My mother and her lipstick
Men say, “Women are complicated. Life is simpler than even attempting to understand them.” However, on the contrary I believe there is a possible solution to this generalised conceived notion. Maybe, it involves the art of observing little details, particularly tiny simple objects towards which they get inevitably attached to. The source of this belief lies in an old memory of mine. I have a memory from approximately 12 years back, when I was around 12 years old. This memory is about a family trip around the Himalayan beauties of North Bengal, India. Although the memory of the entire trip is vague, the details are particularly attached to one night during the journey from one hill station to another. The mountainous roads used to be narrower and less developed, leaving almost 5 inch gap between the wheels of the car and the edge of the road. If not for skilled Nepali drivers, one could almost consider a trip like that as a grand suicide mission. I was too young to hold any c