Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Paralysis


Do you ever feel like you know exactly why something happened? Like you can chart out specific reasons and be satisfied with the explanation for a relationship lost? Maybe there never really is a complete explanation for why something ends, just as there isn’t an explanation for why something begins. Most times, I feel like you and me, we’re standing unaware of what is going to hit us, it passes by back and forth, and we still don’t know. There’s a sense of looming doom, a sense of looming disappointment, but we choose to ignore it. And then it happens. It hits you, in bits and pieces you find yourself withering away, tearing apart and trying to find something or someone to hold on to. You always want to know why it happens, but you never really find out.

“I love you more than I hate everything else."

So you stand there, being hit by these forces, changing and unchanging as you go. You stand there, raw and vulnerable. Parts of you are being snatched away, creating holes, creating voids and creating distances. And then you gather the courage to stand, broken, bent and bruised. You tell yourself that this happens to everyone, it’s as cliché as cliché gets, it’s normal and it’s ok, but it never really is ok. Even if it’s the 6th time that it has happened to you, even if you’ve expected this to happen, even if you’ve seen it happen to someone else. It’s never the same. It hits you bad, every single time. 

“All of it was good, in every sense of the word. And in this life, nothing good is truly lost. It stays part of a person, becomes part of their character. So part of you goes everywhere with me. And part of me is yours, forever.

And sometimes this might just be a little incident for someone else who is watching. They’ll say you’re a drama queen and you’re over reacting. But no one ever feels like another, so how do you expect them to understand? How do you expect them to understand that you can’t feel anymore. That time stops, internal, external. Everything and everyone else is ticking, but your clock stops. You feel like it’s all spinning around you, everyone’s walking fast, running even, but you just want to stand there. You just have to stand there, because you can’t move. Paralysed by the voices in your head, paralysed by those nasty thoughts you’ve tried pushing away, paralysed by people’s words, paralysed by love, paralysed by intensity, and paralysed by being. 

“As time goes on, you’ll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn’t, doesn’t. Time solves most things. And what time can’t solve, you have to solve yourself."

So maybe all those times you looked out, trying to find demons, trying to find flaws, trying to find a catch, it was you. You were the monster, you are the monster. And that makes it worse. Because maybe every time we looked outside, trying to find someone or something that would break us, we knew the answer was inside, inside of us. 

And just as the monster exists within us, we also know that there exists a fighter. History has told us that just as there is injustice and cowardice, there is courage, compassion and justice. And so we wait, till we can the fight that in ourselves, and continue to hope that everything that seems lost and forgone can be found and built again. We hope that time doesn’t take away the fragments of what is left from us. We hope that we can find it, before oblivion finds us. 

“And in the end, we were all just human...drunk on the idea that love, only love could heal our brokenness."

We ask people, we look for answers in words, we listen to music trying to heal, trying to fix ourselves and saying it will get better. But it never does. You wake up, you dress up, you eat and you sleep. But you never stop thinking about it, about how different it could have been. About the things you should have done and about the things you did. You heal, but you never really do. 

“Guilt is the price we pay for doing what we are going to do anyway.

And today it hurts, tomorrow it will hurt and 10 years later a memory of it will trigger hurt. But all this pain will cause something, it will create something inside you. That something will be worth it. It always is. 

Pain changes you, for the better or the worse, but it always does. 

And you know what? The strongest, bravest and smartest of us are touched by pain. The strongest, bravest and smartest of us need someone when we are in pain. The strongest, bravest and smartest of us need something to fall back on. The strongest, bravest and smartest of us can go for days without saying something because their head feels like a tornado. The strongest, bravest and smartest of us are human. 

Paralysis [puh-ral-uh-sis]: A state of helpless stoppage, inactivity or inability to act.



Love,
Sonshu


P.S: Lines in italics are quotes and are not mine.





Sunday, July 27, 2014

Manhattan Winds







We’re difficult. We’re different. Just as we can’t do anything about the strange weather, we can’t do much about our strange behaviour. We love. We choose. We fight. We break. We say good bye even when we don’t mean it. We forget to say ‘I love you’ even if we want to. We walk away, we stay, we make promises and we fail to realize our shortcomings. 

