Classy be damned.

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Music is the answer, even when there is no question asked.

I used to love reading books, I was one of those kids who could be left in a room with a reading light, water and an open window to let air in, for days on end, just as long as there was a book to accompany me.
That kid passed out of the nerd phase a long time back but didn’t really die. Being immersed in magazines for the sake of my understanding of the fashion industry which is fairly new to me, made me completely avoid touching any other reading material. But it’s funny how some things are taught back to you without really being a classroom lesson.
At a recent shoot, all my female models had books to read between shots. I’m pretty sure one of them finished a 600 page book right through the make-up sessions, with one eye closed for mascara drying and all. What she did unknowingly though is, made me revisit my connection with books and have that unavoidable confrontation. I went home and picked up the first book that I could grab from my trunk, safely cobwebbed away and guarded by a troupe of dancing spiders cussing me in kannada. The book, it’s called crashing B-town by Tulika Mehrotra, I don’t even remember where I got it from, thank God I still remember how to read. I haven’t finished it yet but now, I cannot go to bed without finishing at-least a chapter. Especially since the lights are out and I’m locked in with water and an open window.
Blazer: Van Heusen, Crop top and trousers:, heels:, beret: maxfashions, brooch: street store
On my face: Lakme CC cream, lotus herbals liquid eyeliner, colorbar lipstick in obsessed orange 


It’s also pretty ironic how a Bollywood song-and-dance fan like myself was handed over that book to make a literary comeback from the many others in the trunk. I love Bollywood music, I love the stories and tabloids even if they are considered crass among the air-kissing, hi kaunsa designer is that bag from, types.
And yes, I love Honey Singh’s music, not him, just his songs. Just like a Yo-YO, they have a catchy tune to them and no matter how cheap the lyrics, they are feelings or situations I personally have grown up with or dealt with. Bollywood beats are a whole different ball-game, they evoke feelings you didn’t know exist. I had no clue that all I ever wanted was to lift the Bath towel and lip sync to lungi dance while swishing it side-to side, better than Ranbir Kapoor ever could in Saawariya? Or that paani paani sunny sunny is the most identifiable tune in recent times and makes me thirsty and crave for mojitos on a beach. Hell, even my Russian models know paani paani saani saani raani raani naani naani.. My British model suddenly burst out singing Babeh Doll Me Soney Dee in the middle of the shoot, his ancestors left and forgot our bollywood dhup chik cassettes behind. How can a song like tum hi honot make you want to dance with an imaginary lover or a song like Raabta not make you establish connections with the doorknob on the neighbor’s wall, even with the said neighbor’s mum staring at you while you do a govinda-esque hip thrust? How can Iktaara not make you want to count the stars with a chai in hand or a Saturday-Saturday not make you jiggle in the empty meeting room blocked for the Monday morning team conference even if you know your boss is going to have a field trip on your targets?
Music, books, chai, some habits are moulded into your system from the very beginning and no matter how long you’re apart, they’ll somehow find their way back right in, like the long-lost lovers from almost every Bollywood movie ever made. At least now I keep the doors open for them all through the night, waiting to be met by the climax, the eccentricity or by their not-so-classy nature while I try to fall asleep to Teri Keh Ke Lunga.
Photos by: James Kiran Joel
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