Ruby Woo and the associated insubordination

(It isn't wrong to say crises can make you or break you. Whatever I am, as of this August, reflects the slew of emotional changes I've been through over the past few months. The direct manifestation of this rather obnoxious disturbance was my inability to express. I have been extremely distant from my usual articulate self.

Today, though, something stirred within me and the corpse of writing was bought back to life.)

A smidgen of a deep purple lipstick, black eye liner, shimmery eye shadow and a bindi that overshadows thinly plucked brows. This is what the appearance of an average lower income group Indian woman has come to. Income classifications aside, Indian women have begun wearing makeup and I for one, could not be happier.

I have originally been the sort of person who associates makeup or any upkeep in appearance with anti-feminist notions. In sharp contrast, more recently, I have moved on to regarding even a dash of kajal as a secret handshake between women, saying, “Hey, this is the uprising we are a part of.” Having witnessed scores of women asked by their fathers/brothers/husbands to not wear ‘loud makeup’, a bold lip is my favorite symbol of defiance on another woman.
I do not care if you can contour like a supermodel or not, but seeing a maid wearing a nice pink lip gloss, makes me feel like she is overlooking the drudgery of living with a unemployed, drunken husband and accepting her responsibilities as the sole bread winner, proudly.

 Also, this is in no way discriminating against women who do not wear makeup because ultimately appearance is a matter of personal choice, but nothing satisfies me more, than seeing ten different women with the most intense and intricate winged eyeliner in a crowded Churchgate bound train at 8 am.
Multiple Indian middle-class women finally reaching their global counterparts in makeup application might seem like a vain idea but it signifies the snail-paced but growing voice of the Indian woman who is unafraid and unapologetic about her red lip terrifying you. And yes, she will wear it as often as she wants to, lest you sexualize her or her sisters.

Winter mornings.

"Remember when you felt so cold that you were convinced that no amount of heat in the world will ever make you feel warm again?
The chill that gripped your knees when you rode pillion on your dad's bike as he dropped you to school.
Your school skirt, sans a divider, awkwardly riding up your thighs while you sat straddling the seat between your legs.

Initially, the cold air had a bite, but twenty minutes into the ride, your legs were numb enough to not feel a thing.

The goosebumps moved along your body as quick as the sensation of pain advances across synapses to get to your brain and convey that the steel ladle you just touched, was extremely hit.

Initially, you kept expecting divine intervention where a gust of warm air would blow your way, but twenty minutes into the ride you felt the chill grip your vertebral column. It wasn't exactly that but it did feel that way.

This was 1995, twenty years back.
Today morning, you said you don't want me anymore. It was an illustration of how life comes full circle, because when you said "it is over" all I felt, was that feeling on the winter  morning, when I was convinced that no amount of heat in the world, would ever make me feel warm again."

Letter on NYE.

Dear inexpressive container of a sensitive soul,
Things don't HAVE to follow a pattern. You might be the loner on New Year but you're also the girl who enjoys sitting in a club and writing in her journal. You don't need to do things because that is what is expected of you. You can defy clichés in the less hipster and unpopular ways.
You might hurt at nights but what is important, is living in each moment, soaking it in. Not, counting your breaths till you die.
The most simple things can actually be the most comforting and happiness inducing, if you allow them to work their magic.
Don't chase. If you need to, pursue. But don't chase.
You do you, and this time not as a catchphrase but really. Do you. Because nothing else will free you from the pain except the comfort of being yourself.
Don't bring the sadness upon yourself. It is always going to be in you, to move on. So move on.
And don't get dejected. Count your blessings.
If nothing, you've working limbs.

Aim and work. Aim and work.
Brood lesser.
Hold in your hands what really matters and dust off whatever doesn't.
Force yourself to do the things you're afraid of.
And easy, please go easy on yourself.
Self criticism needn't transcend into a nasty self harming session. Stop directing malevolence towards yourself.
Stop seeking affection by making yourself sad.
People aren't going to pet you all your life.
I end with something I already said. You do you. Please, do you. Or there will be a bottomless pit of pain waiting to suck you in.

Yours truly,
A potentially more clear headed future self.