Year 1989: Even though my mum claims I’ve been taken to the beach a gazillion times before this, somehow this incident is stuck in my head as the first one. I was jumping up and down like an excited pony. Hell, with that fountain like way my hair was tied (I shook it for that extra fountainy effect :P) and those peddle pushers (they were in vogue back then) that I wore I was the excited pony. Mum shooed me away because I wouldn’t let her get ready. I wandered around my aunt’s room still prancing and what it this I see. There lying perched on her bed were the fanciest things I’d ever laid my eyes on. I’d seen moushi wear these and I walked in and perched them on my nose. From the lower half I could see nothing and from the upper half the world was a jaundiced yellow. (Found out later that they were goggles). And then they came right off. I put them back on and held them there before the mirror. My moushi walked in and pinched my cheeks. Didn’t mua baby look cute? I held them there bravely. That was pretty cool. I look like one of those women that my ajji watched in Chitrahaar. And I held them through the whole trip to the beach and back. All the pictures show me holding it up even though my hands hurt and everyone tried to coax me into taking them off.
Year 1991: My style quotient was still dominated by what moushi brought and here I was wearing some frock thingy, only with one puffed sleeve and well the other no sleeve. There were even red shoes to match and a red purse that had Winnie the pooh and Peanuts on alternate sides (PS: That was the vacation I got introduced to Roald Dahl after 3 years of reading Enid Blyton and Winnie the pooh, but Winnie the pooh was still my favorite). I stood before the mirror and was making a face at myself. I had a front tooth missing and there was one growing back, albeit painfully. “Hey there, move away, I want to look to”. My bro stood behind me, hands on hips and wanting to do everything I did. I turned back without changing the face I was making in the mirror. “Copycat”. His face clouded “I’m not a copycat”. His whine brought out that mean instinct in me. “Yes you are. Copycat, copycat, copycat” He bolted “Mommmmmmmmm”.
Year 1994: “I hate you you donkey” I was pulling my brothers hair in all my flourish. I was as tall as him then (wish I would say now too, but I am NOT 6’ 1” and definitely DO NOT weigh 168 pounds) and weighed as much. He pushed me away, always the stronger one, the dork.
“Go play with the other girls for once. Do you see guddu or pillu(Ok I wont tell anyone who was called this, she is so gonna kill me) play with us?”
“They are boring, they are 11 and play house house!”
“I think its ok”
“Yes you do. You play it with them sometimes, so you go”. The other guys in the colony roared with laughter. “You play house house with your sisters??” (I know why my brother still thinks I was an ass). “Besides” I added smiling “I can bet you are afraid all your kites will be gone if I join you because I’m gonna cut your kites”.
“Ha, you are the scared hen I’m not” he was defiant.
“Ok, I’ll join Viju’s party, you and Sachu” He gave in, “Ok” “Yay!”
“But first change idiot, we are climbing on Sachu’s roof, you’ll tear that thing you are wearing”.
I looked down and made a face. It was one of those long gown like dresses which was made of velvet cloth (kinda felt like those mosses that grew on the old house by the corner that I was punished for bringing home) and with huge sleeves. Mom had even matched them with bobbins to go (I didn’t have ear piercings, so they were those press hoop things). It was my birthday dress from moushi. I quickly changed into the usual, tapering jeans and oversized t shirt. And yes, I lost those hoops that day.
Year 1998: “Yippee to the girls outing” M said that with that fake giggle I tried to mimic in front of the mirror so many times. How does she do it. We were sitting at one Walts store with our sundaes and all, after our end terms. “Yeah yippee, to girls and er.. D” they were looking at me. M moaned “What happened to our dress code. You were supposed to wear a skirt and those jackets we brought and you are also wearing sneakers!” I looked down. So I wore jeans, and my T shirt was well – I had stolen in from my brother because it was black and was this University of California Varsity T Shirt. Ok so it was a Little oversized. And how on earth are you supposed to match those girly pointy shoes and lace socks with my outfit. Plus when you are 5’3 and weigh 70 pounds, everything is oversized. “Can we leave my clothes alone, my mum was not back from office when you called, I cant dress up like you guys without assistance.” (They still tease me mercilessly for it, plus my sad mushroom cut – who the hell named it that).
Year 2000: I guess you find your groove eventually. I was comfortable with the fact that I and style were not to be said in the same breath. Moushi still tried to coax me into wearing the stuff she brought and I stoutly refused, forcing her to give it away to my other second cousins who ate it out of her hands. I mean it was GAP and stuff, who wouldn’t. And the only place the cosmetic mine she brought ended up was our local ukkirda (that’s Marathi for thrash). I still wore jeans and skirts. The world had moved on to fancier salwaar kameez, those airline dresses were still in vogue and perming hair was still in. Mine were of an unmentionable length. Plus I wore no contacts. So black rimmed glasses it was.
Year 2002: Ah – the year.   Yes yes, I and moushi had found the middle turf. I gave in. A tad bit. So did she, the darling(she didn’t get clothes that were frightfully girly). The day was the 10th of September and I had for the first time taken 3 hours to dress up. G will vouch for that. She was the one who did the makeover. She and A and M and pretty much all my s-maties (I still can’t believe they stuck to that name, we were 14 and very stupid when we had come up with that). “Please tell your aunt to get this one for me too”. I was really tired “M, for the last time this is not from New York or New Jersey or even London for that matter. This is my sis’s design dumbo. She gifted it to me.” M nodded, “Ok ok, and what are you gonna tell that b**** A when she asks you what this thing is”. I moaned “Yes, yes, it is a zardosi lakhnavi from Delhi and is a hand made one. Now will you please tie my hair, its very hot”. M looked at me in indignation “What! And ruin all the curls. Not on your life”. My middle turf came at a price, extreme discomfiture. Only, this time I kept it.