Friday, June 13, 2008

Of cluttered vacuum and Warhol

Jyenagar Jalajamba is back.. without a bang, but then who cares... grand entries are over rated.

Today she bought bags. Just out of the blue. And its kitsch.. kitschhhhh... kitt-shhhhh... kishhhhh... such a pretty word. A failed attempt at edgy curtness. Like you're sliding out of control. I wonder how the word came about. I'm sure it happened in a new york penthouse... in a late night house party.. with anorexic pretentious women.. russian ones.. with harsh flat pronunciation... in a minimalist setting with synthetic electricity and long cigarillos stuck onto silver pipes.. only they weren't breakfastattiffany's. they were ceramic vaccuum.

Anyway, one must not stray so much from the topic at hand... no... wait... i have more to say.... just remembered that I never took to the word 'bling'. I'm sure it was invented so it can be the new 'with it' word. Convenient tickets to acceptance. But something about the word is so bland. So 'tchain'... like a bunch of useless keys falling onto a plate. But then I digress.

So yea, Jyenagar Jalajamba spent a bomb on poor quality over sized embarassingly loud kitsch. How comforting a feeling. Almost like you're wild enough to be cool. Mind you, where I come from... big fat over priced kitsch bags ARE wild.. especially if the most unpredictability in a tambram's life is the consistency of their daily cups of curd. And even THAT we know how to tame.

Right so the bags are basically big and have huge prints on them. But I love them. My bags are rexine meets Andy Warhol in asymmetric poor stitching. And the fabric is not tweed coarse... its rexine coarse... not natural coarse.

And it can hold my entire world in it. All the comfort goods that a woman needs. Her own portable weaponry - face wash, tissue, comb, deo, chap stick, kajal, another comb with thinner teeth, another wad of tissue, old bills, dirty wallet, pens, pencils, pretentious reading, random keys, lacto calamine, everything. It hangs right under her shoulder and hangs pretty... and loud.

To measure one's days by the coffee cups. Such prettiness. Such vacuum.

5 comments:

K said...

Now she's writing. :D

Im sitting here thinking of how each of those metaphors means so much. And Im just grinning stupidly.

I like it when you are happy. Immensely like.

:)

K.

p.s. Was terribly tempted... ;P

ofternoons-n-coffeespoons said...

Uh.. yea ok.

What metaphor? Where? Whaa?

Kindly refrain from adding to JJ's long list of complexes.. spare her the big words.

in search of IQ said...

Beautiful the postures you take, even more lovely how these postures take you. This is you at your prettiest and kookiest best. The name fits like a glove :). Original, fluent and eccentric just like you.

ofternoons-n-coffeespoons said...

Geez-frikkin-christ... thank you oh cybermama

in search of IQ said...

hmmmmm.... or maybe you prefer something witty and caustic, whats the point of pretty and mushy right? okay cybersapling .....glad to see for once that you weren't too busy impressing people and checking the coolness factor of what you said, to be too choked up to write something original. And even cooler is the pretended indifference to reactions from the ones who did comment . Well done!