New Year!

It's been a Dickensian year...you know,"the best of times,the worst of times" kind.
It's been a year of losses and gains...more or less balanced.A year of a weird way of growing up,experiencing an ascent from the petty world of school-level gossip and bitching.I'm glad i have put all that behind and have learnt to ignore them to a great extent.
i lost some friends,gained some...and fortunately,managed to clear out one of the biggest messes of my life.i met some new people and i thank god for them...they're the kind of people who you dont meet too often,or talk to every now and then,but who you know will take your call when you're in deep shit,even if it happens to be way past midnight.
it's been a year of promises,just like the last one happened to be one of seeing some of the best things come to an end.and like all promises,some ended up being broken but,thankfully,left behind no incurable wound.
it's been a great year for N and me.and for his music...here's hoping he keeps adding tunes to that blue confetti dream we dreamt a couple of years back.
let's hope 2009 doesnt get worse,in case it cant get any better.and that's that.

p.s:have a great year ahead...wish you the best of 2009

Lucky Girl!

I went into one of my pondering sprees yesterday, after watching one of the dumbest commercials in television history. Even if I was the fattest guy on earth with the equator for my waistline, I would refuse to get married to a girl who cant, to save her life, say anything beyond “Hi”…irrespective of whether she’s white, black, red, green or blue.
It’s weird how companies mint money out of prejudices. Infact, these fairness product ads tend to play on double prejudices: a) the girl just HAS to be fair and b) she always has to end up being an object of male affection in the end. Interestingly, the choice of careers for these practitioners of the “power of beauty” has seldom gone beyond modeling and aviation hospitality, barring that one ad where the girl becomes a cricket commentator and an object of male gaze.
At this point, I remember the “Lucky Girl” ad and thousands of others where the girl becomes a “winner” in life from the quintessential dark “loser”, only because she happens to be fair. I’m not fair, and neither is my mother. But then, nothing has really stopped us from becoming what we are.
These ads tend to play to popular stereotypes-the hard fact, even today, is that people in the country still think a beautiful woman is meant to be fair, which is amazing in a country of brown skinned people. Loose terms like “dusky beauty” has only lead to the exoticisation and fetishisation of the dark woman and has contributed majorly in making her “the other”.
I never thought I’d say this, but I actually respect Aishwarya Rai (Bachchan, if you may) because she turned down an offer to become the Indian face of a global fairness cream giant. These little things are important because people in the country need to realize that a woman is more than just a colour.

Ho Ho Ho

We've all been very bad girls and boys this last year.
We've sped across signs saying "School Ahead" and honked at hospital walls.
We've emptied our dustbins on the road and painted the bank walls red with spit.
We've cogged in class tests and have come out of public loos,leaving behind things for people to see and smell.
We've smoked when no one was looking and bitched about the person who's all that we want to be.
And somewhere in the process,we've all observed a few minutes of silence...
And yet Santa,you will gift us peace this year,will you not?

P.S:on a merrier note,Merry Christmas to each one of you...

apology

i'm sorry i havent been blogging at all...
i dont know how many of you visited this page and then went back seeing nothing new.my laptop got stolen from an outstation fest i was attending with my play.life's been hard since then.
but now that i'm back home,i swear to god i'm going to update soon.
i missed my blog...and ended up writing on loose scraps of paper...i intend to use my holidays and type in all that.
and maybe *fingers crossed* if i do get a new laptop soon,i will be blogging regularly again..
thanks for still visiting my blog...i will be visiting all your blogs soon :)

words have come and words have gone..
now,they just fail me.

the post pujo post

like each year,this year, too, the pujos went past in a blink of an eye...it's kind of crazy how we wait with baited breath for these 5 days and they just zoom past like a spoilt brat who has just laid his hands on his dad's car!
the other day,we were discussing which day of the pujos we love the best...i said "shoptomi" because that's the day when everyone is filled up with joy at the onset of the pujos.ashtami becomes too hectic with anjali and family meals and there hasn't been one nobomi when i haven't felt down.
also this puja,i realised i am getting more and more claustrophobic and just the thought of standing amongst crowds,gives me jitters.the only trip i made to maddox this year was in the morning and i couldnt be happier.each time i drove past that place,i saw the crowd and exclaimed how it was getting worse with each year.even when we all started dancing last evening before the bhashan,i found it difficult to stand amidst the damp smell of dhuno,sweat and alcohol.
but if there's something i love about the pujos,it's the dhunuchi naach...i think words like "beautiful" were invented for things like this.the way the sublime smoke rises from that little clay vessel-painting fluid shapes across the night sky...and the way the dancer twirls around the vessel without dropping the coir inside,is nothing short of an art.i also love the sound of dhaak...way more than the "tasha" that plays during the bhashan.
i can just go on...but i guess it's best to keep some memories to yourself-the old friends' lunch,the 5 star lunch,the nagordolna ride...
sigh,all i can hope is "aashche bochhor abaar hobe!"
and before i forget,shubho bijoya to all of you .

