Colours

Now if anyone asked me my favourite colour, I would probably laugh out loud. How can I have a favourite colour? How can I describe the depths of the blue I love or the ripples on the scarlet that catch the light? How is it that blue and green look so hot together? Why do magenta and orange compliment each other? 

I don't know.....it is a thing I feel. I can sense the colour that would work on a certain design, I can visualise it in my head, seeing it in the tones and hues I imagine it to be.  The range of color is vast and varied, full of tones, subtleties, saturations, variation and nuances. There is a color for every kind of dreamer, for every kind of situation. 

Colour varies with seasons, with time, with moods, with experiences ...with the world. Its an innate abstract notion of a finite hue. It could be an ochre sky, a chrome sunflower, a zesty lemon or a rich creamy yellow. It could have the shine of a peacock feather, the brilliance of azure or the jar of cobalt blue. It could have the lushness of a rainforest, the strength of the trees, the freshness of dew drops on the immature grass and yet it would be called green.

How can one describe the sparkle of an emerald or the blue of the boundless sky? Why is it that white is considered bridal in the West but inauspicious in the East. Why is purple the royal colour and why does brown lack so much character? I don't know, but I know that I can feel colour within my self. I can weigh it, I can touch it, I know whether its coarse or smooth, hot or cold. I know in my heart if it would work in an artwork. As for my favourite colour...its as varied as the seasons, as brilliant as the spectrum and as mundane as all the colours put together.

something to write about

Its been a really really long time since I wrote. Mostly I just did not have the time and when I did, then I could'nt think of something intelligent to write about. Its interesting to read other people's blogs. Everyone seems to be doing so many things at once. Their days are packed and they have so many experiences to write about. Me on the other hand lead a pretty mundane routine. I wake up, brush my teeth, shower and go to work. At work I try meeting deadlines, I try to get my creative calling to come through and try to be as focused as I can possibly be. Then I head back home , where I am welcomed by the toothy grin of my 17 month old baby, who is such a bundle of joy and energy that her smile and her ways just lift me up. She's a mommy's girl through and through and through and to be honest I really like it. I love the ma-ma chants, I love the tiny fingers that clasp mine, I love the way she wants to snuggle with me at night and wants to see my face first thing in the morning. In the middle of the night, i love to breathe in her baby scent, I love feeling her warm soft fingers in my palm and I can spend hours gazing at her serene face. Is this what people write about? Is this the bone crushing love that I feel called being a mom. I don't know. I don't know if what I am doing is right or wrong. I dont know if my actions today will make her a better person in her future, but i hope that the time i spend with her, warms her heart and keeps the warmth glowing for the rest of the years.
My life pretty much centers around my daughter. In fact my husband accuses me of being obsessed with her sometimes. I dont think i am a person who can balance things quite so easily. I am a pretty volatile girl and I love extremes. I can eat till I burst, go on an all out shopping binge and love and hate with equal intensity. I love to dream and dream some more. I can dream entire sequences and events in my head in pure visual relief. Its this power of visualisation that is what helps me be a better artist and yet stops me just short of being delusional.
Strange that I was wondering a while ago about what to write about!!! I took a deep breath, shifted myself to a more comfortable position and began to think again......My mind is wandering now...its travelling, I can smell the ocean breeze, feel the crunchy salty air in my mouth.....I so crave a relaxing vacation, I so want to just close my eyes and breathe....

Changes

I can be philosophical and say that the only thing constant is change...but I'm not going to do that. Change sucks. Change means going outside of my comfort zone, shaking up the familiar and being presented with the unknown. I'm not big on change. In fact I am a creature of routine, a person of habit who loves structure. I like my eggs sunny side up, I drive on the extreme left lane of the road, I love my threadbare pajamas at night and i love ordering the same things from the menu when i go out to eat. Change means making decisions which i am not familiar with. It means quick processing, thinking and action...all of which is too cut and dried for my artist's mind to absorb quickly.


I react like a spoilt child when it comes to change. I resist with all my might, i rant and rave and make the other person feel guilty and try all kinds of emotional blackmail techniques to revert to the old all familiar routine...but if even that fails...i sulk and sulk and make myself miserable with worry. Recently my most comfortable and familiar routine was shaken to the core.


