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zerokaataAug 9 2016 0 Comments
I’m flooded with words and just want to express my thoughts, anxieties, and interests. So I have finally decided to write about this fashion cyclone, which, tortures me every time I think of creativity.
Like one self-obsessed writer/blogger I too believe I have a great aesthetic sense and art of writing. One can definitely call all this bragging. So before I confuse you anymore about me and fashion; let me explain why I am writing. My vainness can be only filled by art, any form of art. I try to find beauty in anything to everything, as at the same time I would judge you and love you. Its complicated but its ME! I have seen n read multiple quotes on defining fashion. Truth is I don’t believe it can be expressed in words. It’s a pride, love, passion that can be either bought or worn.
zerokaataAug 9 2016 0 Comments
As we begin to try to capture what an enigma is, I feel like an artist and a poet. It is like painting nature over the canvas with all its intricacies, the perfections and the imperfections painted together to form inexplicable beauty – A woman.
So much like the name itself, a coming together of opposites, zero-kaata, a pattern drawn of life, slowly, turn by turn, page by page, stroke by stroke and all that is left to see now is which one dominates. I write of what a woman is, the mother, the workaholic, the bitch, the rebel, the wife, the mistress, the victim, the victor, the lover and the destroyer. A woman is not her trinkets and her dresses, or her make-up and hair, or her shape and size; a woman is all of it and much more put together to form a singular, fluid, ever changing, and dynamic mystery. She could be a diva or a tomboy, and no one else gets to judge but herself.
zerokaataAug 1 2016 0 Comments
There are times when we sit huddled in a corner, sobbing away the night. We wonder what is it all for? The pain seems so real that we can almost reach out without hands and touch the coarse ugly burning hot reality the pain is. Nothing seems to make sense, not life, not love, not the career, not self.
A woman that rebels is also a woman that suffers and struggles. All over the world, people will tell you why is it important to be independent, to rebel a little, to ask whys. And we do. We are the image of that girl in a crisp white shirt and metallic grey trousers that rushes by in heels to the office in the morning. We are the image of that girl who stands at the bar with a beer and a cigarette in hand, a rhythm to her ass, her kohl-laden eyes grinning with confidence. We are the image of the girl that is seen walking on the beach in tiny shorts and flimsy tops. We are the image of the girl who calls her mom on the phone at the end of the day to say hi. We are the image of the girl who gets out of her car swearing quietly and gets to fixing the puncture herself, determined. We are the image of a girl who walks tall with her boyfriend, besides him and not meekly behind him, a girl who doesn’t hide or shy away. We are the image of a girl who does everything herself, a girl who rebelled and is not left to her own devices, picks her life and lives it how she likes.