Lush Lust

I've narrated this story before here, but I'm not tired of it yet. So...

I had spent three times more than I should have, shopping in SF when I was there in November 2008, and was telling myself, loudly, that that was enough. As I was saying this to myself, I passed this store that ... was just so beautiful. The lights... there was some fragrance in the air... candles... and something fabulously colourful and inviting on display. My feet navigated themselves into the store.

LUSH.

My romance with Lush products is still thriving. Some of the stuff I bought is still around and oh, so well worth all that money.

As we speak, a big fat package is being delivered to a friend who's going to bring it to India for me. Gifts from my cousin brother. Who I very unabashedly passed on my wishlist to. So, yes, I'm lusting for lush.

Just as a demo - I'm going to post examples of what I think is fabulous copywriting. Really after reading, I would buy the stuff just for how they describe it. Full marks for brilliance.

Too Drunk to . . .
is not its full name. Its inspiration was a song by the Dead Kennedys, but specifically the version by Nouvelle Vague played and sung in a groovy 60s giggly style by the cool French group with an extraordinary collection of percussion instruments. Anyway, back to the Emotibomb. This is for the day after you got too drunk It has essential oils of peppermint, marigold, fennel and reviving sweet orange to refresh you, wake you up gently, soothe a sore head and slowly bring you back to life. Just stick one in the shower, turn on the water and stand there - or sit if you can`t manage the vertical - getting drenched until it all feels a bit better. Of course, you don`t have to have a hangover to use one. (At Lush Times Towers, we don`t bother with hangovers. Too busy.) Shower with one of these when you`re already feeling okay and wow! It really gets you grooving.

American Cream
Double Strength Conditioning Cocktail American Cream was inspired by a vision of 1950s US milk bar, bright red-leather-and-chrome, neon-lit cafés where teenagers went to meet each other and drink frothy, fruity, thick, creamy milkshakes. Our fruity, creamy conditioner is what the girls would have used to make their hair soft and strokeable before going out on a date, all dressed up in their bobby socks and circular skirts. The scent of honey, vanilla, strawberries and oranges is so sexy and sweet that dates can’t stay away. If your hair gets a bit messed up, American Cream makes it easy to brush through and smooth out again.

Honey I washed The Kids The irresistible toffee and honey one. Once you've sniffed it, you've got to have it. On paper it's difficult to portray the full effect of this honeycomb toffee scented soap. Suffice to say that people who fully intended to walk past a Lush shop find themselves unable to resist its tempting, mouth-watering fragrance. They inhale and say 'Mmmmmm' then they exhale and say 'Ahhhhh' then they pick up a big chunk and join the queue for the till.

So yes, I was hanging around on the Lushindia website, and a little bit of fine print made my eyes pop out. Also opening at shortly at INORBIT Hyderabad. Isn't that the best news you've heard all day? Now excuse me, while I go away to jump up and down in excitement.

Harry Potter Friend - Story 1

I was sitting in a classroom. 'Bhatia's Classes.' This was before my 12th standard exams, I was amidst a group of people who were all aiming to top the university, go to the best colleges, score full marks, etc. They mostly didn't notice me. And I didn't fit right in with the chatter during breaks, and I used to look at the vast class around me and feel like an alien. Hopeless.

Until one day, I noticed that the alien next to me was casting similar hopeless glances to the other aliens. And I slowly looked at her, and felt a tug of hope in my heart.

Maybe just maybe....

I don't remember exactly what I said but I remember it to be like this:

- Do you read books?

- A bit surprised. Yes, I do!

- Have you read Harry Potter?

- Oh yes, I love them.

Her name is Pooja Shah. My first Potter buddy. From that day on, class was fun, and I didn't feel alien again. 

Silly I guess. 17 year old. Harry Potter criteria to make friends? Well, the friendships have stuck. Almost 6 years since.

Harry Potter Friend - Story 2

17 year old me. Sitting on a chair in the first week of the first year of my degree course. Bachelor of Mass Media. At St.Xavier's college, and to me this was like a dream come true - I'd hardly expected to get through to this college.

