Fashionably Yours. Swati Sharma

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СКАЧАТЬ heard anything and continued passing her desk everyday without throwing a hot latte at her.

      “Thank you, Veena. I’ll have a look,” I retorted. I was about to step through the glass doors when the elevator slid open and I found myself smiling with relief.

      “Hey gorgeous,” Anu gave me a quick peck as we walked towards our desks.

      “Morning!” I beamed.

      “By the way, what are you doing here at this time? You’re breaking your thou shalt always be late oath?” she chided.

      “Oh yeah,” I rolled my eyes. “Well you should sometimes do things for change,” I gushed. Suddenly I noticed her perefectly manicured nails, “Are you heading somewhere after office?”

      This girl was the laziest person who ever worked in a fashion magazine. Sometimes she would go through the entire week with the mass of greasy hair on her head. But no matter how hard she tried to be careless or look like a normal girl without a fancy blow dry or makeup, she always ended up looking effortlessly glamorous and her hair despite being greasy, always appears beautifully tangled and glorious. She was world opposite to me. Five feet four inchs, tiny waist despite of all the big bowls of cheese nachos she gorged on, colored hair, visible collar bones, all fair and fragile. And then there was me. Five feet six inches, broader than any average girl on the globe, little more than generous curves, hard to manage hair, unexisting collar bones, slightly tanned and not the very least fragile. How were we even friends?

      “Yes! I am going to a club with Sameer,” she beamed.

      “Ahhh! Have fun,” I winked.

      Hearing club and Sameer in one sentence brought back some memories, some not-so-pleasant memories. Not so long ago, on a particularly horrendous day Natasha rejected Anu’s highly researched story about budget fashion outright which made Anu fume with anger. Unable to bear the sight of her sad and angry face I decided to cheer her up and took her to a club on Marine Drive. On our way to the club Anu kept swearing, screaming and crying about the injustice and that was when I realized that I was not prepared to handle her on my own. So I speed dialled Sameer and begged him to join us. Once in the club, I perched on a sofa in a far corner as they set the dance floor on fire under the influence of tons of alcohol and totally forgot about me. After gulping down one too many shots of tequila and spending an hour on my own looking at the blissfully happy couples making out in every corner of the club and repetitively questioning myself when my someone would come around, finally I decided to end the torture. Pushing through the crowd I headed for the spot where my one and only best friend in the whole world and her (im)perfect boyfriend were showing off some awfully drunken dance moves.

      “I have to go,” I shouted over the music as I caught her gaze.

      “What?” she frowned.

      “I am tired. I am leaving,” I screamed.

      “What? I can’t hear you.”

      “I am going home, you fuckhead,” and this time not just her, the entire club heard me loud and clear because God had conspired against me and the asshole DJ suddenly switched to Celine Dion straight from Lady Gaga.

       What a disaster that night had been!

      This day however, was turning out better than I could have expected. For starters when I re-read my article in the morning before taking printouts, I realized it turned out even better than the one I lost in the computer crash and second (this was the highlight of my day) Natasha wasn’t in the office for the whole day. This meant that I technically had the entire day to myself.

      I fished out the stack of old issues of Glamorous from the drawer in my cubicle, got myself a large cup of coffee from the coffeemaker which was installed only for Natasha’s use who liked to drink freshly brewed coffee, unlike the rest of the staff who were forced to survive on the tasteless vending machine coffee, and propped my legs up on the desk. Leafing through the glossy pages of my fashion bible over my cuppa, I thanked my fairy 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,” СКАЧАТЬ