i remember when i was much younger,i used to keep a diary-minute details of everything i did,went into it.
the first time i waxed,i wrote something describing the excruciating pain.
and when i got my cartilage pierced last saturday,i was reminded of that long forgotten entry and suddenly began to miss my diary...
the diary,like many other things,has been a part of the childhood i have grown out of.
it's almost been like a cloak which i happened to slip off when no one was noticing.
each time i'm reminded of some old memory..it's like finding some thread,of that old cloak,that was left behind.
when i was talking to a school friend a few days back and planning a visit to maddox,i remembered how i refused to leave the golf green pandal,as a kid when any world beyond golf green refused to exist for me!
when you find these threads,you almost begin to hope to sew back the old cloak and wear it again.
but then,we realise that maybe you could have the cloth back but the tailors have all gone far away-way beyond any distance our calls can reach.
we realise that,maybe,growing up isnt that great a deal after all.

p.s:this is a very impulsive post...the language isnt at its best usage.sorry!

Cotton

to you.for giving me the time of my life!


we met on a crowded street-
amidst a cacophony of honking cars.
and we watched the world pass by,
mixing coffee with fleeting hours.

we drew houses on an autumn afternoon-
on sheets of satin spread over the sky.
in the deep brown of our coffees,
i saw dreams coming to life in your eyes.

through rainy mornings and stormy nights,
the dreams strive,but they survive.
they plaster the walls of the house we drew;
the house believed to see us through...

scared

there are times when you dont believe your own ears and refuse to believe things you hear.today is one...
i really dont have words to describe the feeling of knowing that your favourite haunts are now washed with blood.i really cant describe the stiff feeling of relief over the fact that my sister and i werent at our favourite coffee shop this evening...
there are times when nothing matters except the fact that you're still alive.
weirdly enough,i was in an auto when all this happened...sharing my fear with a muslim auto driver,who was getting frantic calls from his family just as i was.just as that happened, i realised that hindus and muslims arent the ones who plant bombs...it's actually a question of human beings and monsters!i really hope he made his way to his home safely.
2 out of the 5 blasts happened within a kilometre of college-at M block market which also happens to be the place my friends and i go to kill time in between free periods and another 2 happened in CP which happens to be my favourite shopping place here.
i really cant define in words what i am going through as i watch fleeting images on the tv which dont register on my brain and get scared by the slightest loud sound around...i am worried for the friends whose phones are all unreachable and for the sister who cant get through the day without a coffee from DePaul's,relieved that i decided not to go shopping in Janpath today and worried that tomorrow might not be as lucky a day.
Lord,let there be peace.

failed attempts at poetry on a grey coloured day...

What is the point in singing today-
When songbirds lie dead in your head?
What is the point in dancing today-
When the rain clouds have all fled?

In the little sky between your fingers,
You write prose in stranger tongues-
And in the little blue patch on your palm,
You carry skeletons of love ballads unsung.

Your prose speaks of smiles-
Which gleamed like the torch Prometheus stole,
And your palm tells stories that the leaves left incomplete -
Before they got blown.

As the world is lulled to sleep today-
By the soft song of the newborn wind,
Let us not talk of the days lived-
Long ago in a light year now swept away clean.

For, what is the point in talking today-
When poetry has been long dead?
What is the point in living today-
When all our hearts have bled?

amazed!

i am amazed at myself today...
i managed to fall down again and sprain the right ankle for the umpteenth time.but that is not what amazed me...
this time i didnt cry.
the last time i fractured my toe,i remember having wept a river.
in a queer way,i am proud of myself today...
love makes u feel secure,no doubt, but it also makes you weak.
and being far away from the ones you love,makes you this rock which picks itself up and limps its way through a crowded street without holding onto any hand...
thank god,i think i am growing up.
atlast.

its crazy how we call ourselves independent today..
crazy because people still do what they are told-betraying years of education in an empowering environment,people forget they have a mind.
rubbishing all things we learn,we still love to be governed because we know that the world we live in-in the quietest corners of our heart is just in our heads...
in the real world,there is no holden caulfield really.
he never became independent of the trappings of the printed word bound by dog eared covers.

Update

i saw Hazaron Khwaishen Aisi today and have some major problems with the film!after having heard so many accounts of the Naxalbari movement from my Jethu,i felt the film was inadequate in translating into celluloid the real essence of the movement,and thus didnt quite live upto all the ravings i was subjected to,by my friends here.
guess the domestic realities of the movement for the people here and in Cal are very different-here it was just a small fraction of students in JNU who joined in but in Cal,there were thousands of homes,like mine,which saw their sons come back with cuts on their faces and bruised legs...
as i type this post,the MS Word software is drawing a red line beneath the word 'Naxalbari' and in a strange way,it is disturbing.i live in a house which is built on the land which is believed to have served as a dumping ground for bodies of the people who lost their lives in the movement,my childhood stories talked of how my uncle nearly lost his foot because a bomb happened to burst only a few metres away from him and today when i sit back recalling all this,i am told the word 'Naxalbari' isn't meant to be a word at all just because a group of American peabrains is uneducated enough to have never heard of something which changed the way my city looked...
i know,i am losing it but thank God for Amitav Ghosh and Shadow Lines-my eternal provider of solace!

