Uff! Ye fashion…
The one place in Chandigarh where you will always find entertainment and amusement, is Sector- 17. You know the place where there are lot of fake jewellery stalls and punjabi music blares out of some super-high definition speakers. That’s the happening set!!
Incident no. 1
It was late October last year. I was shopping with a friend. We were walking along the fountain and we see a cluster of men. Supposedly there was a photo-shoot going on! We didn’t have to peep in, it was clearly visible for everyone to see.. Muscles bulging out the florescent green body hugging t-shirt, wearing purple shades and golden hair stood the centre of attraction. (Trust me, he had golden hair. I looked closely.)His curly hair was golden, and he was of the average Indian complexion – wheatish. The way his golden locks were bouncing off his shoulders was a sight not to miss. Anyway, he and his pals posed all over the fountain. And my friend, did they have the X factor! Atti-chew-t.
Incident no. 2
This time, at the same fountain we encountered a huge crowd. Inquisitive, we joined the crowd and by God! A live Punjabi music video!! “Forget the shopping”, we stared awe-struck at the long haired extras twisting their body every-which-way to the beat of something that sounded like Dhol. And. In the middle of this was a hot Chandigarh babe! A flimsy red jacket made of mosquito net with amazingly high heels studded with fake glittery stones. Not to miss the jet black sunglasses (the ones that make it look like you’re blind). She was moving it, man. Waving her hand dramatically and smiling into the camera.. Saanu dekh dekh ke na hasss mundeya..
Incident no. 3
We saw two men. One was above six feet. He was amazingly tall. And thin. Complete anorexic. More than that, if there is such a thing. Dressed in a hip-manner, he was sauntering around. Along with him, was the shortest guy I have ever come across. He must be 4 ft something, at max. On his little face, he wore amazingly large sunglasses (he ones that make you resemble a honey-bee), of some extraordinary colour I’m sure. And his full-sleeve whit shirt was folded till the elbow on one arm. On one arm. The other arm was covered till the wrist by his formal shirt. So that’s the new in thing, guys! We tried to follow and click a memorable picture, but failed.
The women. Be it an aunty, or a teeny-weeny sixth grader, everybody is clad in heels here! We don’t like unmanageable hair. They gotta be straightened! Oh, what is it.. Re-bonding. With poking straight hair, generally dyed in the colour of dried grass, they walk along the show-rooms with an air. They look ridiculous! The hair just loses its natural bounce or whatever. I mean, no matter what you do, you look your best the way God has made you. Where has the simplicity gone? Where have the natural lip colour, the without French-manicure nails gone? Poking straight hair falling limply at their sides, the big flashy bags on their shoulders, they appear to be wax dolls.
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“Uff! Ye fashion…”