Not without my Dopatta

*Salwar Kamiz – A traditional dress of Indian women
*Dopatta – A silk or muslin shawl worn by men or women in India, usually worn with Salwar Kamiz

Whenever I see a girl wearing Salwar Kamiz, I always feel there is something missing in the dress. The dress does not seem complete in itself. It took me a long time to find out what was missing. Well, it is the Dopatta. What are left in the dress are only Kurta and its female counterpart. Dopatta goes missing. I do not have a personal disliking for Kurtas, but this does not defeat Dopatta’s importance. Dopatta is like salt in a Barbecue. You cannot do without it. It is the spice. But Dopattas, eventually, have lost their meaning. People have completely forgotten where or by whom they were invented and for what purpose. It does not even matter now. The bottom line is that they seem to be missing from the Bazaars not lesser than they are missing from girls’ dresses. I feel they would be defunct soon. Fastest to forget them, would be females, for whom they had been of any use, if at all. Boys never liked them to be honest. How could boys, even in their dreams, like anything which shadows beautiful forms. Difficult for them, I guess. Perhaps, they would soon be available in the list of rudimentary items updated and maintained by World Protection Organizations. NGO would soon constitute some laws to protect it and fine every girl seen without a Dopatta.

In my childhood, I grew up hearing the importance of Dopatta in a female’s life. My mother used to say, “Without Dopatta, a girl’s attire is incomplete.” Girls just don’t seem right without them. She also used to say that Dopatta is a symbol of girl’s dignity. It is a veil of honor. But it was not her fault. It was also the era when girls had little choice, when it came to apparel. Saris dominated the Bazaars for a long time and were going to be outdated soon. Girls needed a change, and I think we needed it too. Readymade dresses replaced Saris. Soon, they were everywhere. Girls liked them for decades. But the happiness did not last long. Girls found better things to wrap their bodies. Tailors stopped sewing Dopattas. In no time, Dopatta-less dresses flooded the market. A girl might have a second opinion about the Dresses, but the Dopatta part had to go, and why not, it had enjoyed the bliss for quite a while. It had to leave. May be girls thought, it was too much to handle. A Dopatta is not easy to handle. It is not easy to wrap yard long linen around your torso and still walk properly. Dopatta is an obstacle to seeking catwalk. Somehow girls had managed the trick earlier, but you have no reason to push them nowadays. They have too many choices. Even a towel makes a good attire, if you have nothing else to wear. Dopattas took a lot of space and effort and served very little purpose. It was time for change. There was also another issue with vintage dresses. They did not have any pockets. I think they were made for housewives. Dress designers surely dint know that girls would do better in the future. But designers have adapted quickly. Time has changed a lot in last decades and so have Girls and their draping instruments. Ideally for me, I would prefer for History to repeat itself at least in their dressing sense if not in the way they think.

Let’s see what a Dopatta has to say: (Autobiography of a Dopatta)

I was born in a textile mill, all covered with tiny threads and pieces of cotton, when a weaver, took me in his hand. He looked at me closely. May be he wanted to check if I had any defects, or was I good enough to pull through the contemporary clothe markets. I was then tossed into a huge vessel of burning colored water. I thought, I was getting my first bath. I felt a burning sensation. It was a painful cleansing. I laid there for about two days, before I was pulled out by a different weaver this time. I realized I had turned white. I felt I was baptized. It felt great. The weaver took me in his arms, rinsed me dry. I sensed a motherly love in this guy. He kind of loved me. I was being dressed up for my journey towards my first destination.

I don’t remember exactly when, but it was crack of dawn and I had just opened my eyes. I realized only somebody picked me up. I was then creased, and placed in a box. I was not alone here. There were many other Dopatta friends. All were wrapped nicely. I guessed they had undergone a similar torturous process as I had. I made friends with the blue and the green one. The Red appeared too loud and he yelled all the time in the box so we could hardly hear each other. Pink was too soft and cozy. He preferred to sit in the corner and was lost in his charming fancies. Then we all heard a sound of screeching brakes. We heard closely and found out that it was our truck that had stopped made that sound. We had reached our destination. All the boxes in the truck were unloaded in a shop and so were ours. The shop appeared to be a storehouse as well as a big garment store. We were glad but skeptical at the same time to see what was in the store for us. Our box found a place in a dark closet. We were to spend a long time in this shady life span. It was the worst time of my life. There was no light, not a sound. I had nothing to do but to look at the faces in despair, all around me. It was saddening. I kept myself absorbed by talking to the friends I had made in the box. Sometimes rats troubled us during the midnight. I was scared of them. They enjoyed eating us. One night, I was nearly brought to death by a guerrilla rat if my green friend had not saved me. He sacrificed himself. That bastard rat ate almost half of his body. I prayed harder everyday to get out of that shabby place soon.