A boy who almost bounced when he walked, and was holding a big, fat, hard-cover copy of Harry Potter's 'Order of the Phoenix' came and sat down next to me.

Harry Potter was the only boy in my life then. I instantly asked the boy if I could look at his book, took it into my hands and held it, smelled the familiar fragrance. 

- How far have you gotten?

- I'm about halfway through... have you read the book?

- Oh yes... I loved it... you wont believe what happens to Sirius in the end!

He took one look at me, read my face and said in a hard tone - he dies, huh?

Big mouth. Fully dramatic expression I'd had. I felt pathetic that I'd revealed the end of the most exciting book, and he didn't seem too pleased either. My feeble attempts to cover up didn't work.

His name is Shamindra Marc Angelo Francis, and we became friends, lovers, and Harry Potter children.

Midnightey Updates

The karma

of tired eyes

i don't like.

Good night.

Minor Updates:

Discovering the joy and amazement of nude photography. I'm a good photographer.

Watched The Revolutionary Road. Fabulous.

Missing my ex flatmates. Hi Peekaboo.

Drinking buttermilk to beat the heat.

Waiting for next week. Holidays and guests. Did I mention summer is here?

Dragons on Sunday

I was outdoors in the mid-afternoon heat of Hyderabad summer. Yes, the summer is here, and it's hot.

And then, a huge grey dragon-shaped cloud came and ate away the sun. I could see the sun rays slide around over the edges and nooks and corners of my dragon-shaped hero. And I was listening to Chris Cornell sing Sunshower. Those rays of light did look like a sunshower.

And I felt grateful to a cloud.  

Weekend Weekly

Two awesome weekends. The Sharc-in-Hyd stories maybe narrated later, this is a Bombay weekend special post.

It's nice to be back, as usual, but it was such a complete thrill to be in Bombay again after so long.

The first day, I was lucky to have the house to myself for the day+night, so I lazed for a few hours, ate cheese pav bhaji from the best pav bhaji joint in the world, announced my presence to a few, went met Khushnuma, went to Merwans and ate the yummiest yummies, took a train to Dadar, walked to JJ Mehta, bought my brand new 50mm 1.8f Nikkor lens, took a train to Bandra, hit Carter road, met Aarohi, found Hakim's Aalim, got a fancy haircut, walked back to Carter Road, ate at Crepe Station, ate like a pig, went home, umm, had fun. Nevermind what.

Day 2: Woke late, scrambled eggs, train to Marine Lines, went to the firetemple, met Mommy, walked to college, took photos, got yelled at for taking photos of college, ate pani puri in the canteen, looked at the kids who now inhabit the foyer, took a cab to Colaba, had lunch at the regular 'Food Inn', met Granny, slept for 2 hours at granny's, woke up, walked to the Taj and Apollo Bandar, walked to Marine Drive, saw the sunset, took photos, took a bus to VT, stayed until the light was right, took photos, train to Thane, met the boys at band practice, heard some awesome new tracks, regular Split nonsense, various dramatic announcements, bike ride to Mel's house, met the girls and Kabir, watched the others drink, shared the recent developments that are still surprising me, stayed over at Mel's.

Day 3: Home early, met Dad, saw the family's beloved music concert DVD - Scorpion's Acoustica, spent time with mommy and daddy, ate dhansak, got packed, rushed to bus-stop, saw parts of Om Shanti Om in the awesome-luxurious sleeper bus (we had mini screens on each bunk-bed) and arrived late to Hyd.

On the go

Running down 11 floors of a building. Had a head-rush of bliss.

Because... am going to Bombay tonight. Haven't been home since October-November-December-January-February-March. 

Rough things-I-want-to-d0-list:

It's Parsi New year tomorrow. So, will do the do.

Eat truckloads of sev puri, pav bhaji, vada pavs.

Take the train to Marine Lines, walk to college with my camera, and live the old life for a bit.

Meet the various girls.

Meet the various boys.

Finally, the big story of the week is, my sister brought news that my parents are beginning to think its time for me to think about getting ready to think about getting settled. Etc. They have heard of a Parsi boy and they want me to 'talk to him on the Internet.' The story has entertained me and friends all week - hearty laughs and guffaws. 

