, while thoughts became words and my hands typed in a frenzy of what can only be a strong desire to unleash an old mystery. A mystery waiting to be solved, an enigma waiting to be understood, a desire waiting to be absorbed, and a love waiting to be consumed.

The night gave way to the day, and days rolled over into more nights of innocent exchanges, deep conversations, smiles that were too big to contain, and hearts that were too full to hold back. We knew we had been planted in the right place. And come spring, to bloom was the only fate that lay ahead of us. It was destiny all along, and I couldn’t question the magic spell it had cast upon us.

Sometimes, a leap of faith, a belief in the stars and a microsecond of letting your guard down, is all you need to stumble forward and fall into the arms of grace. Because once you have done that, you will never have to climb a mountain alone, or laugh without abandon, or make choices that are drenched in remorse. Suddenly, your stars are perfectly aligned, your dreams are dreamt in unison, your reality is surreal, and your soul has found its drug. Nothing else really matters. There is beauty and truth even in the seemingly mundane. It is quiet, still, silent — except the strange thudding of the heart, making its presence felt, starting from the tingles behind your neck to the tips of your toes. In your heart you know — being so high on something has never felt better.

I’m not so sure that there is one soul mate for each of us. I’m not sure that love is only of one kind. I’m not sure if you ever really know that the love you feel is at its absolute, possible zenith. Or if there could be more? However, I do know that when it is right, it is all-consuming, it takes you places you have never been, it fills you with magic and makes you believe in strange afterlives. In paths of illumination. In shining on like crazy diamonds. In becoming one with the cosmos. In flowing like the boundless river. In leaving a lot of your reality to the imagination — turning fiction into fantasy and normalcy into nirvana. It’s the bright, blue, eternal flame that takes you away from who you are to a palace of illusions far far away. There’s more to you than yesterday; you know that now. In finding love, you have found the only feeling that touches the deepest, darkest corners of your soul — and, the soul of another that turns you on like nothing else ever will — a strange, spiritual beckoning.

Finding something beautiful without seeking it, the serendipity of the universe — never fails to amaze me. Even as you think you know what your highest mountain could be, it calls you higher, bringing you closer and closer to where you were always meant to be — as close as close can get. There is no turning back, there are no rules, no boundaries, no regrets, no questions, no judgements, no prejudices, no internal wars, no dwindling pride and no burning egos. Just a calm sense of silent comfort, of not doing but only being. A state of peaceful limbo. A secret chorus of minds making love, of words wrapped in pregnant silences, of voices that resonate in perfect synchrony, of good trips that stretch from dusk till dawn, and of psychedelia that lasts a lifetime, and then some.

And then comes the irrational fear of losing something that is so good to be true -—because too good to be true never happens twice in a lifetime. Because showing grace even when you don’t have to, is love in all its humility. Because when you choose the person over the stakes, you know you have fallen deep. Beyond expression. Beyond faith. Beyond control. You are officially in the maddest love there ever was. And life gives you a deliberate moment to bask in the glory of impossible dreams, entwined fingers, entangled souls and kisses that never feel complete enough.

I know now, that this magic is irreversible. I know it’s here to stay for a very long time. These moments are making history — seeping into every fiber of my being — opening doors, breaking walls, tugging at heart-strings, touching the untouched, and stealing glances. Because, as long as you are stealing a lot of glances — lot lot lot — the magic can never really go away.”

To the one who dreams my dreams with me — you know that even when I’m not with you, I’m never without. You know I have walked with you in the light, and I will walk with you to the dark side of the moon.

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Until next time, XOXO

2018 Favourites – Quarter 3

Oh boy. Quarter 3 has been quite the mind-boggler.

Like a fast-paced, twisty-turny, fiction novel full of intrigue, drama and what not, the plot only thickens with every hair-pin bend in the road. For the most part of this quarter, I was almost waiting for a bus to come hit me from the right when I was looking left to cross the road. And even so, I wouldn’t change a thing about it – peace may prevail where I don’t (for now), but chaos is the most beautiful form of unlearning and relearning. It may come disguised in veils of confusion, but it pushes me to be consciously present in every moment, for fear of the moment being lost in the flurry of worldly things. Capturing each moment in the mind’s eye, in all its vivid totality, has been the takeaway from the quarter, and I recommend it with an enthusiasm verging on fanaticism.

I have some strange favourites this quarter, and I can’t exactly put them into categories. So, let’s do this random, not in tandem. If it rhymes, why not yeah?

