Hey WordPress, you listenin’ ?


 

The blogosphere we dwell in, works in strange ways;

two years hence, it’s still an inscrutable haze

You wake up one morning, ripe with thought;

restless to mold the flux down to the dot

Proud of your work, you wait for the traffic to spike;

two days fly by, and you would kill for a single like

And then you bump into some post with a mere ten words;

the scores of comments beneath make your stomach turn inwards

 

“What did I do wrong?”, you ponder in vain

It’s got a voice and passion that you did not feign

It’s got pictures that enliven, and grammar that’s clean,

with humorous segues you tactfully threw in between

 

“Then, am I not showering enough blog love?”, you wonder

To get to the bottom, you tear your comment policy asunder

A comment begets one, no doubts there

But, what to do for two likes, to show that you care?

And what about the follows, should a follow follow one?

Then you wistfully realize you don’t have a ton

You get tired and give up at the face of concerns too many,

when you refresh your blog page and hit an epiphany

 

“Tis for souls like us that freshly pressed solely exists!”

Alas! That too turns out to be such an elusive tryst

Does ability trump? Or is need enough to catch your eye?

coz some posts are poignant; some make you go “Why?!”

So, WP, do your little swagger, and pretend not to hear

coz when we do arrive, we’ll more than bend your ear!

Raincheck


The excuses for not updating the blog seeming increasingly inane by the moment, I finally resigned to brute force. I forced myself to squeeze out every bit of creativity from the crevices of my left hemisphere. I whisked off an old notebook, managed to find an unscribbled half a page (very encouraging!), and sat down to put my cello gripper to paper.  I shut my eyes for a few seconds trying to focus my writing energy when the facilities in my brain burst out laughing. The creative thoughts department (T) chair was the first to interrupt the raucous outburst and speak up, as always-

 “You silly girl! Haven’t I barked enough that this grand buildup of yours can never make you churn out as much as a word? I think you should dialogue with me, set some ‘thoughts’ (wink wink) in motion…..what say?”

I sighed “Thanks for the lamest pun ever…..but I don’t care to haggle with you now…..its the words department that is being a pain in the wrong place…..bunch of sloths….they never seem to get work done on time. Vwls i, e and o ar ff n a vacatn t th bahamas…th cnsnants can’t sm t functn aln….you get the point!”

 The chair of the words (W) department was enraged “ Don’t you point a finger at my babies! Theirs is a high-stress job unlike department T here whose job is to daydream, or the thoughts-to-words (P) processing unit whose job is to fedex the thought….and by the way I haven’t received any shipment today, so stop breathing down my neck!”

 “WHAT!” I shrieked “ What do you mean you haven’t received any packages…..Is Dept P down too?”

 “Ma’m, the top ‘P eers’ have vowed to support the anti-corruption crusader Anna Hazare ! They are out on a rally for the noble cause! Wish I could join them too! Hail Shri Anna Hazare ji!”

 I couldn’t believe this blithering idiot was part of my brain. Anna Hazare controlling the workings of my brain…..so much for democracy! Considering their allegiance, under the table incentives clearly wouldn’t work with the ‘P eers’ (as if the name wasn’t ridiculous enough). As it dawned upon me that my left brain had turned into this bureaucratic quagmire, I thought of-

 “I told you so…..I told you so….U had to come back to me” pranced the chair of T, much to my annoyance

 “Now for my classic sermon…..” Oh God! This was just what I needed  “There’s no need to get worked up…you need to snip off the slack here and there and you will be able to write like a dream” that wasn’t so bad “but why do you care about blogging? Hardly two souls read it anyway….have you given singing a thought? I could use a song or two ….how about doing the cha cha cha?” Aaaaaaaah…enough!

 It’s so true what they say about writer’s block!

