The Delhi Chapter : Page 18

As I kept standing at the door, without inching forward, the guard was completely baffled at why I was waiting.

[ Quite understandably so.

I mean, whoever stands at the entrance of an office and gapes at the inside, like no one's watching? ]

He prompty bounced forward to assist me with my bag.

And exactly in these many words:

"Good morning maydam.

Aapka cabin kaunsa hai?

Swipe card bhul gayi?

Koi nahi, main pohocha deta hun."

I was far too baffled at the rapid volley of questions he hurled at me.

And his assumption that I was a CD (Creative Director) to react!

For a second, it actually felt like my dream was playing out.
And getting unspooled.

In (a very indulgent) reality.

[ Yes, I do look elder than my age by a long shot (have been told so by a fair few people all my life).

Perhaps, it could have a lot to do with the way I dress and carry myself.

Remember Konkona Sen Sharma in 'Wake Up Sid'?

The way she dressed.
Her character.
That type, I am.
Almost exactly. ]

On this particular day, I was wearing a beige patiala and a three-quarter burnt orange kurta.

Kalamkari printed.

Soft and fitted.

With matte-gold sequins.

Subtle and muted.

(The only sort of clothes I ever liked)

I was wearing a pair of Oshos and carrying a multi-coloured jhola.

(Which I'd once made with my mom's sofa cover and curtain samples!) 

[ She's an interior designer, yes and I often did these sort of things to her. 

What's the point of calling yourself a 'creative' without channelizing your potential wherever you possibly could?

No? ]

****

Besides, my hair was open, pulled back slightly with a clutch.
I had a string of beads lacing my neck.

A bunch of cloth bangles on my left hand.

And, some kohl in my eyes...