Yogi and I have been the best of friends and colleagues for the past 10 years. We started off sharing work and then went on to become best of friends and then sharing our lives together. We make such a good team that everyone i know envies us...but recently he has made a really good career choice and has moved on to another job and will be moving to another city too. I tried to resist for my sake but seeing the opportunity present itself it was hard to say no. I had to give in although reluctantly. For the first time in a long long while i am on my own, making decisions, driving, eating and working all alone. But to be honest i don't like it one bit.

Independence be damned...I want my old routine back. its hard to let go. its harder still to go forward and not look back over the shoulder for the hundredth time! Its hard wishing for the time i cant have now. Maybe yogi and i will work together soon....but i miss turning to him every time asking him about his ideas or sharing design tips with him. Maybe distance will make the heart go fonder...maybe my dusty wings need some polish....

Maybe this change will be the best thing that has happened to both of us, only time will tell, but in the meanwhile i miss the old and the familiar. I miss my best friend.

fathers and daughters

What is this special relationship that fathers and daughters share? What is the bond, the unspoken yet unmistakable cosmic connection that binds them together? What is it that makes the mother feel like an outsider and at times, torn between tenderness and jealousy?
My daughter has made her preference for her daddy crystal clear. HE is the fun guy. He is the guy who lets her be a baby and encourages her to be as impish and naughty as she desires. She in turn loves the attention, loves the rough and tumble and loves being tossed in the air amidst squeals of utter delight. Come to think of it, I've been my daddy's girl too. It was his presence that I would always seek out no matter how much my MA tried to be there. It was him I would complain to when I was scolded. It was him I turned to financial advice and it was his approval I sought in all aspects of my life and in most of my decisions. My mother probably felt like I am doing now. Always there but never fun enough.
I took her presence, her love, her sacrifices and her approval for granted just as I feel my daughter doing the same with me. My baby is too young to know about what she is doing but life does have a funny way of coming FULL CIRCLE!
When I see father and daughter interacting, I feel like an outsider looking into their world. I am always hovering around trying to fill her stomach, quench her thirst, clean her grubby hands or cushion her fall. In my lap she sleeps at night but she runs to the door with outstretched arms when daddy walks into the door. Her face lights up and her 1000 watt smile dazzles me when she looks at her daddy adoringly.
Will she make silly cards for her daddy when she is in kindergarten? Will she seek him out when she lands at the airport? Will he be the first person she calls when she gets a raise? Will she call him incessantly if he is late coming home from work and will his presence calm her in times of crisis? Its a connection I cannot explain, its a connection I share with my father and i hope my daughter feels the same way. The love a mother and father give to the child is special as it is varied. It is intense yet different. A mother is considered special for all that she does for her but it is the father that bridges the gap and lends a helping hand in shaping who she is going to be...
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

the day after tomorrow

While watching the movie "The Day After Tomorrow", I remember Yogi whispering to me that this will happen in our lifetime. I scoffed at his comment then but lately it has got me thinking. May in Delhi is a scorcher. Temperatures can punish and the sun can be merciless with its heat, but the May of 2008 has been the wettest ever! 15 days of sqaulls, cloudy and intermittently rainy days had left me swooning and yet anxious of the things to come. We are 5 days into june and the rainy overcast days continue. The May and June that I knew of is yet to come. Is this the shape of things to come I wonder? Will it be cool in summer and dry and hot in the monsoons? Will Delhi see hailstorms or maybe even snow in the winter? Two years ago, Delhi hit almost zero degrees in January. Yogi and I were coming to office for our morning shift and we saw frost on the cars parked outside. The number of cars on the road seem to swell with each passing day threatening to burst at the seams and spew its pollutants onto the flimsy atmosphere above us. People jostle and gasp for breath at major intersections around the city. The cacophony of sound, the smells and the stress can be gagging.

