Kala Ghoda - A Day At MORA

Second day at Kala Ghoda was for MORA responsibilities, as Elbert and I did crowd control at the stall. MORA is a collection by Ritika Mittal, a dear friend and a talented designer. Her exquisite collection is created from rare fabrics hand-picked from across India, and adorned with traditional embroideries and techniques. The result is a collection where every piece is unique, and special enough to be an heirloom. As the crowds poured in, and appreciation became difficult to handle, I found myself in the role of a bouncer, letting only a specific number of guests enter the stall at a time. My favourite MORA piece of the day was the skirt-set on the mannequin. Made from 32 meters of finest Mul cotton, this piece is held together with 107 pleats around the waist. Along with the dupatta and a beautiful fabric for the tunic, it would be a breathtaking addition to any wardrobe.


Ritika was in her element, personally attending to every visitor. A daunting task, but MORA is about choosing the right piece for yourself. After all, MORA does mean "Mine". I did get to visit some other interesting stalls and will put up the posts soon. And yes, I did pick up some lovely things for the house. You will get to see them too.

Kala Ghoda - Day 1

Barely made it in time to see some of Ritika Mittals' awesome collection - MORA - at Kala Ghoda. Day 1 is usually very crowded, and chaotic. Stall owners are still trying to get the logistics right and get in place their own ways of crowd management. Some pretty interesting stuff there. Will cover all that later. For now, just a few pictures that I managed to get.


Roseanne and Ellie pose for the camera.


Me, Roseanne and the mannequin. I am wearing a MORA sari.


Ritika's mother taking a quick break


Ritika, tired but happy with the success of the MORA collection


An interesting installation. In fact, the only one I managed to see.

What makes a home?

What makes a home? Is it the customized furniture, expensive gadgets, or the large crystal vases? Is it the Lava Lamps, the one-of-a-kind chandeliers, or rare ferns? To me, the home is made of small things. Like Old Gods in new forms. Like the Lord Ganesha here… in his “most awesome ever” avatar… a Russian Doll! Bought off a street side hawker at Colaba Causeway. I like.

Changeling...

This Sunday, I shifted into my new house. And the first phase of a journey began. Friends and family helped put things in place. I needed some new curtains, and a few cushions. I feel that cushions give warmth to a home. There is an episode of “coupling” where Steve talks about the uselessness of cushions. I disagree. I find them integral to a cozy space. As I place things around the house, it seems to respond, by looking pretty one moment and chic the other, and then moving on to being wild bohemian, or classic or contemporary. In short, just the placement and an odd piece here or there can make it look different.
It’s pretty much like us, as individuals. Small changes can bring about all the difference. I am changing. The changes are small. But I feel a whole lot different. After a really long time, it feels as if life is moving forward, things are happening, and I am not living the same day over and over again. A week ago, I made mood-boards for all the rooms. Will try and post those soon. That way, we all can keep track of my progress. You all are free to strike off an element from the mood board, and add your own. While I rework my life and home, I think I will find a stable ground, where I will love the style my house acquires, and the new individual I become.

Moving on...

Yesterday, I shifted into my own house. It’s a rented 1BHK apartment. It’s small and airy and bright. It’s mine.

I grew up in an extremely protective family, with parents who took care of everything we needed. And then I went to live in a hostel where everything was easily available. When I did shift into an apartment, it was with a couple of other friends. We were students living on a minimal budget, but we did not want more than we needed, and life was simple. We lived out of a couple of suitcases, and the first one to buy a cupboard to keep her stuff was considered vain. Then I got married and shifted into my husband’s home. For four years, that was my home too. We bought a lot of stuff we did not need. I have already told you that story.

There is something not many relationship experts tell you. When there is clutter in a house, it invariable finds its way into your relationships. And closed spaces with too many things in them start dying. They cannot survive too much too soon. Too many things, too many thoughts, too many broken promises - We can’t survive gluttony. It’s self-serving, and very destructive. And most of all, it affects your relationship with yourself.