Serendipity (Tattoo)

I’ve been asked by curious fellow metro travellers what my ‘serendipity’ tattoo means, signifies or if it’s written in my handwriting. I have always been fascinated with the idea of finding something beautiful without looking for it – the serendipity of the universe. And it happens to be, that a lot of what I love (people, things, opportunities) have come to me ‘serendipitously’ – a word I still struggle to pronounce despite Google trying to teach me how. Now, when I look at it on my left arm (in a place where I used to wear my watch – which now goes on my right wrist), it reminds me of all the good things that have been nudged my way and the promise of many more to come.

It may be just a word inked on my skin, but to me, its my guardian angel. Sometimes, words do that which actions never can – they turn on the soul.

Hand-held mirror

They say a friend’s eye is a good mirror. Especially if you are looking for positive criticism. And especially if it’s got to do with wearing eye-shadow.

A hand-held mirror is your best mate for perfecting an eye-shadow look. You can hold it on one side while you work your brush on the other side of your face. It gives you a real close-up view of your lids, it allows you to look at your lids from a lower angle, and it’s ideal to carry in a purse for touch-ups. It also makes for a chic, elegant style statement. I personally prefer a wooden one, but there are a lot of cheaper options available in the market that will serve the purpose.

Let’s stop leaning into mirrors, struggling to get feline liners to be precise. Let’s only lean in when there’s a kiss waiting on the other side.

Hero Fountain Pen

‘Where did you get that!’ – my childhood pal exclaimed, while I fished out my humble Hero fountain pen from my bag, to scribble down some ‘tech trivia’ that he was so patiently enlightening me with. As if a magical sabre had been unearthed from a hidden cavern, he beamed, looking at the ‘pen that was a part of our childhood’.

The Hero fountain pen was always the one thing from the pencil box that was never shared – every individual writes in a certain way, and the pen adapts itself to its master – the nib getting smoother and more artistic with each passing stroke. And if one was to lose his hero pen, it was doomsday conspiracy into pi. Such was the charm of this unassertive companion.

And to this day, I don’t share mine with anyone. In fact, my childhood pal requested that I get a new one for him, because he knows he wouldn’t have shared his. After all, it’s not the kind of love you spread thin.

To my dismay, these fountain pens aren’t easily available anymore, except in small, unassuming stationary shops.

Jewellery – dainty necklaces

Just like the fit and style of a pair of denims, necklaces tend to change trends every season. They go from chunky to dainty to statement, from silver to gold to rose gold, from long to short to choker, from colourful to monotone to metal – and TBH, keeping up is like sprinting towards a moving train. Never mind the current in-vogue style, I prefer comfortable, dainty, gold necklaces that stay close to the neck and most importantly, don’t tangle the hair, bobble the t-shirt or oxidise. I get mine at the usual high street stores, wear them for a season and get new ones after a while. They make for a subtle accessory statement, without being overbearing. Go casual, party, or formal – they work with most OOTDs or OOTNs.

Live music

As an untimely September rain drizzles across the city, a cold ‘November rain’ finds its way into my heart (have to admit these words are stolen). The universe has been gracious to grant me the pleasure of listening to a lot of live music lately – mostly old school rock ‘n’ roll – transforming my dingy world into a starlit, twilight sky. The unbound joy and tireless beauty that live music brings to the soul is undeniably the best feeling ever. Through all the drama of life, music was the only way to run away without leaving home. And now when I think back, I see that every memory has a soundtrack of its own. Because for me, it’s more than just music. I feel alive, I feel at home.

As cliché as it sounds, music is my safe kind of high.

For the best live music ever in Bengaluru, come, jam at blueFROG on Church Street. And call me if you’re going this Friday night. #notanad

Remote for DSLRs 

There’s nothing like being the master of your own game. It is frustrating to miss a personal deadline simply because you are dependant on a friend, family or anyone else for part of your work – this is especially true if your work involves photography or videography in any form. My life changed the day I got a wireless remote for my DSLR camera. This meant that I could click my own pictures as long as I had some natural light and a sturdy tripod. If your camera can autofocus, then you can move around, pose away and shoot multiple looks in a day. Being independent makes work easier, faster and so much more satisfying.

As far as I know, most DSLRs support wireless remotes that are compact and can easily be hidden in the palm of your hand. Making love to the lens has never been easier.

App Canva

The app Canva is a saviour if you have basic design needs to be fulfilled. Whether it is a display picture, a Facebook page banner, an Instagram announcement, an invitation, a logo or any other design need, Canva has set templates that can be modified to match your requirements. It saves a .png file for you – so you are sorted. I have been using it for over a year now, for multiple requirements, and love the quality of the design templates. The app is user-friendly and requires no technical understanding of design. It’s free, it’s on your phone and it does the job beautifully. No reason to not love it.