Eventually, my prayers were answered and one morning, I saw, it was light, It felt good. The box was opened. The mutilated body of my green friend brought a growl on the face of the guy that had unlocked me. He disappeared in the store for a while carrying my green friend away from me. I never saw my friend again. I was then wrapped and placed in a polythene case and situated in a light and rat-free closet this time. But this was not the end of good times. My hopes seemed to be responded. I expected better everyday. I wanted to go places. I wanted to see the world.

There was this golden day, when I was unpacked and displayed to a beautiful girl who came to the store. She wanted a Green Dopatta but I sensed she liked me too. But I felt a drop of tears rolling through my eyes being nostalgic about my Green friend. She insisted for the Green color. The shopkeeper presented his best offer. He offered to sell me for two hundred and fifty bucks. He said to the girl, “This white one is good madam; it will suit on any dress.” The girl accepted. I think she was affiliated with me. I loved her. She had occurred to me like an angel. It was a love at first sight. I felt anxious when I could be in her arms embracing her, but she decided to postpone the moment. She wrapped me and pushed me under her arm and left the store.

On the way, I kept dreaming about the girl. I wondered when she would hug me. I anticipated, if she really liked me. After all, Green was her first choice. I was the second option. I wondered if she went to college. I was curious to know how she would look when she will clasp me. She must look like a fairy angel, I thought. She was too fair for me. She was fair as milk. But I remembered my pride that I was fair too. This relationship will last long I believed. The best time of my life had come. I was here with this angel of my life, all free from dark stores, hungry rats and lifeless and greedy shopkeepers. I hoped, if I could stay with her forever.

Well, the blessed moment came in my life. This was everything for me. I had craved for this moment right since when I was born. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, but it was not too hot. She had decided to give me a chance today. She took me out from her personal wardrobe and unwrapped me. She took me in her arms. I felt unconscious in her presence. It was the biggest occasion of my life. A light flashed across my mind and I could not ask for more. Her face appeared brighter than ever. She looked excited. She danced a little embracing me on her shoulders. May be she was trying a walk a little, to see if I was a good bargain. I felt flabbergasted. I was on cloud nine. She walked towards the mirror. Perhaps she was dressing up for a college date. It was a pink bordered mirror hung in the corner of her cheesy room, right outside the smoky bathroom. She had just finished taking a bath. She stood in front of the mirror. It was the time, when I saw myself. It was enlightening. I was too numb to feel anything. I was startled to think how long this moment was going to last. I suddenly felt blue. This time should never end, I begged. The good thing about these moments is that they are so enchanting, so perfect, but the bad part is that they are so few in your life and they do not last longer. They are short lived. You cannot stand on these colossal peaks forever.

The expression on my girl’s face told me that she was quite pleased with me. She appeared satisfied. But I could not take my eyes off her. After all, she had given me a new life. She had bestowed me a time of my life. May be she was the cause for me to be alive. I could not live without her. I had to serve her best, it was my chance.

I do not remember, nor do I want to, how long those lovely moments lasted. I had lived my life, enough to fill my eyes with tears when I would be nostalgic about them. My life was soon going to be over and I had no regrets about it. I am talking about the day when I was tossed on the road was run over by a huge truck, which, ironically, was also my childhood transporter. Trucks, I thought, are meant to carry stuff to places and not to kill. But nothing could be undone now. It was over. I was taking my last breaths. My life flashed before my eyes, and I could see all the good and bad times.  I was not surprised to see that best moments of my life were with that angel of mine. I never knew her name. May be she draped me too less for anybody to call her name and I could have heard it. But I had no repentance. I was rewarded much more than I had imagined. I remembered that she only wore me twice, once for a college date, as I said before and secondly, it was a family function, I guess. My life was going to end soon. If I was reborn, where would I go? What would I do? A face appeared in front of my eyes half open. I tried to catch a glimpse and there she was. It was my angel. This was the last time I saw her. My eyes were going to close forever. May be she would ever wrap me again in another lifetime, perhaps. Could I be Green in my next life?