My Bit

this is my contribution to the Spectators Special event by Blank Noise (See previous post for details):

The ride back home from school comprised an auto ride which we got to enjoy after standing in a queue for almost half an hour under the cruel Kolkata sun.
After one such wait,my friend (who is also a neighbour)and i finally sighted an auto which had only one seat lying vacant at the back.Refusing to wait in the sun any further,my friend decided to sit in the seat next to the driver (to his left) as i sat in that one vacant seat at the back.
Half way through the journey,i heard my friend asking the driver to keep his hands off her-to which he said,"brake lagatey gele ektu to gaye lagbei" (which roughly means,"if i have to apply brakes,there is bound to be some physical contact")
Believing it to be a mere accident,i didn't really pay much heed to the incident, until i saw the driver's hand brushing up against her chest-Once.Twice.Thrice. (This was when the auto was in motion and there wasn't any applying of brakes)
Somehow the only thing i could do after that was,to ask the auto to stop and get down along with my friend,even though we were still far from home...
So there we were,on the road again-roasting under the afternoon sun,walking silently down the road.as silent as i was in the auto,as silent as i shouldn't have been.

To Do

so how many times have you seen a sweaty hand climb up the back of the girl standing next to you in the metro,or a bus...or anywhere else?
...and what did you do after that?
slapped the man?
thanked god that it wasnt your back his hands were on?or your sister's?
or just turned away pretending that nothing really happened...
whatever you did,let Blank Noise know.
email them at blurtblanknoise@gmail.com before August 15th and let them know what role you have played as a third person witnessing some form of sexual harassment or the other.
the entries will be published in their blog at blog.blanknoise.org

so the results are finally out and i am quite happy :)
finally decided my optional paper!...i have decided to take popular fiction.i guess it would be fun to rediscover novels i read as a kid, with the critical eye.
the cafe prices have gone up again.its really sad,how we keep going there for the lack of an option and they en cash upon that and go on increasing their prices!
i think MG should do something about this instead of worrying her head off over the Green Cup!
the weather too is getting shittier by each passing day and the humidity makes it impossible to sit through lectures!even the fans move lazily,almost suffocating me to death in the fifty year old classrooms with tiny windows.
sigh,i have become such a sulk!

aaaaarrrgh!

it's that sinking feeling again..the "pre results" kind!
i know the university has come out with the results but thanks to today being a sunday,my college hasnt published them.i dont know whether that is good or bad!
at this rate i will go crazy waiting the wait for tomorrow and i know,it is this wait which will kill me...

i keeping running out of words as i get closer to departure...
it's been a long vacation...met some friends,didn't meet most and i think that's alright...it's a free country-people can do whatever they want to!
i really cant enlist what i will miss about being home...each time i leave,it feels as if a part of me is being kept back.
i am leaving loads behind this time,and hopefully taking some small little nothings back.
yes,i got a laptop and am very happy that at least now i will be able to watch movies during those dreary cold nights which never seem to end.
bye,home.

Yesterday...and Today

A few years back while coming back from school, a friend of mine had told me that the woman who stood with us in the queue in the auto stand-the woman who could hardly keep standing straight in the heat, who could barely keep her eyes open and who kept groaning out of pain-was actually one of the many women who came into the city from their villages for abortion. Women like her chose the afternoons to get back home, so that they could be home by the evening and no one would suspect a thing. On that auto ride back home, I pictured the groaning woman sitting next to me-dragging herself to the stove in the evening, and boiling rice for her family-with her sari tightly wound around her stomach, so that she doesn’t feel the pangs of the void left behind by a small spec of life, which was forced to see the light of day much before its eyes were ready for it.

Scary thought, isn’t it? I don’t know why I was reminded of all this yesterday.

You texted and we spoke of lazy afternoons waiting to be lived in Paris. I pictured us, a few years down the line-sipping coffee in some obscure café, on some nameless boulevard. Wouldn’t we then look back upon yesterday and discover that this was when time found a leak in its pipeline and dripped out into some hidden little pool? Wouldn’t we then talk of yesterday and say that this was when it all started?

P.S:Today, the woman who gave me life adds another year to her life…here’s to another year of lots of fights, loads of disagreements and a little bit of love :)

mountains,rains and red spots...