Fashion through my Gucci shades…


 

One of the perils of being a grad student is the ease with which one slips into a state of being ‘not in touch’ with the goings-on of the world…..unless of course Bin laden gets himself killed. So, I guess I can be excused for reading about the royal wedding a couple of days ago. As I skimmed through the wordy editorials, like the brain of any self-respecting girl, mine too efficiently filtered off the inconsequential, to focus on the bottom line-the bride’s outfit. Automatically, the bride’s person dissolved into oblivion and all I could picture was the delicately designed angelic-white gown frozen in space for viewers to appraise. A lot had been written about the cut, the fabric and the intricate embroidery on the outfit. Some flak about it being simplistic and ‘too safe‘ for a royal attire. The technicalities did not pique my interest as much as what the garment seemed to symbolize in the grand scheme of things. It was simple, no doubt, but not simplistic,  mildly tempered with defiance, as though teasing the traditional and conservative pigeon hole associated with the royal family.

With this, my thoughts drifted off to the rotten pages of my secret book of outfit sketches I had earnestly designed in school, to the imaginary fashion labels that would’ve featured my creations to the world, to the look on my mom’s face when I announced my interest in fashion as a career-a look of pity reserved only for people who are mentally unstable, and then finally, to the jet airways flight that brought me here to the US of A to pursue my doctoral studies in pharmaceutical sciences. Although I do enjoy the problem solving stern rationality of the scientific field, I do occasionally feel the achingly familiar guilt of not giving fashion the benefit of my creativity.

Model wearing an outfit from Alexander McQueen...

Model wearing an outfit from Alexander McQueen’s Darwin inspired Spring 2010 collection. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Fashion, to this day, evokes a feeling of boundless exhilaration and a child-like curiosity in me. I’ve always believed what one wears is one of the strongest non-verbal expressions of oneself. I imagine that each color, each pattern, each piece of clothing that co-ordinates and, also the one that doesn’t, speaks something about the person, his mood that day, the nature of his work, his personal image and, also the one he wishes to portray to the world. What is often subtly forgotten is that it is also the living image of the thought and the sweet smell of labor of the creative mind behind it. You might think that I am naively attempting to defend the works of a person who is probably swimming in the lavishness of the multi-million-if-not-billion dollar industry. That fashion occupies an enviable position in the commercial spectrum is an indisputable fact. What bothers me is that it ranks a shameful low in the art zeitgeist. Fashion as an art form still receives step-motherly treatment in common parlance. It has become convenient to either elevate it to a slippery dais of glamor-a superficial, incomprehensible, outlandish entity meant for a select-few or degrade it to a utility device meant to layer our skins. While it is true that the clothing and the accessories we wear today were originally, a designer’s brain-child, it is not the sole purpose of their creation.

 

Mlle Gabrielle Dorziat wearing one of Chanel's...

Mlle Gabrielle Dorziat wearing one of Chanel’s first hats. Photograph by Talbot. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Coco Chanel brought  the quintessential little black dress to the fashion circuit and then, to every wardrobe, to unfetter women from the tight-fitting corsets and bulky gowns of the early 1900s. However, for every Coco Chanel, there is an Alexander McQueen, who is notorious for his raw, even vulgar depiction of female sensuality in an attempt to empower them. His works have been described as dark, macabre, and sometimes having strong political undercurrents. Basically, his line of creations is the perfect example of what one would dismiss as ‘un-wearable’ and crazy. So be it. Maybe you can’t attend a business meeting wearing one of his faux-haired suits, or dance at a party wearing his animal-skeleton shoes. Should fashion always pander to our basic necessities for it to be taken seriously?  Doesn’t it deserve the same deliberative evaluation that any other art form   is subjected to? Modern art is a deeply discussed subject, although the purpose of the abstract painting is not the first thing that strikes you. Many great books would not have seen the light of the day, had they been written to achieve a definite goal. Could J.K. Rowling have afforded to worry that her work might get the ‘just another children’s book’ tag, while today, it is more than evident to us that some of life’s most sublime values have emerged from the greatness that is the Harry Potter series?

In all sincerity, a fashion designer is an artist too….his creations are a piece of him……an idea that weaves into a fabric, takes on the color of his imagination and the shape of his resolve to create and exhibit some of his innermost flows of thought for us to appreciate,  cherish, or even reject, but most of all, to respect.