Words from my heart

• Music is love. It is the sound of love. Sound is the only way to express, to pour your heart, your love, out. I mean, it is the root, the very source of universe.
• Quality is the key. It makes you happy. It moves you an inch further to that divine energy. Hence it sells better. It has to.
• Emotion is life. Emotion is expression. It is our true nature. Be yourself, express yourself.
• I am still in control. I need more of it. I want to lose myself. This is life. This is it, the only moment, and I guess this is the only way out.
• I represent myself. I am my only salesman. I am the one who sells me best.
• Should I do it? Do I give myself to you as I would, when I feel what’s around me?
• Every moment is the bliss. Live here, die here. Take a shower and go back to work. This is it. This is the world, the only home.
• This is better than the last time. This is real good coz I am learning. This is Evolution. Yes, I am talking about Darwin’s natural selection.
• Pain is true. Pain is love. They are the same.
• Can’t I be this good all the time? Bless thyself. Let me be it. I am loving it. These are the moments, I will say.
• Music is energy. The very nature of music is therapy. It’s like going back home. It purpose is to make you feel better, that’s it. You got it.
• I cannot define sense. Is it being Sensuous or for that matter, Sensitive. Alive.
• I am living these moments. Let me have them. They add up in the end, to make my life. That’s also my age. Literally too, age means summation of the years, you were alive, yes, living.
• May be I am nearing to the best of me; my senses, my treasures, my gifts.
• Gratitude is yet to come, I think. I have stopped worrying these days. I am less scared now, relatively though, yes, that’s what I have achieved so far.
• Let me do it. Do not stop me from being me. Lets go back home. I am here to take you home. Lets go home, its time.
• She was there; I was so sure, so much that I was confident, not scared of her being there. But I guess, it’s a fair deal.
• I believe I will survive. I am a better person now, more in control, or that’s what it seems at least, and rather that is what it is supposed to be.
• They are waiting there like idiots and wanting something better to come. What an illusion! What more could come? This is the best shot. The day’s best panoramic capture by a photographer. Live now.
• If you feel alive in its presence, then it is something worth talking about. That might actually be it. Everything else is business.
• Her color is fair as clouds. Her walk is like ice, the breeze itself. Her arms are gray, slender and her clothes are gold. She moves me. There she is. She is the one.
• The best friend. She is the chilling wind of fall. I am at sea. Yeah, at sea.
• Judge anything by love. That’s it. It should move you. Love moves. It is its nature.
• Could you take me with you?

I owe this

I just want to say this
I owe this to you
although it is hard to explain
but my life wont be through

You must mean something to me
coz I don’t belong here at all
it fills my heart more everyday
that someday you will take a call

I stopped thinking long ago
but it seems farther than that
may be expressing this is just
a small part of that huge debt

Paint my soul

M. F. Husain once said, “Hold the sky in your hands when I paint, coz I do not know the limits of my canvas.” Painting is a love affair. If you do it, you do it whole heartedly. Painting is one of the forms of expression of soul amongst many others. Art, as I see it, is the expression of my soul. If I can express it correctly, I am a good artist. Expression could take any platform; dance, music, words or anything else. It is important that you express, as an artist.

I recently took up painting and graffiti again. I used to do it some time ago and then I got busy with other stuff. I started it again. To help me experiment with it and to help me improve my skills in the area I compiled a list of different styles of painting and sketching. This helps me practice, to experiment, to be able to know my stuff. Eventually, you do not need any styles. You develop one of your own. This will take time and effort and most importantly heart. Artists are not heartless persons, remember. They are sensitive to nature.