Its world environment day today and i asked myself what i do to make it a better world? Where do i see my daughter playing? How will she know what the color of the sky is or dance in the puddles that the monsoons leave behind? How will she know the fragrance of the wet earth after the rain or fly a kite with wild abandon? I dont want her to grow up in an artificial environment surrounded by airconditioners and heaters.

In my mind somewhere i believed that climate change would not effect me in my lifetime but now its not my lifetime but my child's lifetime that i have to think about. Recycling, reusing, car pooling and conservation are somethings i'll have to incorporate in my everyday existance. Already we are faced with a fuel crisis. Delhi suffers from acute power and water shortages all year round. I am anxious and I am worried. Its not someone else's problem but a problem that I am living every day and passing onto my child. I step back and think.....Today is the day after yesterday and what I do today can determine the outcome of the DAY AFTER TOMORROW.

all made up

My love affair with make up began when i was about 11 years old. In a last ditch attempt for me to stop biting my nails, my mother promised to buy me a bottle of nail polish that I had set my heart on. She haggled and bargained with me and i agreed for the one bottle of nail polish. Overnight i stopped biting my nails and true to her word MA bought me that bottle of nail polish and pretty soon(after my chewed up nails had time to recover of course!) my nails gleamed with drops of molten copper shining their metallic light off my nails.
I was in LOVE! I felt so different!
Pretty soon I moved on to kajal, then to face powder and then...to LIPSTICK!! Now, being a pre- teen i was discouraged by my parents to put on make up, but as soon as I got home from school, i would tear into my mothers things and pile on the stuff like there was no tomorrow. I tried on mascara, eyeliner, lipstick and blushers. I laid them on thick thinking that the more-the merrier. I would prance around the house and hold imaginary conversations with mirror thrilled with my brand new look. Thus started my lifelong affair with make up of every kind. With make up I would feel different. I would feel confident, I could face the big bad world and hide my vulnerability and my insecurities under the sweet smelling stuff i put on my face. With makeup I am the career woman, I feel more in control and have the ability to deal with tough situations. When in a bad mood a new shade of lipstick does wonders to my self confidence. A spray of my fave perfume uplifts my sagging spirits at the end of the day and a swish of my signature black eyeliner lifts my eye after weeks of sleepless nights.
I am a sucker for all things cosmetics. I fall for all the advertising gimmicks in the book. When a new product is launched in the market i can hear it screaming out my name till I buy it and slather it all over my face. I have tried almost all of the age-defying-wrinkle-lifting-spot-corrective-sun screened-protective creams in the market. I buy products for the sheer thrill of possessing it. I like looking at it in my cabinet and even when the product is outrageously expensive i love to hold it in my hand and dab it on my face gingerly.
I love buying quads of eyeshadow and dual ending lipliners, because you never know when you might need to blend and create the "smoky" eye effect or dramatically line the lips! Most of the time when i buy the make up, I forget that i'm the mother of a toddler and getting ready to go out means throwing whatever is clean and pressed in the cupboard.

Some of the stuff that i bought in 2002 still lie unopened in my pile of things. I cant imagine why i bought the gold face highlighter then when my face is perpetually highlighted by the patina of sweat or that blue mascara which makes me look like the Wicked Witch of the West!

At the end of the day when I get home I take great pains to remove the makeup that i carefully applied in the morning. I use special cleansing foaming face washes and moisturising eye makeup removers. Primers, toners, serum, eye cream and night cream follow. Its a wonder that i don't slide off my pillow at night! I wake up expecting to radiate youth and glowing skin but the same old face grins back at me from the mirror, lines spots and wrinkles intact. .......Hmmm Maybe i should try the new AGE MIRACLE cream next...

growing up

All of a sudden i wondered what was wrong with me? Why was my foot not tapping to the new song playing on the radio,? Why did i roll up my eyes when i saw that girl walking by in leather pants..in MAY??? Why do i chose comfort over style or suddenly worry about heart disease??!!

