They say if you are grieving you should talk it out. Vent your grief. Much more acceptable than your anger. Though grief can take the form of anger, its never the other way around. No one in anger goes into grieving. No one in anger grieves over being angry.
So let me tell you why I'm grieving. I have just lost a companion. It was light brown-greenish in colour. I met it in Prague. And just like anyone in my life, I didnt value it much at first. Though there are many reasons for this. And we'll get into these soon.
I was new in Prague. Studying films. European cinema. Russian Cinema. And constantly defending Bollywood. No, not all films have 14 songs. Only the super hit kinds do. And now that I am back here, this word describes the difference it makes to the industry. Jhaata.
How we met:
I was in the second week or so of being in Prague. I was just about making it to classes on time. (Claim disputed). The days when I would leave for lunch from school and then take an hour to find school again were far far behind.
True greens had been discovered. Not the black shrivelled stuff that we chalao here. And by true green, I mean it only in the sense of purity. It was 24 karat. It was green, purple, orange and at times blue. It spoke to you. You spoke to it.
So one day, we, we being me and Blaise sat and blazed a few blunts. Soon it was night and it was lights out in wonderland. As I make my way back to my Praha 3 the next morning, I come down a slope, as you often do in Prague. At the corner stands a shop that has clothes on display. Now, if you know me, I wear clothes that match years in continuity, and then announce it too. So though they held no allure for me, I walk in for the spirit of adventure. It turned out to be a thrift shop. And my first time in a thrift shop.
As an Indian, you are unsure what to do in a thrift. Atleast initially. Rarely do instagram accounts go crazy with thrift shop fashion. Most of our lives, we, or our parents have tried to get to a position where we dont need to be passed on second hand clothes. The sentimental kind of passing down (Beta, I bought this shirt when Stalin was alive and kicking people into Gulags) does not count.
So I had ticked off a thrift shop, so that when I heard the hip hop number "I wanna go thrift shopping", I would recall this experience and tell them its all romance and no substance.
After trying out umpteen jackets, leather and denim and all over (Im always to lazy to try pants. Who's going to take one off and then try another one and then find out its not even going to fit). I'm just about done with this exercise, and begin walking out this thrift shop, leaving a heap of tried out second hand clothes.
Its when I encounter the owner of this thrift shop. I stop with an unsure smile on my face. Two reasons for this. One, Czech women are beauties but of the icy kind. Like Mr. Freeze had a production line. Second, she had two inches over me. And I'm talking only height. She gave me the foreboding that the bear gave Dicaprio in The Revenant. So i stopped. A wise decision it would turn out to be. Now ofcourse I couldnt turn around just because she looked like she would physically assault me. I half turn to my 'tried out' pile of clothes and casually sneak out a brownish-greenish looking cloth. Still under the lady-bear's glare, I shell out 80 Korunas and leave the shop with my dignity intact. (claim debatable)
I only check my purchase once I'm safely seated on the No. 3 tram. Its a jacket. It has 4 pockets in front and these loops on the shoulder, like for applets. I exhale. Soon I am home and the jacket gets draped over my study chair. I could've done worse with 80 Korunas, 560Rs.
As I look at it right before I crash for the night, I get this vibe from it. Which leads to this solid backstory. Here it is. It belonged to a homeless man. He dies on the street wearing it. Thats when this lady-bear from the thrift shop comes along, peels it off him and puts it up on sale in her thrift shop for 80Korunas, hoping that one day a skinny Indian will come along and will be bullied into purchasing it. All of this had gone according to plan.
4 days later
Y, who I would go on to date, but with whom we were still in the "no way this is the only person I'm hooking up with" zone. She asks what that, that I draped over the study chair, was. I pick it up and tell her its a jacket I bought at a thrift shop. "Thrift shop?!" she says, with raised eyebrows. "Yeah", i reply casually.
I put it on, which, is putting your arms into its arms and having it drape over your back and shoulders. Very intimate. And then I waited for Y.
'Its nice' she says, with the kind of palpable doubt that would make itself frequent when giving feedback. Mostly on my cooking.
So it went back to the chair, hung there, that dead homeless guy's jacket.
Cut to:
Second semester. 5 months have passed. Winter and snow are on the wain when I reach out for this jacket again.
Location: Barrandov AKA studio heaven.
By the time we are in the prop section, I have collected 3 compliments from people who were not in any way obliged to. One is a Swede who would pronounce my name as Karhaan PraBHABKhar, which is still commendable. The second was an angel by the name of Jitka, of PFS.
Bas phir kya tha. That jacket became my second skin. Aur comliments aatey gaye. Main batorta gaya. Kabhi is pocket mein, Kabhi uss.
Phir ek din, kuch ek saal baad, maine ek auto li. Mere haath mein they do packet, ek guitar, ek bag aur meri pyaari jacket.
Today, as I sit, contracting pneumonia, my fingers shivering in the cold that Starbucks manufactures to weed out squatters (One coffee, 4hours waaley log). I miss it. Maybe I left it in the auto. Maybe I dropped it on the road. The point is that its gone. Forever. Because clothes dont come back. Never. For example I have a checked shirt that is claimed by every male relative of mine including my younger brother who's not even my size. We all know the clothes belong to the one in who's cupboard they hanf. HEEH HOH HAH HAAA!