Kathmandu is no more what it was.
It is plagued with strikes and the constant debate between monarchy and democracy.
Dhulikhel and Nagarkot are just as pretty as they used to be. The rains seemed to be the finery for the pretty new bride the mountains became...the clouds were like the veil she removed to see us standing awestruck,with her beautiful shy eyes.
and somewhere amidst the running around in Thamel and gambling away in Annapurna and Soaltee,i caught a virus which makes me look like a dead body which has escaped from its coffin.as far as my eyes stretch,i can only see ugly reddish dots with white centres.
for people who still dont get it-yes,i have chicken pox.and my trip had to be cut short

Ten years hence,when we think of days like today, we will probably go on with our lives as if this day didn't exist at all.as if the bitterness,the tears, the fights...nothing existed.
maybe we will cry over spilt milk someday and yet break into a fake smile and say "fine" when the world asks,"hey,how you doing?"
we will go on this way.putting on masks after masks,till we can hardly differentiate between what was our face and what was a mask...but we shall move on,as if we don't wear any masks at all,and life is just as dandy as we say it is...
as if days like today don't exist at all.

to the rain

it rained incessantly yesterday.there is this old connection between me and rains-they just do something to me.words, which lay trapped somewhere between the layers of my skin, start revolting-they twist,they turn in their efforts to leave behind the entrapments of skin and blood and set wings to fly away into the sky which is a sad shade of grey.i see them wanting to set sail and reach that little patch of blue which lies beyond the stretch of sky before my eyes.but when i cant set them free,i begin to feel almost miserable, much like the young girl who wanted to wake up and see sunshine,but woke up into a rainy day.
this is all i managed.

Stealing a peep through your blacks and whites today,
I saw how the rains tattoo words of love-
On the earth's brown face,with its small needles of silver.
I saw the clouds make love to the earth,
As they left behind watery kisses-
In secret potholes and puddles.

I saw the woman standing next to her window,
As her fingers groped for a nameless dream,
That lay beyond that grey stretch of sky.
Leaving aside your blacks and whites,I saw her sing,
As rainclouds gathered in her eyes.

P.S: Lousy.I know.

tears unexpected

i have been convincing myself that i am no longer the cry baby i was in school.i had begun to believe that i can see life as it is without letting salt water well up my eyes.
i had begun to think that i have "grown up" and then came today...
i still don't believe that i let that lump of sorrow grow in my throat and let those tears flow.
i really didn't know that i would miss people who were strangers till the last month.
life's like that...there are people who walk in and before you can walk some distance with them,they walk out.but when they leave you see footprints that they leave behind which shows you which way you need to walk,the next time you don't know where to go.
thanks to everyone in HT City who made the last month memorable for me.
will miss you.

to you two

there was something i wrote when you two got together in my old blog,but i guess i deleted it for some reason.
S,if you remember,i asked you if you are seeing her even before you did...and then that day when you said that you are,i guess i had a "oh i knew that" expression on my face.but today,after two years,i cant really bring myself to believe the truth she told me.
if i ever knew two people whose sense of security has been immense,it would have to be you two.i don't know why,i still cant internalise the truth...
it's like one of those weird things that you hear from somewhere but you know that it aint true.i wouldn't have believed if someone else told me,but it was her...
i know she is brave.but there are battles which you fight with yourself,and i am hope she is brave enough for them and as for you,S i really don't know.guess i never knew you enough inspite of those late night chats.
but to you two,i really hope this was a bad dream i have been dreaming,and you guys need to wake me up.sooner,the better.

there haven't been many times when i have felt this proud.
proud of belonging to someone like you.
though there was very little i could hear,i know you were playing my song.
like you always do...
there was a song i once sung as a child and then i lost the tune somewhere...
the sun had gone down when you started strumming today,but i knew the tune was back.
my tune.your tune.our tune.
i knew it was you who would keep strumming my pains with your fingers and turn them into harmonies that meet applause...
i am proud of you.
i love you.

on a blogging spree

you wont believe what happened today...
it was just another day at work and i had a book reading to cover. Ipsita Roy Chakraverti was reading a Paulo Coelho book(for those who havent heard of her,she is the founder of the wiccan brigade in calcutta)...i am not much of a believer,have never been one.but then when she said that there's someone on her right whose sister is going through a turmoil,i (sitting on her right) remembered Diya and realised maybe she was talking of me...i have been too shocked to think of it after that!
the wonders of the world never cease...i tasted the world's weirdest tea today.at the Cha Bar,some weird Ayurvedic piss like tea thing which two of my very esteemed friends ordered.i gave up after a few sips but my dear friend attempted to swallow it like tequilla with a spoonful of honey trying to act like the lemon slice's sorry substitute.thank god,she didnt puke.saved us the trouble of ordering for newspaper to clean it!!
then we bumped into a weird guy who eyed N in KFC and told him that only Mc D sells wraps and then the weirdo bowed to S as if to acknowledge her esteemed presence...if that wasnt enough,he walked to the gate,turned and waved at me and consequently followed it up by waving at all three of us from the car window!
and somewhere in the middle N got approached by pimps who asked him whether he wanted a "school girl" or "hostel girl"!!
park street,i tell you,is the place where you run into the weirdest people on earth.
wooh,what a day!

to the yous

to some of the yous in my life...

you#1 you have made me proud! for once,you have made me realise that it's never too wrong to dream. i always thought you to be my little sister whom i would "bring up" with bits and pieces of advice,pep talk and all that.but then,i was wrong.i have so much to learn from you...grit,will and the power of dreams.

