The Incident of the Leather Bag.

Okay, before you are misled, I want to tell you’ll that this isn’t a feeble attempt on my part to recreate Sherlock Holmes by trying to write something Doyle-esque. My little efforts at writing have amused people, especially those pieces that I had courage to put up on this blog, but this particular piece is far from fiction. It’s a reality. A fairly mundane piece of family related anecdotes, and yet, I feel it is a mere symbolism for our larger confusions regarding People in general. Sounds too philosophical? Read on. It’s not. At your own risk though. It’s fairly domestic.

My dad was in Dubai recently and got back yesterday. He called from the airport regarding certain medicines he needed, and due to some misunderstanding, he yelled at me on the phone. I had my first fight with him before he even got home. No matter. That thing was sorted.

Then he came home and as he always does, showed what all he had gotten for us, either by himself, or gifts sent by relatives. (They send a lot of stuff. All my tailored clothes are dress-pieces sent by my aunt. No, she isn’t generous. She has a dress-material business. So, yeah)

Anyway, he showed me a shiny bag that he got from Dubai duty-free for me. It was very lady-like. And Prada (don’t know if really original, but looked quite original to me), oh and Leather. I know what you will react with, “Your Dad got you that and you have a problem??You and your #firstWorldProblems!” At least, that is how twitter folks would respond.


But those who know me, know I’m just the opposite of the leather bag kind. I’m usually clad in Kurtas and their equivalents, and choose to trudge around with cloth bags, a.k.a jholas. They are humble, eco-friendly, and good for carrying books and other college related things. And even they fail to prove as college bags for me. I have too many books to punish my one shoulder with, so I go for the back-pack kind. Sadly, school hasn’t gotten over for me in this aspect, even in the last year of degree college.

So, the first question is of utility. Where will I carry it. Secondly, did my dad not realize that it does not go with who I am?

Of course, my wise friends would suggest that I shut up, keep the bag and not use it if I don’t want. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

But my question is, did dad not realize that it will not go with my personality? Or did he, consciously or unconsciously choose such a bag on purpose? you know, in order to change my rebellious traits into feminine chic ones?

If you think I’m overanalyzing, of course I am. I’m a psychology student.

So now the bag rests in the deep recesses of my cupboard as I ponder,

Is it better to not expect and not get anything from people, or to react with mild irritation or more when people think they understand you but they actually don’t and you can’t even point it without things getting somewhat uncomfortable which seems to big a price for such trifle matters?

Still pondering. If you have any suggestions let me know. Till then, that’s all folks.

As Moving Day approaches..

Chaos, and then order from chaos can’t get better than this. We are moving to a new place, with one more bedroom, FOR ME! I FINALLY GET A ROOM!

But, anyway, coming back to the point, we have lived in the current apartment for eight years now, and obviously, some connections have been made. The current apartment is a snug little place, in a residential area near a creek. This means that I’ve had the most enjoyable walks, with friends and without. Some days, rain was my companion, some others, music.

The Sky displayed various colours depending on the season, and equipped with a camera phone, I loved clicking away and later tried to capture the enchanting skies on canvas. The environment I am going to miss also includes people.

The folks here are relaxed and unbothered about who does what, and yet they are there for you if you need them. Perfect in away. I have made friends with this Bhukkad who will be my ex-neighbour soon, Dearly Doted Abhishek, jiske ghar roz ka ana jana hai. I shall miss him dearly.  :’)

Now, to the more practical matters at hand. Moving is a pain in the ass! The Mum has got me running errands everyday, to buy random things for all the rooms. Thanks to all the bags I carry back from the market, I’ve built some rather flashy muscles.

Lastly, there is a lot to be thought about my new room. I get the smallest room, and I have to fit my painting accessories, easel and all, book case, study table, speakers, cupboard, bed and pet tortoises in it. Oh and the cane jhula too! But I won’t say it is unfair, at least I got a room, and it is enough for my needs, if adjustments are made.

There’s the mum calling again, undoubtedly to order me to buy a dustbin or something. Until later! Hope the next post will be from the new house! 🙂

P.s – this is a picture I clicked on one of those walks. For me, they resemble praying hands stretched skywards.