Placeholders for Books

“If you remember me, then I don’t care if everybody else forgets” – says Haruki Murakami in my favourite book ‘Kafka on the Shore’. A book overflowing with surrealism of cats talking to people, people talking to stones and stones changing the course of time. And although Murakami also says that ‘there is no such thing as a coincidence’, it might be one that I was gifted some adorable sticky notes (featuring cats of all sorts) just before I began reading this book. And even as I read the first chapter, I wanted to go back and read some parts again. It was as if the words were calling out to me saying “If you remember me, then I don’t care if everybody else forgets”. So, I began tagging my favourite pages with my kitty placeholders. And every time I wanted to go back into Kafka’s mysterious, alternate world – I opened a random, tagged page and began reading. The memories came flooding back, the words creating their magic again and teleporting me back to Murakami’s lost world.

Subsequently, this became a ritual associated with every book I read after that. And hence, made its way into my quarterly favourites.

Bucket Listing

Don’t we all fantasize of a bucket list that we wish to realise in time? Simple things. Adventurous things. Wild things. Dreamy things. We make them up, play them over and over in our mind’s eye, plan to make it happen and fail due to our unrealistic expectations from ourselves, our lives or from those around us. And very slowly, these fantasies take deeper roots, growing stronger, etching deeper and flowing through every vein. Until one fine day, like a red scarf instigating an angry bull, you go at it head on – all in, all out.

2018 was a year of rebellion. And with it, I saw my bucket list come to life. A vacation to Goa with 2 married, childhood guy friends – something we planned since we were ten. Check. (Read my travel blog here)

It was the absolute highlight of my quarter. And worth the 22-year wait. Also, the craziest tan I’ve had in 22 years (still eminent in the pictures on this post).

There was one more check on the list, but I can’t talk about it. I’d have to kill you.

Writing

They say that when your passion becomes your job, you must find another passion to chase and embrace. And yet, my passion for writing and creating magic with words only burns brighter.

I always looked at myself in the mirror and said ‘I write for a living’. So much so, that the universe strummed my words into reality, spiking it with some love, luck and a whole lot of positive vibes. Writing for a living means that I come home with a head full of levitating words, all jumbled up – and writer’s block when I sit down to work on this blog. Creative inspiration and originality are hard to come by, and late night ‘eureka’ moments just don’t fit the crazy schedule.

But write I will. I maybe inconsistent (a word I hate to be associated with), I maybe missing a deadline, I maybe making false promises – but your love isn’t taken for granted because as someone said –

I was running out of miracles, but then I met you.

I am never giving up. I am never stopping. This is where I began. And this is where it shall all end.

See you in December for the last edition of this series for 2018 – favourites for quarter 4.

Until next time,

XOXO

Taking my Music to Goa

Don’t be a fool for the city lights.

One fine day, I just packed a swimsuit, a pair of flip-flops, sunglasses, a hat, sunscreen and some lip gloss and took off into the sunset. I had beer for breakfast and salt water for lunch, sand scrubs for pedicures and strangers for friends. I watched sunsets by the beach and listened to the same songs all day, everyday. I let the salty air cause havoc to my hair as I leaned out of the car window to smell the fragrance of nature. I let the long winding roads take me to their secret hideouts. I had a good book for company and midday naps for when I wanted to shut off and listen to the ocean. I was perfectly lonely – nothing to do, nowhere to be, a simple little kind of free. Except, I went with two of my best guy friends on this much dreamt-on vaction to Goa – and together with the ocean, they gave me the most carefree four days of my life.

They stopped mid-sentence to look at women clad in bikinis, they treated me like an equal, they weight-lifted my beach bag, always handed me the dry towel, gave me the eye-level shelf in the closet, did not drink and drive but made sure I had a beer in one hand at any given point in time, and never let me miss a sunset. And they stayed slightly sane so I didn’t have to do the same. I knew I could let go and finally live.

I always knew it, but they reminded me that the love a childhood friendship fosters, belongs to a whole different league. It’s simple, pure, genuine, honest and uninhibited. It’s the only place where you are you 24/7.

And hence began 72 hours of hopping from one blank space to another in my mind, and one tranquil beach to another in our small, cosy Wagon R. If there was a routine, it was only because at some point our grumbling tummies needed a break from the liquid diet and pee stops had to be taken into account to cater for the obsessive liquid intake. If there was time to kill, it was only because the crashing waves, the sun, and sand filled us with a languid laziness. If there was silence in the lack of conversation, it was only because the sound of it was taking us away from the city lights one moment at a time. And finally, if there was any regret, it was only because this addictive concoction of perfect rejuvenation and intense joy had no formula to memorise – we knew it could never be concocted again.

