'Thank You For The Music'.......even if it's 80s stuff

Turning 40 has its share of side effects…and no I am not referring to a hormone haze just yet. What I am talking about is a creeping obsession with music that marked one’s school and college-going years. Never mind that most of it – heck all of it – was either sentimental pap or worse, synchronized noise. To our 40-ish ears that’s the sound of being young. Not youth mind you, just us being young. And it never fails to hit the proverbial right chord.

Now I don’t pride myself on my musical taste. I am not one of those who can casually say ‘I like my music eclectic,’ and then proceed to quote everything from Japanese jazz to African beats to prove my point. Indeed I get spooked by such blatant display of musical machismo. At the best of times, I prefer ballad rock (Eagles etc) and at worst ABBA. (Oh yes, while I am at it, I might as well admit that hubby and I watched the musical AND followed it up with the film…and loved to tell the tale.)

But coming back to 40-something music, it takes a special kind of ear, conditioned by a generous dose of sepia-tinted sentimentality, to cheer anything that was written or composed during the 80s. For the true-blue aficionados, it was the dark decade. But for us, growing up with over-sized tees/sweat-shirts, baggy MC Hammer pants, neon jelly shoes, shoulder pads and blingy accessories, 80s music, like its fashion, is an acquired taste.

I realized that when I attended my husband’s college reunion party recently. The tony South Delhi pub graciously played ‘our kind of music’ all through the evening and the crowd, all class of mid to late 80s, were on their feet, swinging and jiving to ‘You drive me cra-yey-yey-zy’! I was so inspired by the music that evening – given that on most days I can’t make head or tail of the lounge/techno stuff most pubs play these days – that I scribbled down my version of the top 20 all-time favourites from our generation. I think most 40-somethings will more or less agree to my list. If you don’t, please feel free to add your own…And hey don’t feel apologetic…so what if George Michael is now a junkie jailbird…back then, he was WHAM….

So here goes, in no particular order….

THE TOP 20 80s ALL TIME FAVOURITES:

1.Sussudio/Another Day in Paradise: Phil Collins

2.Every Breath You Take: Police

3.Billie Jean: Michael Jackson

4.Uptown Girl: Billy Joel

5.Girls Just Wanna Have Fun: Cyndi Lauper

6.Eye Of The Tiger: Survivor

7.Total Eclipse Of The Heart: Bonnie Tyler

8. Walk Like An Egyptian: Bangles

9.Everybody Wants to Rule The World: Tears for Fears

10.Sweet Dreams Are Made of These: Eurythmics

11.Nikita: Elton John

12.Careless Whisper/Wake Me up: WHAM

13.Material Girl/Papa Don’t Preach: Madonna

14.Mamma Mia/Dancing Queen: ABBA

15.You Drive Me Crazy: Shakin’ Stevens

16.I Just Called to Say I Love You: Stevie Wonder

17.Hello: Lionel Ritchie

18.Lady in Red: Chris De Burgh

19.Right Here Waiting: Richard Marx

20:Dancing In The Dark: Bruce Springsteen

It's raining men? Nah!

Girls love to talk about men. In our impressionable years, its about the ones we snagged and those that got away, boo hoo. When we're in our 40s, it's about the ones we are aiming to snag for a favourite niece, younger colleague, cousin...(we're still too young to matchmake for our daughters so I'll let that be) and occasionally ourselves. Jane Austen was right, with some minor editing. Every young man in possession of his wits and a certain undecipherable charm currently called the 'cool quotient,' must be in need of a girl friend!

I should know. I plead guilty to this form of sexual harassment. For years I have tried to get a close single friend paired off, to every conceivable and some inconceivable candidates in our vicinity. Fortunately she's still gloriously single and about to turn 40 this month. Which should tell you something about my track record. It isn't great. But when did that stop Emma, pray?

My latest victim is my comely 25-year-old niece. I use her as much for a demographic study of her race (20-something inhabitants of youngistan) as to occasionally hone my skills as matchmaker. She loathes, in no specific order:
-Funny accents..namely those who turn opportunity to awe-ppaur-tunity and content to cun-taint
-Guys who think Stephen Spender is a management writer but can't quite place the how-to book he wrote (pardon her, she's an Englit type, she knows not what she wants)
-Shabby shoes, dirty toenails
-Bong men (except when they are family but then she doesnt have to date 'em)
-Conversations that begin with dude, babe and other similar endearments
-Men dripping brands
-Men who can't laugh at themselves and at her jokes
And finally...BOYS...too cute for their own good.

If a casual glance down that list makes you despair, imagine my plight. Only I realise our gen wasnt all that different in our men talk either. One close friend liked smart talk, another, a whacky sense of humour..as for me I had (and still retain) a weakness for the bespectacled of the species. My single friend likes 'em strong and silent. And a favourite cousin likes hers metrosexual -- pink shirts, peace beads, earrings, et al...So each gen to their gents...and as Aisha has proved at the boxoffice, sometimes even the best-plotted scripts go awry. I should know...I am guilty of that too.