We try to erase memories, and make painful words fade. We walk into darkness and hope to find light, but almost hurt ourselves so much that the thickness of the dark envelops us within itself, failing to let go. We push, fight and sometimes begin to give in to the darkness. We begin to lose hope. We break. But anything that can break, can also be fixed. So, when the dust, the dirt, the darkness and the pain accumulates, piles, refuses to go, it forms a mound. It sits on you refusing to leave till you fight hard enough. And then you break it. You come out hurt, you come out pained, you come out sad, but you fought, you tried and you didn’t lose hope completely. That’s the thing about us. Every time we think we’ve lost hope, we haven’t. Every time we think about giving up, we’re hit with the realisation that we won’t. We won’t lose hope even if we know there is the tiniest chance of a recovery. 

We get used to being alone, we get used to fighting for ourselves, we get used to not expecting. And then we do, and then we take that chance, and then we make that leap of faith. But sometimes there isn’t anything on the other side. We fall, endlessly, hoping we’ll hit ground soon enough, but we never do. We’re in air, floating and falling all at once. Feeling suffocated and alive, all at once. And in that moment life flashes in front of us, every moment that made us smile, every moment that made us cry and every moment worth fighting for. 

We feel foolish for caring. We feel stupid for trying. We feel betrayed when we are disappointed. Some nights are lonely, some nights are quiet. Some nights are so loud that you can’t fall asleep and the fan sounds roar. Some night are for savouring solitude, some nights for relishing company. Some nights we just sit under the clear skies and breathe, thinking about how love touches everyone in so many different ways. We just sit under the pink-orange clouds talking about forevers and never. We talk about last wishes and happier tomorrows, naive and hopeful, yet so infinite.

We are all guilty. Guilty of being a bad best friend, guilty of being a horrible daughter, guilty of feeling like a bad human, guilty of causing pain, guilty of letting go, guilty of holding on too tight. Guilty - the nature of being. Are we guilty because we care too much or too little? Are we guilty because we loathe ourselves or because we love another so much? 

And then of course we all live in perpetual expectancy. We’re crazy. 

We have so much. We have the ability to feel. We can love. We can feel the power of hurt. We writhe with pain. We allow people to touch us even after a chain of heartbreaks. But, we’re constantly dissatisfied, hoping for more, and more. Will it ever be enough? Do we know what it is to be satiated? Can we go on living if we’re satiated? 

I just stand here. The wind trying to blow me away. I just think about ‘we’. 

I can’t see it. I can feel it. 





Love,
Sonshu

Sunday, July 13, 2014

What do I name this?

This post was long due. The lovely people at Aviraté were patient and kind enough to bear with my friends and me for a day while we went crazy with their new collection. This is just a part of what was created that day, more soon, hopefully. 

I love how Aviraté s new collection is a burst of colours, maxis and prints. It’s perfect for summer and the transition to the beautiful monsoons in Bangalore. 








Photo Credits: Sneha Kalra, Aparajita Sahay and Sanjana Sudheer 

Outfit courtesy: Aviraté
Rings: Bought from various flea markets

I feel like I’m not writing enough, and it kills me because I feel like I have so many things to say and it constantly itches, but I never put it to words. Gone are those days when I wrote everything I felt, almost. It was so raw, so real. And now? I just shoot, edit, write for college, research and do everything else but sit down and write my thoughts. 

Have you ever felt like you stopped writing? Does it kill you as much as it does, me?

I’m going to get back to enjoying the beautiful rains and hopefully writing. See you soon. 

Bear with my crazy absence?


Love,
Sonshu

Sunday, June 15, 2014

The Dhobi Vibe


When Rihanna said ‘round and around and around and around we go’ she wasn’t kidding. 
I’ve realized that everything does go round and around, it’s all just one big circle with tiny circles in them. Everything is constantly changing, moving and becoming bigger or smaller than you’d ever imagined it to be. And it doesn’t end there because there are pauses in this circle, or should I say breaks? You’re just left wondering if you know where you’re going or what you’re doing and if any of this means something at the end or if there is an end at all? 