Groan I thought to myself..I'm all grown up now! Hip hop does not thrill me, leather pants in MAY are so "ohmyGAWWDDDD!!!" worrying about heart disease and diabetes and the likes is topmost on my hypochondriac mind! When did this happen i thought to myself? Yesterday, i was browsing though the flea market and looking for a comfy thingy to wear around the house, but instead i was assaulted by piles and piles of thin stringy numbers that i would'nt even consider wearing in the privacy of my bathroom! I am of the old school, the bridge between the older generation and the hipper new models of the kids born in the nineties. I am straddling the time when the media and technology has taken over all aspects of our lives and distances are just a (mobile)phone call away. Its hard to accept that i'm growing up. From a twenty something i've become a thirty something and fast spiralling upwards. The first grey hair may have spelt maturity but so many grey hair later my maturity is seriouslybeing questioned!

I try hard to keep pace with the this and thats that are hip and young today. I try bthe lingo-walk the talk and sometimes even dress the part, but deep down i know i'm changing. I growing up and thinking differently. My priorities have changed and i think of issues like safety and environment...that will effect not only my future but my daughters future as well. Growing up is a bittersweet feeling. Its learning to accept who I am, its learing to love myself in spite of my flaws. Its learning to be responsible and caring. Its learning to be nurturing and yet letting go of the don't care attitude of my past. I can safely walk into a store and head for the WOMENS section now, I can read the EDITORIAL page of the newspaper instead of the gossip or the comic sections and I can handle my finances with ease. I can speak my mind and not worry about its long term impacts and most of all I can listen to Michael Buble' over P Diddy ..because I am all grown up now

feeling FAT

Will i ever be good enough or strong enough or THIN enough? I wonder. Why do i get so influenced by the way people feel about me? Why do i care? Why do I have to be the "Nice Girl" all the time and be politically correct when all i want to do is scream my lungs out?
I am constantly reminded that I'm fat. People automatically associate the direct link between body fat and laziness...ie FAT=LAZY. It does not matter that i work 12 hours a day. It does not matter that I have a young baby at home who keeps me on my toes...but FAT is BAD!!!!
For as long as I can remember, I have been "Chubby". The chubbiness which looked cute in infancy became a bit of a burden as i grew up. Mind you I was well proportioned and got my fair share of the "Eye" but lately after having a baby the pressure to lose the pregnancy weight is so great that it overshadows everything right i may be doing otherwise. Never mind that all night feedings leave you dry mouth and craving for sugar for an energy kick. Never mind that i have to rush off for the morning shift at work gulping the life giving elixir...COFFEE. By 3pm, upteen number of coffees later, i still feel fat. Opting to eat Yogurt for lunch does not boost either my metabolism or my spirits in any way...I crave carbs, i crave sugar....

sweet anticipation

Sweet anticipation is dipping the stick and waiting with bated breath. Its looking at it and praying with every ounce of your being. Its making doubly sure before waking your husband. Its waiting for the doctor to confirm the news you know in your soul. Its lying still on the ultrasound table to make out the first fuzzy outline of the "foetus" who you already love with an unmatched intensity.
Its rubbing your belly after the first "butterfly" flutters and its reading every pregnancy website for any and every kind of information. Its counting the days, its losing sleep, its a time that's etched in my memory forever and yet it went by so fast.
Till the time i went into the labor room for the very first time the anticipation and the big meeting was all i could think about but once on the bed strapped with belts around your belly as the machine records the baby's movements that the realisation hit me that i was going to be a mommy.
My daughter was born on May 15th 2007 out of a C section. The first time i saw her I saw GOD. I saw my soul i saw life formed from love. Having a baby is nothing short of a miracle no amount of reading had prepared me for the onslaught of emotions that opened its floodgates. I was overwhelmed and excited and in love and sick and bleeding and attempting to breastfeed while in my post operative haze.
A year later, I've come a long way. I'm yet to lose my baby pouch. I'm yet to fit into my prepregnancy jeans, i'm yet to go out for a dinner and not incessantly call back home, because every moment of every day is precious and all i want to do is spend it with my little angel.
I cried buckets of tears when i held her. The night time feedings were so special because we only had eyes for each other. I loved being a mom and every thing i did i did with love. Maybe in a year or two all this will be a distant memory, maybe her needs would change but the sweet anticipation of walking through the door to her sunny smile will be in my heart forever..