A Spring Affair

a spring affair

 

A little madness in the spring

Is wholesome even for the king…”

 

True that. Emily Dickinson’s advice aside, the onset of this pretty season is reason enough to shed our serious airs for a while and smell the roses. Quite literally. All of February, forget roses, I barely paused to smell the coffee on my desk. Glued to the hundred year old teak masterpiece, I was steeped in paperwork — boring, mundane stuff that is the bane of entrepreneurship in India. So when the design team suggested a dip in the deluge of floral prints inundating our inventory room, to celebrate Women’s day, the dull Jill in the corner room at Mantra House could barely protest.

Honestly speaking, even if I wouldn’t risk an argument on the subject with the young, bubbly women on board, I’ll confide in you that I don’t quite understand the concept of Women’s day.  Since men don’t have a similar day in their name, their stake to claim the other 364 days of the year for themselves seems to be deceptively encrypted in this concept. In the flurry of activity (planned in meticulous detail by marketing wizards in a bid to sell their wares) celebrating the solitary day relegated to us, are we not supporting, quite unwittingly of course, the cause of the other gender?  I know I’m sounding a wee bit paranoid, even to my normally undiscerning ears, but these days, one needs to be careful, you see.

So while everyone else is gung-ho about Women’s day, I’ll maintain a studied silence. Celebrations? No, thank you. A laddoo and a silent prayer, maybe.  I refuse to fall for this gimmick which doles out in miserly fashion, one measly day as my portion of the year — that too in dry, exam-ridden, mosquito infested March! Not a chance. My eyes are on the year ahead. The whole year. Not a moment less!

That said, I saw no harm in indulging in a new collection. Long, rustling dresses that twirl sensuously around the ankles; delicate, frothy anarkalis that swirl away with a mind of their own; hemlines that play hide and seek and eyelets that play peekaboo;  willowy silhouettes, flirty fabrics, prints and paisleys that leave you sighing for more. Forget Women’s day. What a woman needs in March is an indulgence, a little madness…a spring affair.

a spring affair

 

 

 

 

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