Idle mornings with hot cups of tea, music for the soul, and light-hearted tête-à-têtes became the unspoken ritual. Long, meandering drives through the green landscape, the smell of saltwater, and the flapping on flip-flops came next. There was a variety of ‘Khakra’ to choose from – manchurian, paani-puri, so on and so forth – thanks to one of my boys who came from Baroda. There were wet wipes (thanks to me) to ensure that the kharkra didn’t get into the eyes. There was uninhibited pleasure in the smallest of things. There was no sense of needing to be somewhere, do something or be someone. When tired bones talked after hours of dancing with the waves, we headed to watch the sunset. Another ritual that accentuated the inner calm. Hot showers, and more hot cups of tea. Louder, peppier music and conversations about growing up, growing old and childhood memories that made us. Laughter, stories, fears, secrets and plans. Late night playlists of ‘wish you were here’, ‘billie jean’, ‘on a day like today’ and ‘chocolate’. Midnights that led to early mornings. Early mornings without the alarm and without an agenda. Just more salt, sand, sea and sun. And love of a whole different dimension.

I couldn’t say that I needed a vacation because I needed to get away or needed to relieve pent-up stress. In fact, after what seemed like eternity, I was finally finding my rhythm, singing my songs, and looking forward to making more music as I go along. But I figured, there’s no better time to elevate a high that already exists. It’s like you first take your sad songs and make them better (as The Beatles sang), and then take that happy feeling and make it even better. You take all that love, magic and music, and come back with more, come back to more, come back for more. Like I wrote in an Instagram post “You set a deadline, you follow a timeline. You goal-set. Do the shanbang. And when you know you are all set to light the house on fire, you step back. You know you are finally ready with all the ammunition you’ll ever need. You know you’re gonna make it. So, you take off into the sunset with your people. You do it when you are happy, not because you seek it. It brings you unconditional love, magic and music. And you come back like a freakin’ power-puff girl. Geared for more love, magic and music. Because, back home you already have some saved for you, in an extra special shot glass – with a wedge of lime on the side.”

Today, I think back on this holiday in feelings, pictures, and visions – and subconsciously, I know I have created my next happy place in these memories. The place I go back to in my head when I need to believe.

You are my best friend and we’ve got some shit to shoot!

Best friend, Sofi Tukker

PS: This vacation I decided to take a break from blogging too, and hence no post was published five days ago. At the moment, life’s currents are pulling me in pretty damn strong and I don’t want to promise a post every 5 days – but maybe every week? Let’s see how we can make it work, without taking away from it’s music.

Until next time,

XOXO

Counting Stars

“Always hold this truth to your heart:
whether you are the artist,
the mathematician, the entrepreneur
or the gardener running your
hands through the earth,
nurture your curiosity, do not box yourself in;
read, write, stargaze, solve,
travel, illustrate, compose — explore.
There are an infinite number of worlds 
on this earth, you need only to
set off on the journey.”

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10 September 2017 – Welcome to the Jungle

It was an eventful Sunday evening — if ‘eventful’ can be used to describe the state of affairs in someone’s over thinking head.

I was feeling like an old loaf of bread — catching mould, sitting at the back of the refrigerator shelf — lonely, uncomfortable, cold, rotten, unwanted and close to expiry.

I never liked Sunday evenings. Or rather, I didn’t like everything that goes with them — the Sunday evening state of affairs. My head felt like the 10 kg dumbbell at the gym that I still cannot weight-lift. My reflection in the mirror was a shadow from a distant past — it had my eyes, my features — but, the eyes were looking beyond the mirror — as if looking out into the sea, searching for a lifeline. My body felt betrayed by time. My bones ached with the memories of early motherhood. My skin was all wrinkled up, like a forlorn Pug puppy having been separated from his master. And my mind — well, my mind was a strange place. I was hearing things.

Not sounds, but thick slabs of silence being dragged through the dark.

Haruki Murakami, The Elephant Vanishes

Distortions. Blurred vision. Time warp. Tides of confusion. Raging fire. Radiation and reactions. Premonitions tugging at memories. Memories tugging at premonitions. Skewed electric impulses. Synaptic hijack. Failure to eject. Colourless dreams. Endless circles of trance. Scientific poetry. Silences wrapped in high decibel clamour. Invisible voices. Deep roots growing in deeper soils. Finely honed razor blades. Aliens yanking at heartstrings. Unsettling memories, unfitting spaces, undone buttons. Boulders in space, comets under the sea, raindrops of molten lava. Utterly butterly chaotic.

It was like my mind was eternally PMSing, while my heart was busy hating my guts.

Wearing the inside out had never been my style. But these demons inside my head had to be let out into the night to dance around the fire, to spin straw into gold, to help me find my answers — even if those answers were as hard to spell as Rumplestiltskin. So, out they came. And, dance they did. And slowly but surely, the answers surfaced. They came in forms I wasn’t expecting, in shapes that did not exist, and in people I did not know. And one by one, ever fiber of my being, trapped in this cage, wanted to be freed. No lead roles left to be played in cages anymore. No ghosts waiting to be chased anymore.

