If you hoped for fancy pictures of my Greek getaway in dreamy dresses and lustful sangrias, congratulations! you just got played! I neither have the money, resources,a photographer boyfriend or a dumb brain to pout and pose on my vacations (or even go on vacations for that matter) . So I prefer to do what I do best ,which is, humor.
This post is about my everyday tryst with fashion as I embattle the dirty, dilapidated roads of Delhi to reach the Metro for more dirt and dilapidation plus sweat as a premium and finally attempt to reach office in true Carrie Bradshaw style, minus New York and the glamour. And all the couture and Blahnicks . And the droolworthy bags. That’s basically everything, damn:(:( I have Carrie’s hair though, wild and unmaneagable, just the way both of us don’t want it to be….
Anyway getting back on track, since I recently relocated to New delhi I’m temporarily hoarding at my best friend’s place. Considering I’m cheap, I ensure I make friends at all possible places so I can freeload as much as I want to. However this friend of mine stays in South Delhi. So whenever anyone asks me where I’m put up, I tell them I stay with my friend in South Delhi and they all pry at me with envy. South Delhi is considered to be a very posh, ‘far from being in India’ kinda locality. But as fate may have it, the south Delhi I was hoarding at was far from being fancy. In fact it was far from anything that you may name – civilization, cleanliness, roads, water….just anything. It was a locality that would seem like Danny Boyle’s dream-half naked children taking a shit in the middle of the road accompanied with dogs and cows as poop-mates, roads smeared with red pan that closely resemble the Jallianwala bhag massacre site, people who look like they have saved millions of rupees by never having to spend on toiletries, men ogling at the slightest trace of skin, so on and so forth. Amidst all this, when people roll their eyes and do the ‘so you stay in south Delhi ‘at me, I take it like its no big deal. Of course the real deal is far from what they think it is…Poor losers Buhahaha!
As all of you know, I work for fashion and so I have this gargantuan challenge of always having to look like a million bucks. At least I could’ve been a designer, the bunch who are perpetually dressed as refugees and get the leeway of being the ‘creative’ lot and can live life as per their whims and fancies. But I ,on the other hand work as a freaking buyer and I have to constantly attend trade shows and business meetings with vendors. So I have no way but to look goddamn put together.
But I’m poor and I stay in so called ‘South Delhi’. God may not have given me the money but certainly gave me the brains to fake like I have loads of ’em. Everyday I spend at least an hour on my hair and makeup to look bomb AF. Fyi, I have expensive products (courtesy: EMI on Amazon…oh what would the world be without you Amazon?) But I obviously cannot step out looking like that in our ‘South Del’ for I’ll be bombed. So I use like 5 scarves of different colors to wrap every part of my body and top it with a dirty old cardigan to sign off in style. I carry my heels in a separate bag and wear dirty chappals. Basically I step out of the house looking like Deepika padukone on the inside and Ranveer Singh on the outside.
As I enter the Metro Station everyday , I notice people looking at me with a variety of expressions. Funny, clueless, disgust, fear and even paranoia. Of course they have a reason..Delhi has the reputation of getting bombed every now and then, as if there is no enough mess already. But I don’t really care, as I’m not gonna meet these people again even if it means boarding the Metro at the same station everyday. India is a home to 1.2 billion people and the probability of meeting the same person twice at random is an improbable event except when your life is a Bollywood movie starring Shah Rukh Khan. I step into or rather pushed into the train and within a few seconds begin to gasp for breath. Being vertically challenged, my face levels with most people’s armpits and never have I felt so unfortunate in my life for being born a minion. After twenty minutes of battle between my nose and sweaty armpits, I get down at my station to reach my workplace. I quickly take an auto in the same mummified look and prod the already enraged autidriver (don’t ask me why enraged? Everybody in Gurgaon is perpetually enraged. Just accept it and live with it) to drive faster. Finally as I near my office, I hurriedly remove my Ranveer Singh outfits and slip on my heels. One day it so happened that the driver was so engaged in raging his way through the traffic that he completely ignored my shenanigans at the back of the auto. When I got down to pay the money, he asked ‘Why are you paying me?’ and ‘Where is the girl who I dropped here?’. It took a whole twenty minutes to explain that I’m the ‘girl’ ,with my near to pathetic Hindi skills!
With this, I wrap up my fashion and travel post. For all the b*****s who post fancy pictures in Seychelles and Maldives and mess up my stomach by aggravating my acidity, this is for you! On your face…