you#2 thanks for the 20th.it was one of the best days of my life-it was WOW!wine glasses,fries,truck driver songs and lots and lots of love.thank you for just being there.we shall do it again sometime.soon.

you#3 with people like you around,the world is definitely a better place.and you stay true to your name-you are MY friend.and though we've met just twice for about five minutes,the time when we hugged each other and cried like babies when we were strangers has been one of the most touching moments of my life!love you

muffled prayers

i know i was weak this time last year but dont let her be.
time makes you stronger,but she needs the strength soon.
teach her that things are not what they are meant to be.
they never are.
teach her that people always end up reaching the finishing line before you even you ran with all your might...
but also teach her that you dont always lose...there are days when the finishing line waits for you and you run through the ribbon,wrapping yourself up in glory.
while people watch you with tears in their eyes.
my prayers are with you.do well.

Eavesdropping

it was a Sunday and there was no metro.so the only option of getting to work was the Jadavpur-BBD Bag mini! given to my rotten luck,the only seat left vacant was one in the last row where a speed breaker feels like an earthquake.but this post isn't about my bus woes,but these two girls who sat next to me and their conversation.as a disclaimer,let me tell you that i have been blessed with the memory span of a goldfish,and this is the best i could coax my brain into remembering!

Girl 1 is a plump 17/18 year old in pink salwar and Girl 2 is another 17/18 year old in a black tee and jeans. i know they were 17/18 because they were talking of their HS exams and they were on their way to the ISI exam centre...
if i remember well,this was the day after the knight riders lost to some team in eden.

Girl 1: Shahrukh eto taka khoroch kore ekta poder team korte parlo na.
Girl 2 (evidently a SRK fan) : keno?dakh eta ekta khela.haar-jeet to legei thake.
Girl 1: Saurav ekta gadha.giye juteche arek gadhar sathe-batsmen dorkar batsmen.otogulo bowler niye ki labh!
Girl 2: shey to shob team ei golmaal ache.
Girl 1: ami to chai Shane Warne er dol shob shomoy jituk...eesh ki cute!
Girl 2: toke ei bus theke dhakka mere fele dewa uchit.
Girl 1: dakh jara khelte pare na oder ke team e rekhe ki labh? shob kota gadha.ar ekta gadhar moto gaan!kore,lore sheito harli.
Girl 2: tui kolkatar meye hoye ki kore kolkatar team kei kharap bolish?
Girl 1:Kolkata to bhalo,kintu team ta ekdom zoghonno (mind you its zoghonno and not joghonno) Kota kolkatar player ache otate?kokhono Ponting ar Saurav ekshathe khelte pare.Shahrukh er kono buddhi nei.
Girl 2: Bokish na,Shahrukh ja kore bhebe shunei kore.tui bujhbi na.Dakh tui Saurav er namey jai bol,Shahrukh er namey kichu bolbi na.
Girl 1: Shahrukh boka holeo bhishon cute.

Sadly,i reached my bus stop and had to leave inspite of dying to hear what the girls talked about once they were done with their round of tittering!
and i got down with a faint smile on my face and call it co incidence or whatever,some faraway auto radio was heard blaring out...
Korbo Lorbo Jitbo Re....


P.S:for non bengalis,i am sorry.i really cant translate all that-too much would be lost in translation :)

On your Birthday

Happy Birthday...
I wish you were here today- to see what a big deal politicians make out of this day,and to tell me how it feels to lose something for which one has had to strive all his life.
I need to know how one can write poems after losing his son, I want to know how it feels to see people making a God out of yourself.I would like to see what you would have created today when the blood being spilt is as red as the flag which veils the murderers.
I wish you were here today.

tomar ashon shunyo aji,hey bir purno koro
oije dekhi boshundhora kaplo thoro thoro.

update

the last few days have been very fulfilling.it feels good to do something instead of just lazing around at home.there was this one day when i took a bus to work-two girls who would be around 17 sat next to me and were discussing about SRK and the Knight Riders.i wish i remembered more of the conversation-it was hilarious!then of course i had my first byline,and as Brinda says, "there's nothing like a good byline".it's been tiring to run around the city in this heat but it was a weird kind of fatigue which made you feel good...
i went to school yesterday...that place fills me up with life each time i go.but it's not like it used to be.the girls are turning rowdier and absolutely crass.plus,there have been a lot of modifications to the building.it's true that change is the only thing constant in life,but i had hoped that this time the change would be towards the better.

tired

my first day of work.
phew.
i'm tired.
somebody give me a head massage,else i'll die....
going,going,going.....
gone

you and i

when we sat looking at the fan today and listening to that new song,i quite enjoyed the silence between us.it wasn't like those electronic silences we face over the telephone at the dead of night-in an alien city.this silence was like us-breathing,growing and wrapping us in a spell under which no word survived.
and finally when you said that we need to talk,i wanted to run to you and tell you that there's no need anymore.but then,i didn't run because i was there-right next to you,passing on my stories to you through my fingers.and i watched you turn my prosaic stories into songs with quaint tunes...
i watched,i moved and i saw-but never spoke.because you know what,this silence will keep us alive,and we'll be fine without those words which do very little except creating noise.we'll do fine with your quaint little tunes and my inane stories.
and thank you for days like today...
days which bring sunshine in days of thunder.

