At some tucchu show, there is an auntie dressed as a fairy, like sonepari. Lots of Gurgaon type aunties. One aunty says 'arre pata hai woh toh Mangli nikli'. Another group is discussing their kids and college admissions. There are many rich sleazoids with arm candy around.
There's a very loud photographer who has a nasally voice and is mock fighting with other photogs about his stool. Lots of loud chatting.
Selfies being taken before the show. Another silly observation, but none of the models really look coked out, they're drinking a lot of tea and generally hanging around looking sort of normal and bouncy off the ramp. Dressed in sneakers and dresses and carefully ripped jeans but with their hair and makeup done pre-show. One model eats candied orange peels at the stall and gets a thermos full of green tea.
Photogs talk about NID vs Jamia.
I'm armed with my shoulder rig which doesn't have a pad (since Goa) and digs into my ribs, but I get pretty steady shots with it.
We're chatting with security after being stopped for the 100th time. We say 'sponsors ne toh aafat macha di hai.
Kyun?
Arre theek se accreditation nahi karwaya ab har jagah rokte hain. Hamare shots miss ho rahe hain phir baad Mein gaali denge.
Security ki wajah se rok rahe hain?
Haan.
Arre isliye jab apka event hoga toh aap humein bulayenge, ki hamne fashion week pe itni achi security karo.
Hamari event wali aukaat nahi hai bhaiyya.
Arre kya madam, bhagwan kare aapka bhi ek din event ho.'
I'm looking around at people thinking there's no one here who I would want to be friends with, apart from the blue haired white lady.
There's so many people here and I'm feeling bored and sad and sorry for myself because I have to go back to work after this.
California Dreaming is playing at Malini Ramani and I'm feeling surreal. The clothes are ainvayi. The room goes dark and bass fills every corner of it and its in your stomach and you look around at the photographers and the audience and the models, feeling like you're having an out of body experience.
At the end of Nikasha's show the whole front row is covered in flower petals and they look irritated brushing them off their hair.
We go back to office where we sit on the editors head and get some shots in place on the timeline, after 2 hours we seem to be less fucked than we were before so by about 1230 we leave. HKV is like a delirious, sleazy entity that's leaning over your shoulder and spilling drinks on you. Our side of the village is in complete darkness because the power's gone and the main lane is full of completely wasted booze breathing people. Everyone is pissing me off today. I spot some fashion week types.
3 more days of this
There's a very loud photographer who has a nasally voice and is mock fighting with other photogs about his stool. Lots of loud chatting.
Selfies being taken before the show. Another silly observation, but none of the models really look coked out, they're drinking a lot of tea and generally hanging around looking sort of normal and bouncy off the ramp. Dressed in sneakers and dresses and carefully ripped jeans but with their hair and makeup done pre-show. One model eats candied orange peels at the stall and gets a thermos full of green tea.
Photogs talk about NID vs Jamia.
I'm armed with my shoulder rig which doesn't have a pad (since Goa) and digs into my ribs, but I get pretty steady shots with it.
We're chatting with security after being stopped for the 100th time. We say 'sponsors ne toh aafat macha di hai.
Kyun?
Arre theek se accreditation nahi karwaya ab har jagah rokte hain. Hamare shots miss ho rahe hain phir baad Mein gaali denge.
Security ki wajah se rok rahe hain?
Haan.
Arre isliye jab apka event hoga toh aap humein bulayenge, ki hamne fashion week pe itni achi security karo.
Hamari event wali aukaat nahi hai bhaiyya.
Arre kya madam, bhagwan kare aapka bhi ek din event ho.'
I'm looking around at people thinking there's no one here who I would want to be friends with, apart from the blue haired white lady.
There's so many people here and I'm feeling bored and sad and sorry for myself because I have to go back to work after this.
California Dreaming is playing at Malini Ramani and I'm feeling surreal. The clothes are ainvayi. The room goes dark and bass fills every corner of it and its in your stomach and you look around at the photographers and the audience and the models, feeling like you're having an out of body experience.
At the end of Nikasha's show the whole front row is covered in flower petals and they look irritated brushing them off their hair.
We go back to office where we sit on the editors head and get some shots in place on the timeline, after 2 hours we seem to be less fucked than we were before so by about 1230 we leave. HKV is like a delirious, sleazy entity that's leaning over your shoulder and spilling drinks on you. Our side of the village is in complete darkness because the power's gone and the main lane is full of completely wasted booze breathing people. Everyone is pissing me off today. I spot some fashion week types.
3 more days of this
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