Another season ends

"The ending is a new beginning", they say quite often. Or so, I thought.
Last week, I went to the last wedding of this so-called Marriage Season. The Indian Marriage.
Wherein, the women in backless blouses, net sarees. Somewhere exposing backs, or somewhere big fat bellies. Talking about their in-laws. Rather, bitching. Hopping around at every food stall and pushing everything in their mouths, as if never seen a lot. As a matter of fact, everyone does that. Girls stalking guys. Guys stalking girls. Offsprings jumping at every place possible. Women just enviously gazing at each other's jewellery and attire. And men, what to say.
Well, this post isn't about blabbering and bitching, its more about the big fat Indian Weddings. Each marriage now has a corner separate for pictures and a photographer appointed for the same. Not everyone knows the couple much, but for sure all will go up the stage and get the pictures done with the couple. Along with lots of zooming and unnatural poses, I say the photographers are the best things to happen at the wedding. The deejey ofcourse isn't bothered. And so are the chefs. However, all the tables do have plenty to fresh flowers, which I ensure atleast a bouquet is stolen by me at every wedding.
And yes! The brides ofcourse! are bothered more for giving good poses, she knows the pictures will go on facebook. Agreed, the time has changed!
The winter winds starts immensely at around 12 midnight or so. As yet, no girl will show they are dieing in net sarees with backless blouses. If they say, the parents will adamantly say "told you so". Rather, they pretend its a summer breeze. Funny! Yes, for sure, Indian marriages are the best thing to occur. The food is free and so is the sight seeing. Comeon! At most of them, I dont even know who is marrying whom. Never-the-less, I do know which stalls were there!

Waiting for next marriage season to arrive soon. 

Winter Memories

I love winters. This happens to be the best line to stat this post. The morning fog. The colored stoles. The beautiful caps. The cute gloves. The woolens. I happen to love it all. I happen to wear every color other than the usual blacks and browns in the winters.
I look a little fat in winters, that surely isnt the whole book about winters. I love them cos I get dreamy.
I write with my colorful gloves on. And I get lost. Get lost in the dreams of Life. Dreams of what my future would be. And I text him with my colorful gloves in middle of the morning 8:45 am class. I surely hate that class!
And I rest my head on the support made by elbows. The tiny gloves warm my cheeks. And I dream some more now with my face titled. And I stay like that until the bell rings.
Going back home, I saw a tiny cut sleeves jacket at Monte Carlo, a little costly it was. I remember how my mum used to make many such for me. How stupidly the factory 'things' have replaces mumma's 'Love'. I went back home and asked her to make more today itself.
"I am the designer, and you are the tailor.. oops! creator", I said to her.
She briskly refuses my proposal in a laughing tone. I tried convincing, even offered her a salary (Yeah, I haphazardly tried to bribe her) but couldn't. Even though I know the tiny flying threads gets into her mouth and the doctor asked her many years back, never to do it again.
"I'll bring you a mask, mumma", I said laughingly.
The winters were memorizing then, when she used to make tonnes of beautiful sweaters for me and my sister. The sweater with many colors used. Woven with hooks and many colorful beautiful gems looking buttons. The creative necks and collars. I remember how the aunties sitting under sun wiving for their little ones, would stop me from my plays and turn me all around and touch my sweaters and try to hack the woolen codes. They failed substantially.

L-R: Me, younger brother, elder sister, each in our woven sweaters.

The one I still carve for was a grey one, at the back of which, with yellow (my favorite) was written "AAVIKA". I loved it everyday. But, it happens that when you grow up a little, you are forced and supposed to give it to your younger ones. I loathed this ceremony. Instead, I did not get anything as good as I was giving. My heart sank. And sank with every sweater. With every pull over. And I never talk to those "stealing cousins". Today, I dont really know who would be wearing my AAVIKA sweater as my cousins have also grown up now. Hope wherever it is, its safe.
Nonetheless, I started making something, on a very little base however. I made a purple muffler for my barbie doll, which I knew I wont give it to anyone. Yes, I can make mufflers out of a woolen ball. Its not such a work! One day, I will make many for my mumma, for sure.
Happy Winters!!!