scribble from the back of a question paper

was done with it and didnt have anything else to write.so this is what i decided to do after completing a doodle :)
and yes,as a disclaimer,it's lousy and childish...

nascent tears,melted smiles.
lost letters,sepia eyes.
dreams telling you never to dream again-
never to tread upon those
half-eaten memories
of two lives walking side by side.
and yet,like an idiot who never learns,i cry every night.

p.s:i'm home :D

you know what,your stupidity and utter mindlessness have begun to tick me off..you used to make sense but it seems that you have happily bid that good habit goodbye.you become different people at different times...i mean,dude are you crazy?
really,i mean it in the clinical sort of way.need help?
i am scared for you,i really am.i maybe pissed with you most of the time but i am worried.very worried.are you ok?
will you be ok?
oh damn why the fuck should i care?
i need to get you out of my system.ASAP.

Developments

I have begun to hate escapists...people who dont have the balls to face life.they disgust me.we have started fighting a lot but we will pull through it all.tokai and i are sharing a room and we start dancing to 'we like to move it' at 2 am!
3 out of the 5 ordeals are over,and they have been good enough.
And,i met Raghu Rai today *drools*,so life's not all bad.

leaving...

I've never felt this scared of leaving before.it's not really fright,but this sense of lingering discomfort.maybe because i have exams to take once I'm back there,but that's not the whole of it...there's more to it.and the worst part is that i can't fathom what it really is.
i am scared of planes because they crash.it would be unpleasant to die knowing that someone you really like,hates you.i can't die with so many questions left unanswered.
questions populate my head and they,somehow,lose their way in search of answers...into the nothingness the plane floats in.
i don't want to leave...not this time.

Untitled

These days have been misty-
Every naked truth had foggy dresses to wear.
They pranced around the hidden alleys of the mind,
Wearing blue roses in their hair.
It was a foggy night,
And the radio played sad songs.
I ran my fingers trough the album,
And saw sepia eyes talking of joys yet unborn.
A beaten grey Ambassador screeched to a halt somewhere,
The headlight gleam pierced through the fingers of night-
It twisted and turned in the long necked refuge of the red wine.
It moved and it churned till it could churn no more-
The wine painted designs of love on the white marble floor.
I think I wrote my last wish on the shards of glass with cigarette smoke,
Before I walked out into the embrace of the night, and-
Heard the whisky coloured snores of the city folk.
I walked on and I saw those dresses being shed,
All the truths, now, danced around naked-
Naked, in my head.

For Dida..

i went visiting my grandma yesterday-my Ma's Ma.she looked better than the last time i saw her (touch wood!)
considering that she always lived faraway,i never really got very close to her.but there were times when i went there and went running out into the "uthon" and invariably ran into ant hills.Dida always used to put "choon" over my feet as an antidote for the ant stings.
she was this woman who ran around that huge L-shaped house-managing the kitchen,looking after the "uthon" and "pukur" and attending to Ranga (my grand aunt) and Aku (my grand dad).Dida always brimmed with energy...so much so that she managed to dislocate her hip joint twice and fracture her leg!
but all that changed when Aku passed away.within days of his death,she became recluse-like...reading spiritual books and centering her day around "pujo".with Aku,my Dida died-she became this another person who was nothing like my Dida-she chopped off her waist length hair and ceased to be the Dida i knew-the huge bindi was gone,her hair parting looked bare without the streak of red.she looked pale in her white saris.
yesterday,when we sat chatting over our cups of tea,she spoke of Aku.she didn't cry but i knew she missed him.I knew this was what they call "love".here was this woman-who was born much before St. Valentine became a celebrity,before white teddy bears holding red hearts became famous and even before love letters became an institution in themselves-who felt lost without her husband,even years after his death.she made me read his letters (he was in the army,and had been transferred to Kashmir and Burma a lot of times)-none of them qualified as "mush".he asked her of their children's health,whether the house was been properly looked after,whether she needed money and other such mundane things.so what was it that "drove" this love?i can't say...probably because i have been born to these times.
it's been 3 years since Aku and 10 years since Ranga left us...that huge house,with just 2 people living inside, looks scary now...except the little space where my Dida sits in silence and reads,sews and,perhaps,cries.the house has remained strong-witnessing births and deaths.it has been my Dida's haven.it was this house she came into as a child bride,it was this house she breathed life into and,maybe,this is the house that will be handed over to promoters after she,too,is gone.
as i left,she hugged me and i,for some queer reason,cried.i cried as i silently prayed to Dida to be there the next time i come down.she doesn't have to be active,she doesn't have to run around,she just needs to be there...she just has to be there.

Tagged

A is for Amnesia. Of the selective kind. So that I can forget all the shit life has thrown up at me.

B is for my name-Bedatri. I hated it as a kid, but love it now for being one of its kind. And Blue. The colour.

