Autobiography of a skirt

When she walked in to the store, I felt a tingle in my threads. This was different. I could feel…love? Maybe today is the day. Today is the day, I will leave this shelf in this dusty store, where I have been lying wasted for ages and move to an airy, stylish armoire in a villa on the French Riviera or a remote-controlled walk-in wardrobe on the Upper East Side. Today is THE day… Alas, it wasn’t the armoire or the walk-in but the wooden cupboard of an acne-free and bespectacled adolescent in Lagos, Nigeria.  There she was, browsing, flipping things around, tossing them out, mentally tsk-tsking  the ‘don’t-want-these’ nonchalantly (of course, the nonchalance stemmed from the fact that someone else was paying the bill for whatever she bought here). She sifted through the piles of clothes lying around until…UNTIL she laid her eyes, and then her hands, on me…

I am stunning, might I add here, lest you wonder what all the fuss is about. I mean, just look at me!  Don’t you think I am one of those skirts that you would sell your kidney for? I knew that thought crossed her mind just when she started to fall grossly in love with me.  I am a maxi pencil skirt with knee-high slits on both sides, a fringe hem and in linen, for crying out loud! I have an Egyptian pharaoh, his queen and their love (I am assuming) expressed in hieroglyphs for the world to see. AND here I am, being picked out by an obscure 18-year old. I was made to fit a waist that never saw the light of flab! I was made to be worn by Aladdin’s Jasmine! I was made to be famous! I was made to be eyed and coveted by everyone! What chance of fame did I have now? Little did I know that when she picked me up, that same thought crossed her mind. This skirt has to become famous. Someday.

But life makes you wait. I traveled with her from one place to another. She wore me with a charming black tulle top (I was the belle of the ball that night), she wore me with a scoop-necked breezy blouson, she wore me with a tribal neck-plate to an office party where I was vying for attention with that darned African noise-maker but suffice to say, I was (am still) her prized possession. She’s misplaced the African noise-maker but she’s still got me! AND then, all of a sudden, she wrapped me up and placed me in the back of her cupboard like most women do when they can’t let go of things and hope to fit into them soon. Turns out her waist did see the ‘light and lot of flab’.

Time passed me by. The ageless optimist that I am, I stayed put waiting my turn in the spotlight. She grew up, broke a heart, became a rat in the race, her heart broke, she flitted around, met someone, married him, moved to another city and FINALLY, at 33-years, lost enough flab for me to hope again! About time, I say! So, she pulls me out, tentatively, one morning. There’s this highly-publicised five-day event she has to go to – Wills Lifestyle India Fashion Week.  So, she wondered, pondered, permuted, combined and decided on me for the first day. A Peter Pan collar white shirt and a vintage neck-piece were my accompaniments.  I could feel it again. Today is the day. I was photographed. I was complimented incessantly. I blushed even.  And it happened – I was printed in the lifestyle section of a popular newspaper (HT City) – they said I had the style swag. I was spotted on a fashion blog, HeadTilt, in their style diary. Needless to say, this is just the beginning. The ageless optimist that I am.

Thank you, HeadTilt.

Thank you, HTCity.

My digital debut

An abandoned tune is beginning to sync with the beep, beep, boop, beep, beep, boop dancing on the screen. It feels like I am standing at the gates of a digital paradise OR what it would feel like if and when I find myself standing at the real one, being vetted for entry. Beeeeeep. WordPress (a.k.a. St. Peter) thinks the moment is ripe. Finally. On the other side of the pearly gates. I am curious to see what all the fuss has been about.

A Koh-Samui smile
A Koh-Samui smile

I’ve been chewing the cud, if you please, on being catapulted into Blogosphere for an eternity. Procrastination, unapologetic laziness, lack-of-a-blog-title and life in general got the better of me.  And now, it took all of a minute and half to get here. A few of my top choices for a blog title were ‘whatiwantisntavailable’, ‘wordpresskeepschecking’, ‘fashfotrabeaudeco’ and some more gibberish until ‘tokumbotales’ sneaked up on me. The tale behind Tokumbo is that it’s my Nigerian name. It means ‘imported’. Born there, the nurses thought it would be amusing to call me Tokumbo. My parents decided on Shruti instead. I try and keep both of them alive.

Hello, Blogosphere. Tokumbotales will orbit in – whims. fashion. fancies. words. travel. obsessions. books. food. musings. beauty. randomness. decor. whatyouwill. So, it’s a new world, it sure-as-hell (or heaven or whatever is in the middle) is a new start. It’s begun with the beating of solely my heart. It’s a new day, it’s a new plan. Here I am, this is me. Thank you, Bryan Adams.

Attraversiamo. (Oh, you know what it means. We’ve all read and pined for our own versions of Eat, Pray, Love)

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