Wonder why this is the part of Veer-Zaara that managed to stay with me …
Is it the emotional wrangling between mother and daughter?
Or the tussle to define how men and women love — differently or otherwise?
Or the old conflict between the excoriating expectations of the elders and the doe-eyed desires of the youth-ier ones?
The impossibly perfect frame formed by Zaara’s chandelier earring making a breathtaking drop on one side, and her brown mane wrapped around the curve of her milky neck on the other.
That perfect, crystal droplet was and is the only earring that’s ever made me want to plunge a metal rod through my earlobes and twist it round for a week. Good thing a potent sense of self-preservation has kept me from following through, even in the sterile depths of winter.
Cause I don’t have the guts to do it, and I have no qualms about admitting that.