C is for Citrus. The smell. Especially when it comes from soaps. And for Calcutta and Courage-two things I shall try and stick to unto death.

D is for “Duh” and “Dodo”-two words which punctuate my sentences.

E is for Eggs. In any form-poached, fried, scrambled, with cheese, without cheese, omlette....

F is for Finding money in some trousers' pocket when you’re broke, and for Faith. In yourself.

G is for Gariahat...the pavement libraries, Iceberg rolls, cheap clothes and cheaper jewellery...

H is for “Him”...God and “him”...the two most important people in my life.

I is for Irish Coffee, Inshallah and Ice creams...the first because I love the cream topping, the second because the word exudes hope and the third because they are man’s greatest creation after safety pins.

J is for Jealousy. The green monster strikes me anytime, anywhere.

K is for Kitsch Art.Specially when they’re on tees :)

L is for Love and Lollypops...one cant live his youth without the first and childhood without the second.

M is for Maach and Mishti...in any shape, form or colour. And Momos...steamed.

N is for the “New” smell-the smell of new things-new books, clothes, houses or rains. And the not so new New Market.

O is for Oshos. Specifically from Janpath (the 90 bucks ones with flat straps)

P is for Phuchka, Park Street and Pandara Road

Q is for Quirks...these make people worth loving.

R is for Rains.they do something to me.

S is for School and its insanity.

T is for Tea. Darjeeling with a dash of lemon, 1 teaspoon sugar and no milk...Heaven!

U is for Unidentifiable...there are times I wish to know no one and to be known by none.

V is for Violet. The colour. And Violins in a rainy night and funerals.

W is for “What re?”...something Delhi has done to my vocabulary and I love saying.

X is for the kisses in XOXO,the red marks which plagued me through school and for mystery.

Y is for Yes...it’s amazing what all this little word can express!

Z is for Zeeshan rolls and Biryani...Slurp!

I tag Fishy,Pongy Papaya,Neel,The Mad Girl and Onnesha.

And thanks to Mandy for tagging me.

whispers

fake?hurt?stupid?bitch?
am i?
maybe...
memories? oh bullshit.
friends?
lots!many!one?none?
just get lost...i don't need your sympathies.i really don't.
close your eyes and pray hard...things will get better.
you think?
yes.

Back

Airports are the only places which have become constants in my life. Living dual lives in cities tucked away in two different corners of the country, change has become a part of me. The chic flyovers give way to the potholed roads through that one journey made from one airport to another. At times, I feel like Ila from Amitav Ghosh’s “Shadow Lines”-I begin to understand her confusion at having to switch lives as she traverses a journey connected only by two airports. Places condition a life. Thus, with places, people change and lives change. Coping with changes are always difficult, especially when these changes are thrust upon you suddenly. But then, somehow, you live on. Airports become the only places which stand looking similar, even in different places. They, thus, become the only constant tile in the shifting mosaics of one’s life.They say, the only thing constant in life is change.
Things at home have changed, people have changed...or maybe, I have.

I had met this girl when she was three-I used to pull her cheeks really hard till she cried. There were times when someone had to put some antiseptic on her cheeks after the session of rigorous cheek pulling was over. I saw her grow up-from the chubby quiet little girl to a woman of words. She spoke with a conviction unmatched by anyone else. We had walked the same path for quite sometime-refusing to let change come in the way. But today, finally, change has brought down the house of cards we built and tried to guard against the winds of change.

I feel stupid and wronged. But maybe, even I have wronged.

Someday, after years of silence, a stranger will find this piece of writing and read it. All that will remain are these words-no masterpiece, but just a string of disjoint words.
For now, I move-just move without a meaning. I forget her. I forget that there was someone I walked this road with...till we forced each other out of our orbits. But somewhere, sometime I look at a shooting star and wish...wish that that long forgotten person would forgive me. Once again, forgive me. Forgive me for making it my tragedy.

P.S:huge problem with formatting

on the run...