Welcome to the jungle, it gets worse here every day – you learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play 

Welcome to the jungle, Guns N Roses

This was one year ago. One year ago, today. The day that I met an old friend and fell in love.

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15 September 2017 – Shine on you Crazy Diamond

On Friday evening, like soft summer rain falling on all the freshly mowed lawns of the world, my words came in clouds that couldn’t wait to rain their existence on the world — and hence began Mom’s aren’t Gentlemen — a sanctuary of everything sacred to me that I kept going back to every 5 days. It was my muse, my music, my magic. In falling in love with this new distraction, I began falling back in love with myself once again. In sharing my world with a bunch of strangers, I began finding my light again. And suddenly, my strange mind that was hearing things, heard only the melodies being strummed by the invisible strings of the universe. No thick slabs of silence being dragged through the night. No distortions. Only Technicolor dreams. And fluttering hope. And fireflies lighting my nights with their glow. From a tuneless track to a timeless symphony, I could finally hear those invisible voices exclaim ‘this girl’s got rhythm!‘. Or rather, she’s got her rhythm back.

Just when the last grains of the ‘sands of time’ were about to fall through my hourglass, this blog came along and inverted my sand timer. It gave me another chance to fight time. Fight fate. So, with hope and will compressed in me as if I were a pressurized cabin, I made myself believe that my hero had arrived. That it was time to take the plunge — make the dive without mastering the technique, or knowing how to breathe underwater. No life jackets too. Clearly, it was my ‘Fight Club‘ moment — “this is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time”. It was now or never. I had to change. And to say that I did it gracefully, would be to put it so gracefully that I’d be a big fat f$&@ing liar.

It took everything out of me, from me. But, I made a lot of changes. Tough decisions. Uncomfortable conversations. Painful confrontations. I began writing more, reading more, exercising more, eating better, listening to music again, feeling joy again. And through it all, this 5-day deadline of blogging gave me my reasons, my conviction, my purpose. It helped me escape the wrath of my own internal labyrinth. Deep inside, like fossilized specimens, I found priceless bits and pieces of me. I found this friend in me. And this time when I looked into the mirror, those eyes bore into my soul — and just like that, I fell in love with that friend inside me.

This love got me through one year of immaculate blogging — never missing a deadline, never publishing crap, never failing my readers. It got me through criticism when I began, jealousy when I got better, and hypocrisy when there was nothing else left to pull me down. It also brought me unbound joy, inspiration from the blogger community, encouragement from the ones that really cared, and in many ways, helped me understand that blood isn’t always thicker than water. That tectonic plates will shift — you gotta be smart enough to jump over to the next one before quaking into oblivion. Keep hustling. Bustling. Binging. Tripping. Rocking.

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15 September 2018 – Welcome to the Machine

A hundred life lessons later, I’m here today. In one piece. Living, breathing, surviving — like a well-oiled machine — the quintessential hustler. I do my thing, and while I’m at it,  I do my best to keep it beautifully messy. It’s never easy, it’s never perfect — and it definitely isn’t always rewarding. But baby, it’s a long way to the top, if you wanna rock n roll!

If there has been one takeaway from it all, it has been the joy of giving gratitude. For all the things that have been, can be or will be. Giving immense gratitude for you, my readers —we shall meet & greet forever at frequency ‘magic‘. For you, who make sure I eat my meals. For you, who love me when I don’t love myself. For you, my little one, for the sparkle you bring into my eyes. For you, my universe, for always nudging me towards what I seek but do not know. And finally for you, the perfect stranger living inside me — for always believing in my dreams while I’m counting stars. Not days. Not dollars. Not numbers. Only stars.

Everything that kills me, makes me feel alive

Counting Stars, One Republic

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365 days seem shorter when you conquer them 5 days at a time. See you in 5 days from now. Every 5 days.

Until next time,

XOXO

Come Into my World

Come into my world
And you’ll find me
Chasing my demons
Fighting my shadows,
You’ll see the soul
That is just a memory
Of what it used to be.

You’ll see the eyes
That lie like no other
Of a truth that shivers
With past reverberations,
You’ll see a heart
Martyred a long time ago
For reasons that never were
For those that didn’t exist.

You’ll see a strength,
A voice echoing like silence
From tired bones, open wounds
Through a mercury so dense.
You’ll find dreams disguised
As words of wisdom
In prose, poetry and prayer,
As a flock of uncaged birds
Set free over a city of ruins.