But for the first time in my life, I am living alone. And living alone is not the same as living on your own. There is a subtle but important difference. When you live alone, you live with yourself. When there is no other relationship to lean on, you have yourself. You fly solo. And that’s the most important commitment you make: Longer than a marriage, deeper than friendship, sweeter than motherhood. If you can smile when you look at your face in the mirror, and feel happy, your relationship with yourself is going well.

The apartment I rented was bare walls when I moved in. On the third floor. The door bell doesn’t work. The kitchen tap is leaking. The windows don’t shut properly. I don’t have a working kitchen yet, or an internet connection. The bathroom was left dirty by the previous tenants. And still, when I spent a big part of yesterday with the most important people in my life helping me set up my house, it was one of the happiest days of my life. I woke up this morning and said hello to the best Monday ever. A yellow and red living room, a blue themed bedroom, and a country style kitchen ... And this time friends, no clutter.

Life In two Suitcases

Image Courtesy


There comes a time in everyone’s life, when they are given an opportunity to turn everything upside down, and inside out. When life breaks off from its course, and you get a chance to start all over again. Everybody gets that chance. But very few notice it.
My name is Pratishtha Durga. I am a wannabe fashion blogger. I say “Wannabe” because my thoughts are too random, my opinions too scattered, and my style, indecisive. I make a couple of posts every couple of months, and then get too busy, doing nothing in general.
Last year, on 6th October, my life turned upside down, and inside out. My ailing mother fell in the bathroom, and lay there, conscious and helpless, for hours… waiting for my father to come back home and rescue her. She suffered a cranial fracture and a hemorrhage that resulted in a month long painful bedridden stage, finally leading to her demise on 15th November. Her right side was paralyzed after the fall, and a week later, she lost her voice. She must have had so much to say, so many more stories to tell. But she died… unable to speak, unable to share, unable to move. She took her stories, her pain, but left behind a gift that all the treasure in the world could not have bought. She left behind a chance for me to change my life.
For months, perhaps years, I have known that I carry around nothing but excess baggage. I spent all my money on meaningless things, most of which I forgot about as soon as I bought them. As the excess baggage in my life grew, my desire to travel started fading away. It’s common wisdom that if you have to travel far, you must travel light. I had a beautiful wardrobe, I had great books, and I had unusual things to decorate my house. And I had mediocrity. No drive, no passion, no desire to find my own stories and travel destinations. I believed I was happy, and I probably was. But then, more things happened that washed away that illusion. And for a while, life felt fruitless, useless.
I realized that nothing hurts more than untold stories and broken promises you made to yourself. Watching my mother’s lifeless body made me wake up to my life all over again. My mother was a story teller. She could weave stars and constellations out of words and take you places you’d never have dreamed existed. And you could see those stars in her eyes. Her lips would curl up in a faint smile and her eyes would well up with the memories of places she had only visited in her thoughts. I want to go to all those places and more. And I want to discover new stories in new places.
I truly believe that you can start your life over gain, whenever you want. That you can make it what you want it to be. It has taken me a while to start defining what I want from my life. What I truly want is to rid my life of the extra baggage I have accumulated over the years, and only hang on to things that I value the most. I want to write my life’s story all over again. And this time, I want my life to fit into just TWO SUITCASES.
And I want to share my story with all of you. And if it can help you dream, if it can help you change the course of your life, I would be twice as happy. From today, as often as I can, I will be writing posts on what I am doing to make my life different. I will try and give shapes to my dreams, and then I will just go ahead and make them come true. And you all will be my partners on this special journey. I would love to hear from you and get help from you in defining my life’s new course. You and I, we will embark on this journey together. Let’s begin!

The Great Wall Of Mumbai!

So, things are a little better. Thanks for all your kind words. My mom is a little better, though it's a long, painful road to recovery.

I needed a pick-me-up. So Tarun and I went for the Mumbai Wall Project. It's a collaborative street graffiti project, wherein people are invited to come and paint the walls along a particular street in Mumbai. The paints and other material is provided by the organizers. I did a simple pretty design. Not bad for a first attempt at graffiti. Tarun and his two friends - Niharika and Kunal- made the Pakman.