Continued from what you read and saw here last week.
When did we stop believing in love? The have-eyes-only-for-each-other kind of love. The go-the-distance-even-when-we-are-far-away kind of love. As I think about love and the vantage point it had driven me to I realised it was also what put me in the firing line. My heart had managed to seep down to my knee sometime in the last few months and my sleep had headed for the fire exit too. But suddenly the opportunities were unending and I put my duster coat on with only one thought in mind: paint stories so magnificent in the after hours that the memories pack their bags too.
With no idea of what I was after, I light a cigarette and let my lungs breathe in the toxicity of yet another kind. The music was going to be loud enough to drown out my heartbeat. The memories of the patchy drug-store aftershave mingled with the smell of sweat and alcohol rush in. The din of the night called. I answered.
Who was to say this was not love? I was walking on a cloud of nouveau experiences. The infinite human interactions that the future held. The mere idea of being in love with and at peace with the self. With every closing shutter I tried to slide under, this night refused to stop giving. I knew I was nearing a psychological climax. The kind I could only achieve by letting my heart carry me through the night. I had seen women in movies holler cabs and ask the cab drivers to take them wherever they pleased. I felt liberated, not stupid so I decided to walk. I walked to leisure valleys and I walked in parking lots. I walked till my legs refused to carry me. There was one last lingering thought that was holding my eyes open, how do broken hearts mend themselves? And just as I thought about it, a prickly searing pain lifted itself out of my body and the last thing I saw were flashing cameras right before I fell into a deep, peaceful, reticent kind of a lull. The dawn had broken.
Wearing in Image 1:
Dress worn as top: Huemn
Shirt and Skirt: Anaam
Wearing in Image 2, 3 and 4:
Dress: Huemn
Skirt and Shoes: Adidas Originals
Backpack: Squareloop
Wearing in Image 5:
Dress and fur: 431-88 by Shweta Kapur
Jacket: Zara
Wearing in Image 6:
Shirt: Zara
Gown: Huemn
Wearing in Image 7 and 8:
Top: Adidas Originals
Shoes: Adidas Superstars
Skirt: Poco & Jacky
Brooch on cap: Outhouse
Hair and Make up: Anjum Bharadwaj
When did we stop believing in love? The have-eyes-only-for-each-other kind of love. The go-the-distance-even-when-we-are-far-away kind of love. As I think about love and the vantage point it had driven me to I realised it was also what put me in the firing line. My heart had managed to seep down to my knee sometime in the last few months and my sleep had headed for the fire exit too. But suddenly the opportunities were unending and I put my duster coat on with only one thought in mind: paint stories so magnificent in the after hours that the memories pack their bags too.
With no idea of what I was after, I light a cigarette and let my lungs breathe in the toxicity of yet another kind. The music was going to be loud enough to drown out my heartbeat. The memories of the patchy drug-store aftershave mingled with the smell of sweat and alcohol rush in. The din of the night called. I answered.
Who was to say this was not love? I was walking on a cloud of nouveau experiences. The infinite human interactions that the future held. The mere idea of being in love with and at peace with the self. With every closing shutter I tried to slide under, this night refused to stop giving. I knew I was nearing a psychological climax. The kind I could only achieve by letting my heart carry me through the night. I had seen women in movies holler cabs and ask the cab drivers to take them wherever they pleased. I felt liberated, not stupid so I decided to walk. I walked to leisure valleys and I walked in parking lots. I walked till my legs refused to carry me. There was one last lingering thought that was holding my eyes open, how do broken hearts mend themselves? And just as I thought about it, a prickly searing pain lifted itself out of my body and the last thing I saw were flashing cameras right before I fell into a deep, peaceful, reticent kind of a lull. The dawn had broken.
Wearing in Image 1:
Dress worn as top: Huemn
Shirt and Skirt: Anaam
Wearing in Image 2, 3 and 4:
Dress: Huemn
Skirt and Shoes: Adidas Originals
Backpack: Squareloop
Wearing in Image 5:
Dress and fur: 431-88 by Shweta Kapur
Jacket: Zara
Wearing in Image 6:
Shirt: Zara
Gown: Huemn
Wearing in Image 7 and 8:
Top: Adidas Originals
Shoes: Adidas Superstars
Skirt: Poco & Jacky
Brooch on cap: Outhouse
Hair and Make up: Anjum Bharadwaj
Styling and creative direction: Vrinda Narang
Modelled and written by: Shreya Kalra
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Shreya I just read both parts. I don't know how you do it but you get better with each post. I love that you put as much thought into the writing as into the pictures. Both have come out so so beautifully!
ReplyDeleteHey! Congratulations, this post has been featured in Spicy Saturday Picks – August 27, 2016. Great job and keep on blogging!
ReplyDeleteCheck out the article here: http://adda.at/2bUMfhz