What hasn't changed in 15-odd years, though, is how much time girls spend talking about guys...those in their lives, those out of their lives, those in and out of their lives. And then there is the eternal love for the artistic type (guys, if you can sing, strum a guitar, splash some paint on the canvas or generally act dark and brooding as sensitive souls are wont to do, you're in clover). Not to mention the disdain for 'safe guys'. Heck even Deepika Padukone sniggered at a 'safe' Farhan Akhtar...who in their right mind would want a square squire? Till, you actually walk down the aisle with one, you'll probably do a Padukone.

But the most enduring complaint of all times is, 'Where did all the good ones go?' My niece says the sexiest ones are 'older' and 'mostly taken'. My friends, the single ones that is, say the same. When we were doing the dating drill, we said pretty much the same thing. Moral of the story: It hasn't rained men in a long long time....' 

Maybe they all took a one-way ticket to Mars...

Size does matter when you're shopping

If you're forty plus like me -- and never intend to wear white shoes and white pants like Jeetendra to endorse the age-defying powers of some ginseng derivative -- you'll totally empathise with this post. And the feelings behind it. As for those who don't even know what the heck I am talking about....this was way before your time baby. For the longest time, life to me has been a four-letter word spelt S A L E. Now I am not your regular wallet-clutching, credit-card-flashing, brand-brandishing Sex-And-The-City stereotype of a shopaholic. But I shop when shopping is required and very often when it is not. The latter situation mostly arrives when assorted malls go into discount frenzy-- before summer, after summer, during monsoons, before festivals, after festivals...you get the idea. For some strange reason, it has been hammered into my poor, impressionable brain that SALES rain real bargains. So come sale season, and I find myself turning into a mall rat, lugging bagfuls of stuff for me, he and baby...
This year though, things were a tad different. He and baby got their share of white shirts and more white shirts and pink frocks and more pink frocks. But me? Aha...therein lies a blog.
I have always believed that just like every girl has a dream man waiting for her out there, she also has a dream store waiting out there. All you need to do is stumble upon it and voila...you're in clover. Want something to wear to your office party...snazzy enough for the evening but nothing that will make you look like a tart? Try your dream store. Want the perfect pair of jeans which hug hips as well as waist? Ditto. Want a sweater that actually makes you look slim? Its a no brainer...
For my contrarian friend that dream brand is Wills Sport. For my best buddy it's Bailou. For me...well, I am not so sure any more. For the longest time I thought the kind of clothes I like to wear are middle of the road enough to get me a wide range of choice. Not any more. This sale season has convinced me I need to be at least 10 years younger and 10 kgs lighter to even try to wear some of the stuff on offer. Where are those beloved cowl necks, tie necks, classic cut shirts and dresses? Instead the shop windows were groaning with the kind of tween fashion that looks good only on Kareena Kapoor. Even classic dresses like the ones in Sisley or Mango are for women roughly half my size. The fashion world, it seems, has relegated me to the frump heap of history. Neither age or spread is on my side.
Stores like Bizarre, once a favourite haunt, now offer stuff that's too cool to wear to office. Unless I suddenly turn into an incurable pub hopper -- a bit difficult with a two and a half year old at home -- those balloon tops with metallic details round the neck would look completely out of place in my wardrobe. Skinny jeans look stunning on the skinny...but otherwise it's a fashion nightmare. Flowery chiffon dresses are too girlie to wear if you're on the wrong side of 35...for a 43 year old they are a definite no no. Three quarter pants are okay -- comfy and functional -- but there's no way you can make them look stylish. And my current staple -- slacks and tunics -- are available in too few size options for anyone beyond a respectable size 10.
Get the idea? It's suddenly as if the whole world is designing and stocking clothes for size zero 18-25 year olds. Granted they are a very visible consuming class but what about the well-heeled, professional 40 somethings who like their saree and Indian wear but mostly stick to semi casual stuff as workaday and playaday wear? Will no one spare a thought for us folks?
Even the palettes are so cutesy and young I feel embarassed to even try some of those clothes on. Ever since I turned 35, I have been proudly wearing red lipstick as a mark of coming of age. It's my calling card...it's how I tell the world I am no wide-eyed ingenue but a woman of the world...I have been there, done that and even worn red lipstick! But show me stuff on the store shelves that can go with red lipstick and I'll buy you a coffee. With tequila shots on the side.
My only option is to stick to the tried, tested and boring trouser and shirt routine which is 21st century fashion's take on the Mao suit. It's unflattering. It's functional. And it's ubiquitous. The other option -- jeans and a tee -- looks good on you if you are 20 something and can carry off semantics like 'It's Raining Men' emblazoned across your chest or if you're a cross between Jen Aniston and Sarah Jessica Parker. I am neither so I steer clear of 'em tees.
So there you are...my sale sojourn this year ended with me buying myself my favourite kiwi sorbet ice cream...two generous scoops and a cone to keep me company. As for all those cool dudettes lugging bagfuls or stuff, I tell them...well you cant wear red lipstick with that any of that. Unless you're Sonam in Aisha...but that's another blog.