You’ll see conviction
From caverns too dark,
To lights that run in tandem
Through me and my faith,
Engulfed in a white smoke
Glaring too stark.

You’ll see sore spots
Of faces that were,
Of business unfinished,
Of bitter bygones,
And bridges that burnt.

You’ll see nonchalance
In smiles, and shrugs
And veils of sheer duress,
A classic act onstage
Of living in an endless maze.

You’ll see arrogance
Crouching in a hidden cave,
In a darkness of disdain
Aftermaths of time at stake,
Only to surface again
And protect my fortress
From prying eyes
And crocodiles in wake.

You’ll see a blind faith
That came uninvited,
Barging right through;
The squatter in my home
Accounting for what I’m due.

You’ll see joy
That wages wars to stay
Unscathed and awake,
While creatures of the night
Come out to play.

You’ll see hope and despair
Partners in crime,
Slaves of the division bell,
Holding on for dear life
At the cliff edge of time.

And finally, you’ll see love
Not as a comeback,
Not as a setback,
But as a reason, as a will,
To take into embrace
All that’s out of whack.
To take with me in every breath
To my Neverland,
Where losing myself
And finding myself
Are one and the same –
Like life and death
In a last dance by the embers
Of an eternal flame.

A moonshine not so radiant,
A duststorm not too faraway,
A sea of corals without colour,
A dawn without its day,
A barter of blood for the sun –
This is me, dusted and done.

So, now you see a mask,
A cloud, a wall, a smoke
A lie, a farce, a fleece
You see it all,

But you can never really tell
If it was me or someone
You saw passing you by,
Nothing but a stranger,
Nothing but a memory,
Nothing but a vaccum,
Nothing but a story.

Most everything you think you know about me is nothing more than memories.

Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase

PS: I recently fished out an old diary that has some poems and thoughts from a younger, more inspired me. I hope to share some here — this is the first. Not exactly the merriest, but something to remind me that life is beautiful now. Something to also remind me that this was always my calling.

Until next time,
XOXO

Moms aren’t Gentlemen

 

“I don’t know — maybe the world has two different kinds of people, and for one kind the world is this completely logical, rice pudding place, and for the other it’s all a hit-or-miss macaroni gratin.”

Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

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Prologue

I sit next to my son, while he scoops up heaps of sand in his tiny palms, feeling frustrated as the grains slip between his little fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold on to this futile process. The sand falls back to the ground and, like lost time, becomes part of what’s already there. His tiny brain processes this idea of wanting to achieve something in a certain way, but being unable to do so, sends out signals in the form of frowny faces, angry fists and high-frequency shrieks. I look at him in amusement, making a mental note to cut his fingernails as soon as we get home.

For that moment in time, he takes me away from the frustration that’s going into torrid flames deep inside me. My mind in torn between wanting to absorb this present moment and not allowing the recent past to devour my near future. Even as I want to be really angry (because of something completely unrelated), my mommy brain wants to marvel at the intensity and expression of his anger. And I can’t help but wonder how contrastingly strange is the nature of our emotions — his frustration — short-lived and silly — comes from a place of innocence and unwordliness, unlike mine that swarms with a complex amalgamation of all things worldly and disgustingly grown-up. Suddenly, I want to barter my brain for his — this easygoing transition between hysterical bouts of laughter and tiny white teeth gritting with irreproachable anger. I want to stop heeding to this raging sense of insult bubbling inside my layers — even though the insult isn’t really mine to bear. But, being the slightly over-the-top, patriotic fool that I am, I take some things very personally. But even as these thoughts consume me in varying degrees of distaste, a silent calm hovers over our little bubble — where my son plays in happy abandon and I watch him, hypnotized by his simple expectations of joy. Not wanting to pop the bubble yet, I let my anxiety take a backseat for a few minutes. I let my words crouch soundlessly in the corner of time — taking in all the glory from this moment that will be nothing more than memories in a few minutes.

The National Anthem Saga

Call me a dreamer, but I always imagined a wonderful world — the one that Louis Armstrong sings about. “I hear babies crying, I watch them grow – they’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know – and I think to myself what a wonderful world”. And I believe this world does exist, despite what we see, what we hear and what we feel. I believe in the good things in life. And yet, that true believer in me sometimes feels a helpless sense of loss — loss of wisdom and virtue while I see parents around me trying so hard to mould their younglings. I am by no means the perfect parent and don’t know much about how to get a child to listen to you without begging, bribing or threatening — I do it all and it works just fine when distraction doesn’t (I bake my own cupcakes so I can bribe all I want). I may not be the bookish mom, or even the mom that doesn’t swear, but I do know how to do one thing right — I know how to make a good human being (which includes being a proud citizen) from 1 foot and 6 pounds of boundless joy (and mayhem). I know I will always try to teach my child (read monster) to be a kind human before aiming to be anything else — or I shall obligingly die trying.