P.S:
Right after I wrote this post, my mom informed me that I had left the jacket in the car. No, I will not delete this. Though its just upped the value of my thrift shopped jacket exponentially.
So let me tell you why I'm grieving. I have just lost a companion. It was light brown-greenish in colour. I met it in Prague. And just like anyone in my life, I didnt value it much at first. Though there are many reasons for this. And we'll get into these soon.
I was new in Prague. Studying films. European cinema. Russian Cinema. And constantly defending Bollywood. No, not all films have 14 songs. Only the super hit kinds do. And now that I am back here, this word describes the difference it makes to the industry. Jhaata.
How we met:
I was in the second week or so of being in Prague. I was just about making it to classes on time. (Claim disputed). The days when I would leave for lunch from school and then take an hour to find school again were far far behind.
True greens had been discovered. Not the black shrivelled stuff that we chalao here. And by true green, I mean it only in the sense of purity. It was 24 karat. It was green, purple, orange and at times blue. It spoke to you. You spoke to it.
So one day, we, we being me and Blaise sat and blazed a few blunts. Soon it was night and it was lights out in wonderland. As I make my way back to my Praha 3 the next morning, I come down a slope, as you often do in Prague. At the corner stands a shop that has clothes on display. Now, if you know me, I wear clothes that match years in continuity, and then announce it too. So though they held no allure for me, I walk in for the spirit of adventure. It turned out to be a thrift shop. And my first time in a thrift shop.
As an Indian, you are unsure what to do in a thrift. Atleast initially. Rarely do instagram accounts go crazy with thrift shop fashion. Most of our lives, we, or our parents have tried to get to a position where we dont need to be passed on second hand clothes. The sentimental kind of passing down (Beta, I bought this shirt when Stalin was alive and kicking people into Gulags) does not count.
So I had ticked off a thrift shop, so that when I heard the hip hop number "I wanna go thrift shopping", I would recall this experience and tell them its all romance and no substance.
After trying out umpteen jackets, leather and denim and all over (Im always to lazy to try pants. Who's going to take one off and then try another one and then find out its not even going to fit). I'm just about done with this exercise, and begin walking out this thrift shop, leaving a heap of tried out second hand clothes.
Its when I encounter the owner of this thrift shop. I stop with an unsure smile on my face. Two reasons for this. One, Czech women are beauties but of the icy kind. Like Mr. Freeze had a production line. Second, she had two inches over me. And I'm talking only height. She gave me the foreboding that the bear gave Dicaprio in The Revenant. So i stopped. A wise decision it would turn out to be. Now ofcourse I couldnt turn around just because she looked like she would physically assault me. I half turn to my 'tried out' pile of clothes and casually sneak out a brownish-greenish looking cloth. Still under the lady-bear's glare, I shell out 80 Korunas and leave the shop with my dignity intact. (claim debatable)
I only check my purchase once I'm safely seated on the No. 3 tram. Its a jacket. It has 4 pockets in front and these loops on the shoulder, like for applets. I exhale. Soon I am home and the jacket gets draped over my study chair. I could've done worse with 80 Korunas, 560Rs.
As I look at it right before I crash for the night, I get this vibe from it. Which leads to this solid backstory. Here it is. It belonged to a homeless man. He dies on the street wearing it. Thats when this lady-bear from the thrift shop comes along, peels it off him and puts it up on sale in her thrift shop for 80Korunas, hoping that one day a skinny Indian will come along and will be bullied into purchasing it. All of this had gone according to plan.
4 days later
Y, who I would go on to date, but with whom we were still in the "no way this is the only person I'm hooking up with" zone. She asks what that, that I draped over the study chair, was. I pick it up and tell her its a jacket I bought at a thrift shop. "Thrift shop?!" she says, with raised eyebrows. "Yeah", i reply casually.
I put it on, which, is putting your arms into its arms and having it drape over your back and shoulders. Very intimate. And then I waited for Y.
'Its nice' she says, with the kind of palpable doubt that would make itself frequent when giving feedback. Mostly on my cooking.
So it went back to the chair, hung there, that dead homeless guy's jacket.
Cut to:
Second semester. 5 months have passed. Winter and snow are on the wain when I reach out for this jacket again.
Location: Barrandov AKA studio heaven.
By the time we are in the prop section, I have collected 3 compliments from people who were not in any way obliged to. One is a Swede who would pronounce my name as Karhaan PraBHABKhar, which is still commendable. The second was an angel by the name of Jitka, of PFS.
Bas phir kya tha. That jacket became my second skin. Aur comliments aatey gaye. Main batorta gaya. Kabhi is pocket mein, Kabhi uss.
Phir ek din, kuch ek saal baad, maine ek auto li. Mere haath mein they do packet, ek guitar, ek bag aur meri pyaari jacket.
Today, as I sit, contracting pneumonia, my fingers shivering in the cold that Starbucks manufactures to weed out squatters (One coffee, 4hours waaley log). I miss it. Maybe I left it in the auto. Maybe I dropped it on the road. The point is that its gone. Forever. Because clothes dont come back. Never. For example I have a checked shirt that is claimed by every male relative of mine including my younger brother who's not even my size. We all know the clothes belong to the one in who's cupboard they hanf. HEEH HOH HAH HAAA!
P.S:
Right after I wrote this post, my mom informed me that I had left the jacket in the car. No, I will not delete this. Though its just upped the value of my thrift shopped jacket exponentially.
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