Mayurie, Founder of Bindi Babe (www.bindibabe.online) is the Author of: The Diary of a BindiBabe. A series of semi-fiction memoirs based on true events.
I wasn’t sure how to present myself when walking into the room, but I entered. I just brushed my teeth and came down to be greeted by them all in the room. Aged 7 and to my dismay, it was quiet but not only that, the energy was low. My energy should have been much higher because I was going back home (finally) and I guess I just wanted to be greeted by smiles and warmth. This was the 4th family members house I’d been to stay at this summer holiday and I was just tired without realising I was. Was I destined to be the illest as my cousin Jyoti would say? Quite possibly...
The Diary of a BindiBabe
An open letter about wanting to adopt. To my parents. “I was worried to see their faces when I broke the news. I could always tell. And it was telling when they brought out the tea on a silver platter before we had the chance to speak about what I wanted to announce. The conversation was almost professional. Meeting two strangers for the first time to tell them something truly intimate. But I wasn’t approaching them to seek validation, only inform. It was at a point in life where I was grown up enough to feel secure and have developed a strong understanding. Children are the future and always will be and that’s why I’ll aim to adopt. But see below the letter I handed them a week before we met”.
The Diary of a BindiBabe—Series 2: Part 2
I was 10% reluctant to hand it over straight away, and gave 90% in action: slowly but surely passing over what was a very sleek and shiny reminder of my life before September 2017, over to the dressing room attendant. It wasn’t the pair of Christian Louboutin peep-toe heels or the Mink DKNY fur hanging, coincidentally hanging in front of me on my clothes rail. And despite the disparity between each item that hung freely in front of me in my bedroom on this Summer evening, these only two luxury items left, that I owned currently, because I had finally reached the realisation that I had terrible troubles with money and my spending habits (which to my positive outlook, brought many interesting stories) had spiralled me into DEBT. A four letter word I did not love.
The Diary of a BindiBabe.
Entry 1: Mr Fee - The Flash. April 2nd, 2017: I didn’t think I would leave ‘The Plant’ carrying so many images in my mind but as soon as I had walked through the door 44 minutes prior, taking my first steps on to the spiky welcome mat, I knew whilst dusting off my boots against the fibres something or someone is coming to meet me and it would leave its lasting impression. I would be leaving a little heavier than necessary. I’ve been working out on my defence for such encounters particularly as I’d been cut by others that left a wound so deep, my ‘still waters’ found it hard to run. I’ve been mending the dam I’d previously placed in my mind and so when visiting my 'local' to drain away my tiresomeness in return for a dose of warmth and awakening, before my next meeting with a client, I’d regrettably received the opposite on this day.
The Diary of a BindiBabe
Coral and I have known each other since birth, practically. Same school. Same street. Same hair colour—we even had the same texture in hair. Around the ages of seven to nine, mine would always be plaited in two, falling down, with the tips sitting just past my ribcage. Hers, coarse enough to be wrapped into two buns without a hair band. And, if she had my eyes, she’d almost look a little Chinese. Too cute. “True brownies,” as described by my mum. But, her real name was Yama, which actually means "restrainer" in Hindi. She was given the name Coral, but I never really knew why. This is the only query I had about her—but I never brought up. It wasn't necessary—not in this lifetime, anyway. I used to wonder if it had anything to do with the colour of her kitchen walls, which matched the cushions on her dining table chairs—even her living room lampshade was Coral coloured...
The Diary of a BindiBabe
I feel like I’ve forgotten I’m outside. It’s almost as if the air isn’t there and it should be. There’s a warm drift. A light blow. Time? I’ll check that later. That includes my breath, because John is about to kiss me. His lips look like they're made of candy crushed velvet, and they're edging towards mine. There’s no feel or even weight felt between our lips. John was white skinned, English—quarter Caribbean, tall-ish as he just managed to Umbrella over me. His stocky build brought a warm coat over us despite no rain, it was a perfect day actually. He had a naturally sexy physique. But he developed that whilst he spent time in prison before we met. A crime we never discussed in detail. But all's well that ends well, as you'll grow to understand just as I did... We suited very well, and if I'd have fell pregnant our kids would have been the most beautiful. But, he booted me well and truly...