But before curiosity kills the cat, let me tell you what brought on the regurgitation of these complex, heated emotions. Last evening, as we counted to twenty, swinging on our usual blue swing in the park, a loud group of young boys came to play in the park close to us. This enthusiastic bunch was followed close behind by a group of moms (their moms I would think), chattering and giggling with animated faces and hand gestures that beat even mine. The moms parked their bottoms instinctively on a bench nearby and continued their high-frequency banter while the boys began playing on the slides and some even joined us on the nearby swings. But suddenly, I noticed something very strange. Like a cluster of bees buzzing in unison, they were all singing the national anthem. Actually, they were screaming it — and saying all the words wrong, almost mocking it. I winced, aghast at the scene — nobody seemed to know that they ought to stand in attention while singing the national anthem. It was the very first thing we were taught back in school. Instantly, I was teleported to my childhood days and to the only reason why we hated those uniform short skirts. As we stood in attention at the morning prayers and assembly, anyone who giggled or tried to make petty conversation was promptly whacked with the stick on the calves. Especially, during the national anthem. And to this day, when the national anthem is played in movie theatres, I stand in attention and let the melody of our anthem bring me those goosebumps. But, snapping back to the present, I sense that something here is irrationally askew. The mothers don’t seem to notice, and those that do, don’t seem to care. And for a while, I feel a little confused and almost a little sad. Is it my place to intervene? But then, is it okay to allow the youth of tomorrow to believe that the national anthem is just another song? That it isn’t attached to national integrity, solemnity, sacrifice, and respect.

I tell myself that these children are no more than 7-10 years old. They don’t understand what these concepts mean, what the words of the anthem signify, or why it is sung at several solemn occasions. But, I would think that their mothers do. I would think that education, knowledge, and sensitization begin at home — that a mother is the first teacher — the most impressionable one. That, for a child, her words are always words written in stone — the final verdict, the last call, the only truth. And yet, I see this bunch of moms, turning a blind eye to this frivolous recitation of a poem written in the deepest faith by a true legend. I count to ten, I shut my eyes, I purse my lips hard — but the words inside my mouth are forming like huge, unwavering waves about to hit a rocky shore. Finally, with all the composure I can muster — I tell the children in a kind and firm voice that the national anthem should not be made fun of and that one must stand in attention while singing it no matter when, where or how. My words tumble out louder than I intended — the authority in them addressing the mothers rather than the little ones. The children look at me like I am some unscrupulous, hopeless excuse for a human being. They laugh at me mockingly and continue screaming the national anthem, this time doing jumping jacks and running in circles. All this while, the mothers have been watching in silence. And like a crass internal battle that has just been won, they now smirk at me and then smugly at one another. I watch it all in horror, in dismay, in a sort of senseless pain — and finally, in resignation. I decide that this is not my war to fight; I accept that I can change only what is inside me and not what isn’t.

“There’s another world that parallels our own, and to a certain degree you’re able to step into that other world and come back safely. As long as you are careful. But go past a certain point and you’ll lose the path out. It’s a labyrinth. But the principle for the labyrinth is inside you. And that correlates to the labyrinth outside.”

I am reminded of this reciprocal metaphor from a book that is, in most likelihood, a part of my soul (Kafka on the Shore). And in that moment, I just let it all go. I gently scoop up my son in my arms, and start humming ‘Seasons in the Sun‘ while I walk back home. My mind is working overtime, consumed by this deathly cocktail of emotions. But eventually, I find my centre, the familiar part of my labyrinth. I’m not sure there is a lesson here, or even a story worth telling. But I do know this — being a firm believer in one thing, allowing it to be your guiding principle or letting it define your identity is as much a strength as it is a flaw. Because in the world where we will all finally live someday — that neutral place between life and death — the limbo — there is no right or wrong, no light or dark, no hurt or pain — just a calm sense of having lived a full live and transitioning into another lost world. So while I’m here, I’ll learn to let go, to smile it away, kiss it away, hug it out. And I’ll live to fight another day.

Epilogue

That being said, I never feel like I want to be anything else or anyone else but me — even when I don’t fit into the herd. The odd, eccentric Aquarian in me still feels soulful and content with her tribe of nonsense people — never the popular one with the huge circle of friends, or the one that shares her space with the world — I’m my very own private island, with my very own lighthouse and sunsets. And books. And unending kettles of tea. And so it was never a ‘faint in surprise‘ situation when I was anything but the popular mom. Disliked for being blunt, bitched about for being almost too unsocial, and always the mom who was the least relatable, most unstirred by public opinion, and always content to live in a happy place in her mind — this post may have caused some mom friends (moms who are friends who talk about their kids, mostly) to disappear from my life. I can’t say I’ll miss them — well, maybe if someday I need humans for company. But, in the meantime, nobody should feel obliged to hold their breaths.