its amazing how we get used to things.i always thought that i couldn't live without blogging,but here i am-not blogging for over a month and alive!
i have been traveling...Agra was good.i loved Fatehpur Sikri.It exudes a certain kind of mystery which is absent in the Taj Mahal.with all my respect to the monument,i feel that wasn't left spellbound with its magnificence-probably i was expecting a lot more of it.i remember Ma telling me that she had begun to cry when she saw it first.through some tv channel or the other,we have seen the Taj-within and without.that's why,perhaps,the sense of mystery,the experience of comparing the real Taj to the Taj i built up in my mind and the feeling of becoming speechless eluded me.it is undoubtedly beautiful,but somehow i had expected it to be something much more than just that.
Bangalore was fun...the weather was a welcome change from the sub-zero temperatures we are subjected to,here in Delhi.the weather reminded me of home.i felt a weird sort of freedom when i walked alone-down Brigade Road-M.G Road manoeuvring my stroller over potholes and relishing the huge tub of "Drath by Chocolate".in a strange sort of a way,i grew up.i loved getting road directions in a forced and heavily accented hindi-i realised that i'm not the only prospective cast member for the latest series of "zabaan sambhal ke"(if they decide to start one,that is) in the country!
delhi failed in all its attempts to freeze us to death.the NSD theatre festival was an experience in itself,and getting to perform in it still seems like a dream.the Delhi Book Fair started a few days back.it's nice and all,but not quite like the one back home.the collection of books is great,but a book fair is not a book fair at all without serpentine queues and chaos.
"Book fair",for me,has beem a dream which came true every year-it was a dusty dream,it was a dream where people sat on newspapers spread on the ground,the dream smelt of the faraway candy floss vendor spinning out pink webs out of his magic pot.they didnt let it happen this time,i heard.i dont know if the people there miss the young boy who sat with his friends and played guitar over endless rounds of tea,but i do.i miss the sudden smile smiled after bumping into a familiar face in the crowd.in this cold city,i miss the waft of Benfish fish fry mingling with the excited breath of a crowd which doesnt know how to stop.a book fair out of home,is not a book fair at all.
things keep happening but life,somehow,goes on-much like the images which zoom past your eyes when you look through the glass eyepiece of those big colourful tin boxes.i saw them at the Surajkund Handicrafts' festivalbut dont know for sure what they're called...i think they call it "talkey baksho" in bengali.i had seen children in old movies watching "Agre ka Taj Mahal aur Dilli ka Qutb Minar" trough them.i saw through one at Surajkund-watched those images zoom past the eyepiece till suddenly the guy told me that my time's up.
maybe life's like that too-maybe it will stop suddenly while i'm in the middle of watching the world zoom past my eyes.

Home.

I may walk down that unnamed road again,
meet those strange faces too.
Or maybe,I'll just stand and look-
at the raindrops drawing patterns on my windowpane.
Maybe I'll see myself on the glass then-
and maybe I'll cry or just silently live the pain.
Just when I'll be down and blue,
a lone raindrop would land on my cheek.
Memories will come rushing by,and
I'll be reminded of you.
Even as the world goes wild,I shall be in peace.
In you I shall find a muse,
in you-a refuge...

P.S: lousy poetry.kindly excuse.

and here's INGY....*drumroll*

yes,that's the best thing about the new year...
p.s: yeah,i am jobless...so there's a new post below this :)

kick ass

right when you think life is going on an ok-ish track,a short kick(with spiked football boots which feel like pins) lands up-right on your ass.
what a "kick ass" start to the new year!
nothing much to write,but dude my ass is an ass and was never meant to a pincushion.i can go on with my sad tale of an important body part transforming into something painful...but who the heck is listening?
just one note-there are people with better...umm..assets,better lives...go prick them.at this juncture i'm compelled to induce the age old question-"why me??!".even i deserve to sit on the couch of life comfortably,so why use mine for your pincushion?
and being the super optimist that i am,i end with hope that if i am,after all,life's "chosen one",the pins remain pins and never become the "achhla baash" we Bengalis are so accustomed to.

p.s: an "achhla baash" is a bamboo pole stripped of its green bark.there's no way i can explain the euphemism it holds through a blog.just ask the next Bengali in sight-he/she shall be too happy to help you out.with the explaining part and the giving part,as well.

The Year That Was

First things first...I find 31^st December highly overrated. Probably because I always end up spending it in the lousiest way possible-feeling like shit myself and crying without any reason whatsoever. Each year ends with me claiming that “this was the lousiest 31^st”, but I’m disillusioned, without fail, in the end of the next year.

Coming back to the topic...The Year That Was.

I turned 18 and passed my boards (Phew! Thank God) and then I left home-with tears and feeling like an uprooted plant.

The plant never found its roots back, but, in a real freak of nature, grew up. I learnt how to not cry over the phone even when I was dying to, I learnt you never have friends-you only think you have them. With so much of learning cramming up my little head, I had to grow up-into a person who broke away from the walls 18 years at home had built. I fought my demons-at least, tried to.

This year marked a year of meeting the most important person in my life. We’ve been through a lot of shit, probably more than we ever dreamt of. But we pulled through it all safely and still continue to create moments of magic which will go on and become the most cherished memories of our lives.

I lost friends and (hopefully) met some new ones. I lost hope that everything will be fine, because they never will be. I lost my belief that after fifteen years of togetherness, ties and bonds will remain the same. They don’t.

And yes, I lost my purse. Twice. My debit card. Once (thankfully!).And my ring (and then, got two new ones)!

In spite of the slaps, the drunken brawls, the high billirubin level and the sinking physics marks, I’m glad this year turned out the way it did. I learnt to live-on my own, without people whom I thought I can’t live without.

Thanks. For teaching me to look beyond familiar faces for answers to questions I never dared to ask before, and for letting me add on to my blue confetti dream...

So here I end, with eyes full of dreams which strive for fulfillment and a mind full of hopes that things don’t get any worse.

To anyone who’s wasting time reading this...Have a great year ahead!

P.S: Here’s to Ingy...the new kid on the block-the last drop of life which fell on a dying year...