Its almost 9:45AM and I’m still rolling butter sheets with my design sketches. The filter coffee’s gone cold and the breakfast is still in my mouth. The bread’s turned sweet and the carrot filling is halfway to the tummy.
I’d worn the first kurta I found hanging in my cupboard (the fact that’s it was hanging is an achievement in itself) and pulled on some Jean that was lying around. There’s absolutely no time to go over my wardrobe or choose footwear. Why didn’t you decide last night? Because I came back from a conference at 10pm and sleep was the only thing. But I’m comfortable in both my skins.
As I walk on the street with my things…sheets and scales clutched under one arm and the other supporting the bag, I catch random folks staring. Disapproval is all over their face. Slippers with kurta. The hair! Oh, the horror. Plain ticker lines running across their forehead as I pretend not to care but its killing me. I’ve been following the whole breathe it out thing though I fail at moments, most of the times I hold up,some how.
By the time I reached class I had let them convince them that I’m a mess and I even said it aloud to a friend.
There is this nice friend of mine from another department and we were childhood classmates. Basically, he’s pretty decent and a member of my friends circle. As I passed him by, I tried my best to hide my self-disdain while he smiled at me and his eyes ran from my slippers to champu hair. But seriously, neither was the dress to drap or bright or gaudy or ill-fitting. It was just a tad bit plain Jane. Honest to the T.
Bam. All of them.
A person could be a genius, a nice person or an organ donor. But just because they weren’t meticulous enough to decide upon the clothes they were to wear the next day, you give them the look.
Give people a break. Some of us Di lose ourselves in the pursuit of a greater unknown and falter. Don’t judge. Just smile. That’s what I do. Because I know. Your disdainful glances are butchering someone’s day.
Take care. Stay healthy . Arrividerci