The next morning, I woke post 9, for the first time since I came to Delhi.
Wore a mauve-coloured, crepe kurta with vegetable prints running all over it.
Whether the prints were blanched with turquoise or aqua-marine, I still can't tell.
[ Have always been little colour-blind. Thanks to the genes.
So twin shades for me are always disputed. ]
I customarily wore some kohl like a stencilled pattern over my lashes.
[ And it being a day-out, outside of office (for a change), I (as any girl my age would tend to) kitted out a little more. ]
Wore a few multi-coloured pastel shaded cloth bangles.
And turquoise stones for earrings that dangled like little glazed morning dew drops.
****
As planned, I met Purnima outside INA metro station at noon.
And when she bought us two entry tickets (Rs. 20 each for adults) and took me into the enclosure of the elsuive Dilli Haat, I could feel that dent on my cheeks, and a smile aching to erupt under the seeming nonchalance of my lips.
Dilli Haat.
Dear God, where do I begin?
[ The minute I saw it, I knew exactly what Purnima had meant when she said, "Dilli Haat is SO you." ]
Imagine a riot of colours.
A celebration of art.
Heart-winning indigenous handloom.
Things made of earth.
Jute. Wrought-iron. Wood. Skin.
Mind-bending Madhubani.
Tussar, crepe, silk.
Silver jewellery.
Hand-made diaries.
Jholas, mojris, jutis, lamps.
Kites, pots, miniatures, rags.
A fiesta for anyone who cherishes colour.
And art.
[ Much like a better part of me ]
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