Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Ripped jeans

I picked up the jeans from the corner of the bed where I had tossed them. The rips were quite wide and prominent - near the knee. But you know how difficult it is to find jeans that fit perfectly nowadays. And to find them on sale! It's a no-brainer that you pick them up. Even if you have four other blue jeans. Well each of them is a different fit/ style/ shade. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it)
I couldn't help but grin automatically when I remembered my grandmother's reaction at looking at the jeans.

"This is a nice colour. But don't you have the same one already?" (She hadn't unfolded them yet)
"No paati, that's a slightly different shade"
"Oh my God! You have to return this. It's torn" (There you go. But I anticipated that)
"That's the style. They sell it like that"
"You mean they intentionally tore this?" Looking aghast
"Yeah...it's fashion"
"They sell torn clothes at shops now?" She completely ignored my fashion explanation, but now that she put it like that. "What is happening to this world." I almost have to agree.

My grin became a laugh as I sat down on the bed myself. It had been so long since I owned a pair of ripped or frayed jeans. A long forgotten memory popped up ... of two young girls who felt too much.

"Dude! It's so horrible. I can't believe she did that! If I had been there, I would have stopped this from happening" Utter dismay and hopelessness apparent in her voice
"How could this happen! You worked months for it!"  Mirroring the emotion. It might sound a tad dramatic, but which seventeen year old isn't?
"I sometimes think she does this intentionally. She could not have not known how much this meant to me. I was so close. So close!"
"The result was starting to look almost professional. God. They just don't understand" She said, wistfully looking down at her black hardly frayed jeans, which were no where near the level of perfection the jeans in question had reached.
"I know! How could my mother just cut off ALL the frays? And fold it and stitch it too! My boot cuts don't even sweep the floor anymore, so months of hard work put in getting them frayed all gone to naught." Oh the misery.
"I'm so sorry sweetie"
When there is so much pain and hurt, words don't suffice, so hugs have to be given. And a prayer sent up that this scar may someday heal.

Luckily those prayers were answered. Those young girls were now happy women. We've long since left behind boot cut jeans and most of the drama out of our lives. The love and bond stays on, and that's more than enough :)

With a nostalgic wistful smile, I threaded the needle and got down to sewing the rip.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Pitty pat pat

Being a student of an All Girls Convent school, I didn't have too much notable interaction with the opposite gender (Relatives and the few family friends excluded) till quite late in my life. But my first crush (the human kind, not the celebrity kind) was admittedly before those significant interactions took place.

I guess the heart wants what the heart wants - even if it's from a distance, and just fleetingly.

He was wearing a white shirt. One of those crisply ironed white shirts, along with some formal pants and shoes. I was in my school van, sitting by the window (probably sulking about some school thing or the other) and as we (the van ..., not him and I together!) stopped at the signal, he pulled up his bike right next to my window. 
I don't remember his eyes. I don't remember what bike he rode. 
But I will never forget that feeling. 
The first time when your heart races, even though you haven't been running. 
The first time a blush creeps up on you when no one has said a word complementing or embarrassing you. 
I watched him all the way from the signal, till the van turned right into the school and he went on ahead to wherever he was headed. 
That was the first time my heart went pitty pat pat. 
I still...and probably always will remember that.

Years went by. More celebrity crushes....some cute boys checked out in different schools during interschool events, but never that thud from the heart. Till one seemingly insignificant day when I was walking along, through a supermarket, and saw him. He was way too young to have fathered the little girl he carried and the little boy he guided. He was thin and tall, and he had one hand behind that itsy boy - ready to pull him out of harm's way, and keeping him from bumping into things. Ahhh...those hands. Long fingered and strong looking. - Pitty pat pat ..pitty pat pat. 
Not wanting to come off as a stalker, I resisted the urge to follow him around in the aisles - as I dreamt of walking down another aisle. 

Now, I've left behind that little girl who felt a lot. I've learnt what love is, I've learnt what loss is. I've learnt how to keep me safe - as safe as one can hope to be. I know that finding love is better than falling face first in it. I've grown up.

Then he put his hand on my shoulder
Pulled me just a tad closer
Pitty pat pat. Pitty pat pat.


This post is written for the ‘love theme’ contest by The Chennai Bloggers Club (www.chennaibloggers.in) in association with woodooz (http://www.woodooz.com/) and Indian Superheroes (http://indiansuperheroes.com/ )