1. Paint a non living subject.
2. Paint a living subject (portrait/landscape).
3. Free style painting (Picasso).
4. Throwing paint on the canvas directly, without using brush (Pollock).
5. Paint with hands. Once you learn to paint with hands and fingers, trust me, brushes won’t be necessary.
6. Sketch from memory. Paint it.
7. Paint directly from memory.
8. Paint from a picture.
9. Sketch from a photograph, paint it.
10. Explore different materials. Some of them could be: pastels, charcoal, color pencils, water soluble colors pencils, fountain pen, poster colors, water colors, oil colors, leaves, flowers, fruits, vegetables, aerosol sprays etc.
11. Sketch a moving object. Paint it. Remember, animation is concentration.
12. Paint hands and feet. Hands and feet are one of the most difficult subjects to paint.
13. Paint robes. Robes have enough curves, folds for you to practice.
14. Paint with only one color. Use the background as the second color.
15. Paint on glass.
16. Sketch cartoons/caricature.
17. Paint on wall (Graffiti).
18. Depict a story/poem in the painting.
19. Paint self portrait using a mirror.
20. Paint self portrait using a photograph.
21. Paint self portrait at different ages. Grid or accordion style could be used.
22. Paint portraits of loved ones.
23. Spray painting. Aerosol spray paints could be used.
24. Paint your room with your stuff in it. (One of the famous Van Gogh painting).
25. Experiment with light and shadow principle.
26. Observe deeply. Photograph often. Learn by doing. Remember, painting is to paint and not some thing to read about.
27. Body painting.
28. Paint nudes. Try to get the curvatures and veins structure right.
29. Paint greeting cards, book covers etc.

More than words

Whenever we talk with misplaced words and without a thought
I speak for hours together but hardly anything gets caught
You get confused with what i utter in misspelt sounds
An english jumble thereby misplacing nouns and pronouns
 
You still try to get the notations between the lines; reading my body movements
Amazed to find my expressions so lifeless and the meanings so faded
You stare at me; to say something sensible for you to understand
but soon you give up although willing to listen and withstand
 
I take a second chance to say by altering language, words or expression
Trying to crack this dilemma of hours of confusion
I wonder how it would be to communicate with just thoughts
Words in no way can explain what is felt, perceived or sought

Three Miserable Rashmis in my Life!

Despite of the fact that I do not talk about girls, I was pushed by lot of my friends to write this article; hence here it is. 

Rashmis are quite difficult to be described in few words. They have phenomenal powers and expressions. 

I had to encounter 3 Rashmis in my life, so far. Well actually, two encounters and one mock, not face to face. 

The first Rashmi had a crush on me when I had joined my first job at VCustomer, Kalyani Nagar, Pune; one of the best BPOs in Pune. We were a batch of 25 in all. Then 3 people (2 girls and 1 boy) left, and we were 22 left; which consisted of 3 girls, 18 boys and 1 Rashmi.

She was the girl of her kind. She had a loud voice, desperate expressions, tough to deal with persona, extremely sensitive nature and lively attitude. Because of the other qualities described above she was always aloof in the batch. She was the one, everybody threw comments on. Sometimes she used to cry going to the corner. 

One fine day, I went to console her and explained her that life is not that simple. “If you want people to respect you then you need to learn some affability and patience, of course.”, I said. She stopped crying but then I had to cry for quite a few months. 

She started to consider me as her best buddy and adviser (Salaahakar). Then I don’t know how many steps I raised in her heart, she began to take me for granted in almost every matter.  

I used to eat in the office canteen during breaks with colleagues on a big table and she used to come suddenly, pick up my plate from there and keep it on some corner table; wherever she felt that we too will not be disturbed by others. She used to shout in a loud voice in front of the whole office, to call me. I was the only attack for every question that came in her mind. She shared all her problems with me, even her personal stuff and all. I condoled and consoled her every time like a Friend. Things were not as smooth as I had thought, and one fine day, after a few more things (censored), when I came back from a tea break in the office on one of the working shifts, my belongings were missing. She purposely hid them under her desk, just to attract my attention and bring me back to start talking to her (I had stopped talking to her from last few days). I had to search them in an anxiety which wasted my time in the office and as well as irritated me so much that I had to teach her a lesson. Since then, I never saw that Rashmi back. 

You might be guessing about other two Rashmis. I would not be talking much about them, since one of them was never face to face (I had heard a lot about her being a typical Rashmi kind) and discussing other would hurt few more Rashmis whom I am currently working with. 

All Rashmis may not be like that however, If some Rashmi gets angry to see this article (which is highly possible), no hard feelings please.