However, obviously, there is a need for me to sit my parents down and explain matters to them. I'm sure their intelligence will start functioning again, after this temporary lapse.

Anyway, time to run. Bombaaaaaay is waiting, calling, dreaming. 

PS: I might be indulging in some new camera gear. Back on Monday.  

Sharc-triggered-memories

A series of memories get triggered, even if I don't want them to. What else to expect when I'm sitting idle in front of my computer, listening to Iggy Pop, having been blogging for the past hour? The fingers don't stop.

So, a series of memories. I was 18 when I got swept off my just-out-of-convent-school feet by the dynamic boy who was the center of every one's attention, who came to class stoned, who had the guitar during breaks in the foyer, who was a theatre actor, who was making movies, making music, being rebellious and outrageous, and walked me home one day for 2 hours in the rain. Of course I fell madly in love. 

The first time I smoked up, was with him, high in the mountains of Shillong. Under the stars, I got a laughing trip and didn't stop giggling for hours.

I'd never heard of Kurt Cobain, and he sang me the songs even before I heard them. He brought a lot of music into my life. System of a down. Radiohead. Along with the smoking up, and drinking, and staying-out nights.

9 months of a roller-coaster that consumed me completely. And then the ride was over. Rude shock, I thought my life was going to be like that forever and two days. That was the phrase he used to use. Forever and two days.

It was weird. I had classmates come over to me and say that they were so glad that we'd broken up. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They were happy about my broken heart?

But the next one year, I guess, has made me who I really am today. From the girl who had forgotten who she was and had just become that crazy boy's girlfriend, I discovered photography, cinema, and an ability to walk alone in Bombay for hours, surviving on vada pav, sugarcane juice, watching the sunset at marine drive, buying second hand books at churchgate, and overhearing conversations in the local trains.

It's been a full circle. No matter how much I was hurting, I couldn't be rude to him, I couldn't not talk to him, I couldn't not sit with him and his new girl friend and teach him economics before our exam. But the year that healed happened, the time came where I'd moved far, far along and could look back and be friends without the ache.

But still. It's been 4 years since we ever really sat down and spoke or spent more than 10 minutes together. In these years, our brief conversations have revealed how difficult he's become - his restlessness, his impatience, his inability to sit still for 5 minutes. How strongly he moved into an intense life of more drugs, almost violence, and an absolute disregard for anything that society considers appropriate. 

But anyway. Coming back to the memories triggered. I guess the ones that really still ever haunt me are those of music. The innumerable times I saw him performing on stage, with a madness that matched Kurt Cobain's, of singing with his guitar, forgetting who, where and what. Sometimes I hear his voice mingle in with the songs when I hear them. 

On another note, I wonder if I reveal too much about myself on this blog. I really wonder at times. But then I think of dooce and I feel well consoled. Oh, I love dooce, it was awesome to come back and have 30 blog posts to catch up on. She's fab.

Sharc

I don't think am good at letting things sink in.

I remember when a very dear friend was leaving, and it was possible that I would never see him again, it felt like a dream and not as if it was really happening.

Over and over, same thing.

Tomorrow, I'm going to have a visitor from Bombay. An ex-boyfriend. Who's been more trouble to me than a comfort. I didn't really expect that he would really take up my invitation to visit Hyderabad. But he's booked his tickets and is boarding a bus in 20 minutes. I don't its sunk in that I'm going to see him after all these years. 4 years maybe?

The memories have long faded, and the pain has long, long lost it's sting. But dynamite is dynamite, and this fellow here is certain to come with something that could throw me off the stability that I've slowly built up.

Here's what am saying to myself: I'm going to have a normal weekend, and do the things I need to get done (which includes washing 3 bagfuls of 'white' clothes, and get a haircut, watch a movie with Daya and the gang, and get a firmer grip on my yoga practices) - and this somehow assures me that I'm going to be a not-so-awesome host.

PS: This fellow has a history of making promises and ditching at the last minute. So half of me is really wondering if he's going to land up or not. I guess I shouldn't waste a lot of energy wondering about something that will be apparent in just about 12 hours. 