“We are all kind of weird, and twisted and drowning.”

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

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Until next time,

XOXO

Flying Without Wings

I think of rivers, of tides. Forests and water gushing out. Rain and lightening. Rocks and shadows. All of these are in me.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

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In many ways, freedom is often misunderstood as something that is controlled by an external source in our lives — a person, a situation, a condition, a compromise, a regret. But more often than not, being truly free is a part of self acceptance and self-realization. Being free-willed, free-spirited and free-hearted are very often in our control. And freedom — to think, speak, act or be, springs from this inner sense of being truly free. We are all born with the wings that give us flight, but seldom do we recognize the need to explore a new territory, question a comfortable existence or challenge ourselves to the unknown. We let the wings fade away with time, melt away with each warm summer — believing they are too frail, too incompetent. But there comes a time, when you realize that you have only two choices — to fly away or fade away — so you work on those broken wings, or simply learn to fly without them. Your spirit comes alive like sunshine peeking through a blanket of dark clouds, your will finds a strength that is marred by no amount of soul thrashing, and your heart is etched with a deep blue tattoo of that new truth, that fresh beginning.

As women of today, as women who are constantly under the pressure of making themselves empowered, liberated, and successful — somewhere, we have begun to lose the essence of our inner grace, the earnest meaning of being truly free, and the maturity of thought and action that come with this freedom. We are fighting the currents too hard, raising our voices too soon, asking the questions before we need to know the answers, and believing that in doing so — we are moving forward when sometimes, we are just not ready within our minds, bodies and our souls to walk that path. We simply follow the voices we hear, like a drill — never really prepared for when the drill turns into a real firefight.

We confuse concepts, understanding only half the truth, solving only part of the puzzle, ingesting only one triangle of pizza calories. But when the time comes to finally look into the mirror, we see parts of us we don’t recognize — parts we made because we had to rather than having wanted to. We find it impossible to relate to our inner selves, like it is you doing these things — but you aren’t really there. Like there’s a lunatic running free in your mind, driving your car, sleeping in your bed, and eating your carbs. The day you stop identifying with yourself is the day your sense of being free is strangely holding you down, blurring your vision. And yet, taming that free-will and guarding that free-spirit is the only way to have the cake and eat it too.

Whether you are the 9 to 5 office-goer, the stay-at-home or work-from-home mommy, the weekend party hopper, the compulsive bridesmaid, the girl next door or the dress-up drama queen — you have a soul that is free by its own will. Your wings are waiting for you to take off into the sunset — but only when you are ready. Only when you find your free-spirit to be controlled by nothing else, and nobody else but your zest for life. Only when you test yourself, give yourself the chances to fail, and accept that to be truly free, you must define where your happiness lies. You must quantify it, break rules if you have to, cross borders if you need to, bleed if you’ve got to. Remember, freedom will always come at a hefty cost.

It will require that you use your discretion, without selling your soul to the aliens. It will require that your boundaries protect you, your loved ones believe in you and your dreams come chasing after you even when you think you’ve been burned alive. It will certainly require a will made of steel, a heart open to ache, and a mind hungry for conflict. Nobody warned you that being young, wild and free would take so much practice — so much control.

But, in time, whatever you decide to be or become, you must look the part, play the part and live the part until the day it begins to mould your identity. Let the free-thinker, true believer, and heart warmer in you be the traits that define your real freedom. Set yourself free inside, and everything outside of your own being will shift tides to catch your wave.

“…Yeah Darlin’ go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace…”
Born to be wild, Steppenwolf

And that thought brings me to the end of this post. Last but not the least, this post was conceived and conceptualized in collaboration with Voylla Fashion Jewellery. Crafted and designed on the basis of a women’s campaign that proudly celebrates women for looking their part, being themselves and finding themselves through the varied roles they play in their lives, this brand represents the true free-spirit of every woman. This Independence Day, inspired by several art forms across India, Voylla inspires freedom through their Republic of Jewellery campaign — a collection that spans creative art forms across all Indian states. This collection is now available for purchase in their online shop and their stores across India.

Find below, the links for all the jewellery I am wearing in this post. Although this is a sponsored post, all ideas, thoughts and creative concepts are exclusively mine.

Earrings from the Kantha collection – https://studio.voylla.com/campaign/kantha-jewelry-collection

Earrings from the Chikankari collection – https://www.voylla.com/campaign/chikankari-collection

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Like a true nature’s child, we were born, born to be wild.
Happy Independence day.

Until next time,

XOXO