Fashionably Yours. Swati Sharma

icily to me.

      “Mom, I would never do anything to shame you, I promise,” I smiled widely at the same time as Payal let out the disgusted sigh.

      “I don’t trust your promises. The girl who can go against her own family can never be trusted,” she said sternly.

      ***

      Three days later I packed all of my belongings in two suitcases and was driven to the bus station by dad. Mom and Payal came along too. As Payal rolled her eyes the whole way, Dad instructed me about safety and other things and made me promise that I would call him every day and come visit once in three months. When we reached the station, I hugged Dad tightly and air kissed Payal who smiled stiffly at me.

      I reached for Mom to hug her and she whispered in my hair, “You have ruined your life. One day you will regret your decision.”

       1

       Two years later May 28

       It was a crisp morning and I was dressed in black from head to toe, looking every inch perfect. Black Prada jersey dress, black stockings, black Louis Vuitton pumps, black Chanel vintage handbag and kohl-rimmed eyes. I left my exactly-like-out-of-a-glossy-magazine-page living apartment at Murray Hills and got into my shiny white Audi Q7 which was parked just down the road, buckled my seat belt and was just about to place my shiny red sole on the accelerator, when my Blackberry buzzed to life.

       It was a reminder message from the boss lady, she wanted me to pick up Tyra Banks from the airport before meeting her at Diane Von Furstenberg’s private show. After lovingly gazing at my Blackberry screen I put away the phone. ‘I don’t understand why people call you an iron woman when you are so sweet?’ I asked myself and turned on the ignition. But before I could speed up I was interrupted by a shrill rinigng …

      Mumbling, grumbling and swearing I grabbed my alarm clock from the nightstand and switched it off. Half opening my eyes, I looked at the alarm clock and it took me a good three minutes to figure out that it was just past seven-thirty a.m. Placing the clock back on the nightstand I assured myself that I could easily manage to stay in the bed for an extra five minutes. Pulling the duvet over my head, I closed my eyes and before I realized I was sound asleep again. Little did I know that five minutes would become fifty!

      “Oh My God,” hastily I kicked aside the blanket, hopped out of the bed and stripped on the way to the bathroom. “That bitch will be after my life. Again!” I shouted at the walls of the empty apartment.

      As I got into the shower I switched to multitasking mode and started washing my hair with one hand and brushing my teeth with the other while figuring out a perfectly a acceptable excuse to throw Natasha’s way. But goddammit! My mind had gone numb. I could think of nothing, null, big fat nada. Turning the shower off and chucking the toothbrush somewhere in the bathroom, I walked back to the room and headed straight to the closet. Pulling open the closet doors, I grabbed the first piece of clothing I could lay my hands on.

      Zipping up my bright blue summer dress, I grabbed my battered handbag from the coffee table in the living room, threw my vanity bag in it, put on my old-but-not-yet-worn-out black Aldo peep toes and let myself out of the flat.

      Outside the building, under the bright and clear May sky, I was standing nearly in the middle of the road with my completely drenched and uncombed hair with water dripping onto my dress, soaking it at very inappropriate places. ‘After frantically waving my hands in front of every passing cab, I finally succeeded to get one to stop. As the cab screeched to a halt by the side of the buzzing road, I rushed towards it as if this was the last taxi on the planet and my life depended on it. Well, if not my life then at least my job depended on it.

      “Could you please take me to Bandra?” I almost pleaded with the cab driver.

      “It’s rush hour. I will charge extra,” he said with a stony face.

      I was determined to not let go of this cab. It was nearly eight fifty-three a.m. and Natasha would fire me if I missed the editorial meeting which was supposed to start at nine a.m. sharp!

      “Whatever it is, let’s go,” I screamed. I agreed to pay the small fortune he quoted and with a heavy heart slid into the passenger seat.

      As the cab made its way through bumpy Mumbai roads, I managed to comb my hair, put on mascara, dab lip gloss and fret about the office where by now everyone must have been in the conference room with their bright eyes and shining ideas for the next issue.

       Damn!

      Thirty minutes later as the cabbie pulled over in front of the Style office, I quickly hopped out, gave him a part of my hard-earned money and barged through the large glass doors. With wobbly legs and a sinking heart I walked towards the lift and with trembling hands jabbed the buttons. As the doors pinged opened on the third floor right in front of the large neon pink sign board of Style, I braced myself for one more lecture on work ethics from my editor. As I made my way towards the conference room, my heart beat faster and faster with every step. I was thirty minutes late.

       Bollocks!

      Outside the conference room I stopped for a minute, instructed my thudding heart to calm down, forced a wide smile on my face and without wasting another second barged into the room. The entire room went silent as though they hadn’t been talking in the first place. All the e-magazine staff was there, looking at me as if I had a clown nose on my face. Without muttering a word and ignoring twenty pairs of eyes, I walked towards the only empty chair in the whole room which, of course, was right next to Natasha.

       Brilliant.

      While walking towards the chair I heard people whispering and giggling behind my back. I wondered what was so funny about being late. Gingerly I took my seat, rummaged into my handbag for a notepad and a pen and sat there quietly, ignoring Natasha’s gaze. I couldn’t bring myself to look at anyone or anywhere so I fixed my eyes on the table as if the plain glass was the most fascinating thing I had ever seen in my life.

      “Welcome aboard,” said Natasha in a tone which was a synonym for who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are-to-interrupt-the-meeting-and-not-even-bother-to-beg-for-mercy-from-your-boss.

      “I am sorry, Natasha,” I croaked.

      “Why are you sorry? I think that we all should be sorry that we started this stupid editorial meeting without you. I reckon we all could have waited for you, Style could have waited for you.”

      As I looked up at her, I could see the horns on her head and fangs emerging from her mouth.

       Gosh!

      “You are embarrassing me.”

      She always did that. I could bet that humiliating me was her favorite pastime on earth. There were more occasions than I could count on my fingers and toes when she had humiliated me in front of zillions of people, more often than not for no solid reason. I mean, come on spending five minutes waiting for new life on Candy Crush before starting a tough workday was hardly reason for her to insult me in front of the entire office. I swear later that day I heard people whispering about my inability to clear level 33 on Candy Crush.

      “You are not going to understand the ethics of the fashion business, are you? We are running not just a magazine, but a fashion magazine. Thousands of girls read this magazine every day, carry it with them in their bags no matter where they go, keep it under their pillows, read it on trains, worship it and want to be associated with it in any way possible. And you have a chance to be a part of this and you just don’t respect your chance,” she thundered with the latest issue of Style in her hands.

      Really? I wondered how many girls were insane enough to buy this trash.

      “Girls like you …”

      Before she could continue her speech, Anu jumped in