PPS: We used to call him Sharc. Oh, the stories about him, I could write a book.

PPPS: His hair, at one time, was so long and shabby. I'm a bit concerned about how my roommates will react to his likely-to-be alarming appearance. 

As weird as he sounds, (he really is crazy by most people's standards), I feel slightly confident that I can manage to host him this weekend, and hopefully send him back with a small grain of sanity.

Eat

I miss boiled peanuts, beetroot salad and watermelon.

Note to self: even if everyone you meet insists that you've lost weight and you need to gain weight, overdosing on chocolate results in - sugar high followed by sugar low, and a seemingly permanent sluggyness. Not good idea. 

I bet it's going to take a week for me to be able to touch my toes during surya namaskars again. Amusing. I think I want to go back to samyama diet already. Am going banana shopping tonight. 

Cake

Today I ate cake like a pig. 

Some three chocolate cakes and 1 pineapple cake were floating around in office today. I hadn't eaten chocolate in a couple of months. 

I ate cake like a pig. 

Just for the record. (In case I die of chocolate cake overdose, think of me each time you're about to go for the 12th chunk of cake.) 

Irony

When you're just about make peace and say I love you, your best friend goes offline.

When you dress up after ages for a special dinner, and it gets cancelled.

When you get a terrific cold in the hottest month of the year.

When your phone battery dies when you want to have a long-pending conversation.

When time and space go topsy-turvy and you get stuck in a moment.

That's when you just walk home quietly, sit down and watch your breath.

Glossolalia

Samyama

7 days

1000 people

breathing

silent

screaming

sleeping

bells and gongs

oranges 

watermelon

white

shiva

shining face-meter

just him and I

'you're looking beautiful'

shankaran pillai

tears

laughter

backaches

bleeding nose

lemon and honey

sounds of isha

music

sway

chant

bharathi akka

white

strong

immovable

magnetic

the rustle of his entry

spanda hall

his walk around us

looking-peering-staring

not at us

jokes

oh the jokes

my head

the nonsense 

'bag of karma'

it's over

7 days

samyama

I've been silent today

finding it hard to string 

words

something something something

theeruona bilisthiof pttachuua

10 words for Pranav Shah

16 days at the ashram have zipped by and left me a little breathless. And a little empty. 

I'm blogging right now, rather reluctantly, only because a friend, traveling in a train from Bombay to Hyd is demanding a 10 word update on the blog.

10 words. Hmm, let me see.

The ashram was chaos. First for mahashivrathri, and then in preparation for Samyama. Amazing, amazing chaos. Hundreds of overseas visitors. I got involved in being at the reception for the fanciest accomodation at the ashram, a luxurious conference centre (with 25 rooms) called Nalanda center for two days before Mahashivrathri.

The guests I welcomed during first two days:

Shekhar Kapoor

Pralhad Kakkar

Satya Paul (the designer)

Indian Ocean

and various others I probably didn't recognize, fancy rich people who were the VVIP guests for Mahashivrathri.

Most of these guys were meditators and personal guests/friends of Sadhguru.

The afternoon before Mahashivrathri, when the action was at its peak, we got news that Sadhguru will be visiting Nalanda at 2:00. Hustle bustle. 1:30 was break time for me, but I rushed back from my beloved coconut-water stall so that I didn't miss a glimse of sadhguru.

From a distance I saw his big black Land Rover parked outside Nalanda, he was already there, and I rushed in. There he was, talking to his guests, seeing everything. I slipped in behind the reception desk and stood there, watching, unable to take my eyes off him.

After a few moments of jovial chit chat, he indicated to everyone to sit down. There were already 3 people behind the desk, so I moved to a couch nearby and sat down. Silence.

Silence.

Such a deep reverberating silence. Where just a few moments ago, there had been busy activity and a fair amount of chaos, there was this silence, and I noticed tears running down my cheeks. I told myself, I don't want to cry, damn it, I don't want this to happen. But without a change in my expression, the tears just fell. 

Later I told myself  it's ok, he just blasted us with some super-atomic energy, cause long after he left, I was moving at the speed of light.