Fashionably Yours. Swati Sharma

godmother.

      “Holy Moly, is it even for real,” I was running my sweaty palm over a picture of a stunning Eli Saab gown with a mind-numbing price tag when the phone on my desk started ringing and made me jump out of my skin. Getting a hold of myself I picked up the receiver.

      “Hello.”

      “Do you have a pen with you?” Natasha said in a steely voice.

      “Err … yes,” I squinted at the phone.

      Why was she asking me about a pen? Did she get security cameras installed in the office and connected to her phone so that she could keep an eye on the staff even when she was away? Did she see me chilling out in my cubicle? Was she going to fire me? Why was she asking about the pen?

      “Jot down this email address,” she dictated and before I could ask who’s email it was or what I was supposed to do with it, she added, “This is Aryan Malik’s email, he is a photographer and he is going to do a photo shoot for us. He is waiting for some details regarding the same. Talk to Anu, take all details from her and shoot him an email. And for God’s sake, be quick about it!” she snapped and cut the phone.

      What a bitch? First she interrupted my near-perfect day without any warning, then she didn’t even bother to acknowledge my greeting, and on top of that she assigned me a task which technically should have been done by her secretary or at least by some intern. If I hadn’t needed this job so bad I would have kicked her arse with especially designed iron-spiked stilettos.

      It was ten past six when I and Anu went to Starbucks. While I bought myself a double shot latte, she headed into the washroom and changed into her beautiful, georgette shift dress. Armed with coffee I joined her as she finished zipping herself up, closed the lid of the toilet and sat on it.

      “That’s one hell of a dress,” I said before greedily guzzling the steaming hot coffee and burning my tongue. Ouch!

      “Thanks! Mom got it for me from Italy. My parents went there last year to celebrate their 27^th wedding anniversary. My mom is one big shopaholic,” she rolled her eyes.

       Was she kidding me? Moms don’t do that. They kill you with their eyes when you even think of buying more than one pair of skinny jeans at a time. They don’t buy you stunning georgette dresses; they buy the most horrendous looking, over-the-top embellished suit in the shop. At least my mom did that.

      I looked at her in disbelief.

      “What that look is all about?” her eyes darted to me.

      “You must have incredible karma to get a mom like that,” I retorted.

      “That has to be true,” she beamed before finger combing her gorgeous hair. “I am good to go. How do I look?” she clasped her hands together and looked at me curiously.

      “What? No makeup?” I asked out of habit.

      Anu was probably the only girl I knew who hadn’t warmed to makeup. She believed in being au natural and the worst part was that she actually didn’t really need makeup to look au natural. Her skin was that flawless.

      “I don’t do makeup, sweetie,” she batted her eyelashes.

      “I know but no matter how wonderful your skin is, you have got to have some makeup on,” I said in a very poised manner.

      “Says who?” she crossed her arms across her chest.

      “Says me. Now don’t waste time and let me help you with it,” I said and before she could stop me I produced the emergency vanity kit from my bag and started working my way through blushers and mascaras. After finishing the task I stepped back to admire my work. “Perfect” I purred. I was genuinely pleased with my craft.

      “Thank you so much. I am in your debt. What would have I done without you, Maya Kapoor?” she said sarcastically.

      “You would have been probably ended up going on your date with a shit face,” I branded a devilish laugh.

      “Now can we just go? I don’t want to be late,” she pleaded.

      I packed my vanity kit, slid it back into my bag, grabbed my coffee and followed her outside. When we emerged from the café, I was swept off my feet by the sudden change in the weather but Anu shuddered at the thought of rain washing off her makeup and spoiling her dress, but it was barely drizzling. A very early pre-monsoon tease by the rain gods.

      “What the fuck?” she let out an exasperated sigh!

      “What’s wrong with you? Just look at the weather,” I pointed at the dark grey clouds. They looked breathtaking, and it was delightfully windy. I clasped my hands in excitement. She looked at me disgustedly for a second before hurriedly running for her car in the parking.

      “Come fast. It’s raining,” she shouted at me from the driver’s seat.

      “Don’t be so over-dramatic,” I tutted.

      “Are you coming or not?” she shouted.

      “No. I think I’ll walk,” I grinned.

      “Are you sure?”

      “I am.” I smiled and waved her goodbye.

      Instead of going home, I decided to walk in the opposite direction. Digging out the iPod from the depths of my handbag, I untangled the earphones and, to the sound of Laura Pausini, headed towards the ocean. Sitting on the edge of Carter Road, I couldn’t help but wonder how beautiful the ocean looked, as if it was dancing hand-in-hand with the tiny falling drops without a damn care in the world. It was so romantic and almost magical. I felt my heart flutter at the sight.

       3

       May 31

      Today I woke up to a not-so-unexpected phone call. What on earth could Mom want from me at six-thirty on a Friday morning? With my Blackberry in hand I was deciding between red or green and before I could press the red button, the ringing had died. I thanked my karma. Mornings are not the time to talk to your mother, someone else’s mother or any mother on earth in general.

      When I reached the office I spent an hour networking on social media. Networking is nowadays a must and of utmost importance for every business and profession and what could be better than Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. Logging out of my said accounts, I typed Harrods in Google’s search bar and promised myself that I would use it only for reference for my next article on ‘Global Online Shopping Trends’ and not give in to the temptation of browsing it’s gorgeous collection of bags, shoes, clothes and accessories. I knew it was going to be tough but I couldn’t risk being caught. As the website opened, I got the feeling that I was going to fail spectacularly and before I could accept my defeat I heard the clatter of stilettos in the lobby which was getting louder with every passing second. Before I had the chance to crane my neck to view the owner of the nude silk and leather Nine West peep toes, I knew who it was.

      “Hey darling,” Veena flashed a crooked smile.

      “What do you want?” I asked sternly.

      How dare that bitch look like the Indian version of Posh without fake boobs? I just couldn’t understand how someone could afford a Zara dress, Nine West shoes, Bobbi Brown makeup and a Charles & Keith handbag when they were a mere receptionist. That too in a not-so-high-flying firm like Style. I mean even Natasha could only afford M.A.C. In between all the shabby and tackily dressed employees of the office, Veena looked like she owned all of it and we worked for her.

      “Relax. Why so rude all the time?” she smirked, while waving a fluffy white envelope on my face.

      “What’s that?”

      “Oh this? This is for you. That’s why I came here to deliver it personally,” she said.

      “Then