Would you believe me if I told you this thought came to me as I was looking at the clothes go round and around in a machine at Dhobi Ghat? 

Errr. 






Can’t possibly think of summer without my top knot-esque buns.
We shot this at Dhobi Ghat during a Photography field trip, thanks Pingu. 

In other news, you think I would be bored with crop tops by now, but NO. 

Love,
Sonshu




Sunday, April 13, 2014

Tales of a Sunday Morning

I’m glad to be a part of the relatively new discourse of women who write, express and constantly strive to change the way we look and are being looked at. I consider myself extremely lucky, to be able to talk about and address such thoughts on the internet, and reach so many people. The last two posts on this blog have been quite different from the usual story based posts or updates about life. While studying material for college, I tend to usually form my examples in fashion for easier understanding. So I thought it would make sense to actually share some of these thoughts on the blog and seriously address them, since they seem to be neglected. I’m glad you’ll are enjoying it. 

The other day, I overheard someone say, “Fashion is expensive, it’s just a tool for our capitalist society.” Of course I instantly made a note of this, not only because of the values it held, but also because it’s not everyday you overhear people talking about ‘capitalism’. Fashion is a commodity and women are being told to dress in a way which seems to belong to a greater scheme of the capitalist society. In the end, all these images that are created are money making techniques. Even if I agreed with that, why are we leaving art out of the picture? This particular person who was speaking is a connoisseur of art, so what bothered me was that if you consider fashion a commodification, then why not art? Isn’t art expensive too? Of course I wouldn’t completely blame everyone who reduces fashion to plain consumerism or commodification. After all, the myriad of stereotypes that have been attached to models, fashion shows, designers and fashion bloggers is explanatory for their thoughts. 

As someone who cares about the connotations of the signs thrown at us everyday, I think it would be a shame if I didn’t exert my power over fashion and influencing ideas that are used in the field. What we choose to wear is not only about capitalism or commodification, but also about what we are trying to say. Whoever said fashion and politics have nothing in common was so wrong. If fashion isn’t politics, then I don’t know what is. Yes, millions of dollars are spent telling women to attain the perfect look or body, but that is never going to change if we push it aside saying it’s a money making scam. I’m not giving up on fashion, I’m not giving up on what I stand for. Today people in fashion probably just say they accept fat people or dark skin because they are forced into saying so, and might not actually believe it. Maybe it’s all just an act. But I know that if not today, someday we can make that change. We can be smart and fashionable. We can be fat and pretty. We can be dark and lovely.

In the 80s women used to wear tailored skirt suits, shoulder pads and basically dress up like men so that they could access economic and social aspects of the society that they had previously been denied. Today, so many decades later, pant suits and skirt suits are back on the runways and everyone seems to be sporting them. Are you telling me that’s not a statement? Haven’t you seen how women always make it a point to add a bit of ‘them’ to those outfits? In the 80s they wore pears and jewels to make that statement, and now they wear statement necklaces and high heels. As Jan Felshin said, “It serves to say that I am powerful, but I’m not masculine.” If fashion bloggers aren’t example enough of the challenge being posed to gendered, sexist, sized and raced messages, then I don’t know what is. 

And talking about masculinity, I’m sure many people are going to find this outfit repelling because “I’m not dressing for my body type” or “I’m wearing clothes from the men’s section” or “Because you can only see my flab”. So go ahead and find me repelling or stupid or whatever you want to. But I’m not going to stop pairing my crop tops with sweatpants and running shoes even if it’s not Anna Wintour approved. Oh, and if you thought feminists were frumpy, unattractive women who couldn’t give two hoots about fashion, you should think again. Have you met Beyonce, Chimamanda Adichie, Tavi Gevinson, Karen Elson and Simon de Beauvoir? 






















Love,
Sonshu

P.S: Still not over crop tops. Let’s just accept it?

P.P.S: Shot these at sunrise

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