Friday, 25 September 2009


Leaving a Bong fuming and smoking is easy. You just need to drag the oaf out of Calcutta during Pujo. I was going teary eyed at the very thought of it all the time till it’s actually just about four hours left for me to catch the flight, and I must say that finally I am rather excited. But my excitement has been rather marred by one big thing: aeroplane.

I know it will sound silly but I am stiff scared of them. According to my twisted logic, the repercussion of boarding one is being the victim of a crash. One of my friends meekly suggested that I should be proud as I am like Meg Ryan in French Kiss (the movie, pervs. From which a Kajol-Ajay Devgan starrer was badly pinched, in all the wrong places). In return I meekly cursed him. the only silver lining are the flight Stewarts and they are too good for me to even steal occasional glances, and though airhostesses are fine, the degree of my fear and my orientation makes them trivial.

I’ve packed a Jeeves series and also one of those William books (William the conqueror) that amazed me when I was eleven or twelve, hoping that they’ll keep me off my scary thoughts. (That reminds me, I had crush on Wooster at a point of time and even William, when I was his corresponding age. I know, it’s really very sad. But nevertheless, William is a Man.)

Anyway, so it’s going to be a week of abstinence from blogging and Orkutting which is pretty great. I’ll be having a life. So this consolation should keep me away from my rather weird fears.

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

Parenting blues.

Not mine. My parents’. My mother was perhaps born a feminist. On being asked what she was going to do if she was cursed with two boys and not two angelic girls like us, she first looked at the hapless person (me) who had the audacity to pip in the question in a way as if it was outrageous for the person to think that she could ever produce anything as crass as boys. Then she replied that they would be packed off to boarding schools once off their nappies. So for quite some time my parents were pretty content with life, my sister and me. Both we siblings were pretty cute. (I was actually pretty till class one or so. If I maintained all of my cuteness it would have been pretty glorious for me.) My parents were content to think that girls are organised, clean, keeps their rooms nice and pink. But then I grew up. I don’t know what I will be doing if I stay at a hostel. Already there isn’t any space for me to sleep on the bed as it is adorned with books of all odd shapes and sizes with CDs strewn all over. my bed also happens to be the haven of lizards occasionally for whom I have a special long ruler to harass. I’ve seen rooms of boys which are cleaner. And this part especially saddens my mother the most. My parents are baffled as to where I got these particular genes from considering the fact that my mother, father and sister all three are always perfectly neat and tidy. (Also: all three are healthy wealthy and wise whereas I look like an anorexic cat.) Mother once rued that there was no point in producing a daughter if she can’t keep things clean. So I suppose now she is more kind towards the thoughts of young things of the male kind.

p.s: below: that's my sister trying to hold me. Take note of the bald patch on my head. That still exists.

Sunday, 20 September 2009

disaster prevention and management

Love is in the air. With the Durga Pujo coming in, its desi Valentines Day in Bongdom. Ready-to-temporarily-mingle men lurk in every nooks and corners of the idol as equally enthusiastic femme fatales and PYTs manage to play the hide and seek to its full effect. It’s the season of blossoming love affair, surviving for a week, ending on the last day of the Great Bengali Festival itself, truly short and sweet. For all these to come into effect, a man must remain religiously single or else more than half the fun is gone. I mean, it’s necessary because you can’t possibly lech away to glory with full effect if your permanent lady love is adorned on your arm. This is one very Bong reason why a man should stay single.

There are other reasons as well I suppose. Like for example, phone calls. Some girls have this habit (like some boys) of calling the umpteenth number of times and when after a very hard day’s work, the poor man manages to pick up the phone, the silly goat on the other end is all geared up to sulk and brood and accuse and what not. Here is this macho man, all pumped up with unending love for his lady that breaks all barriers of technology and thus does not need a 24*7 bonding network, while the aforementioned silly goat thinks otherwise. On top of that one has to pay to waste time in this manner. Those glorious days of pigeons playing negotiators of lovers (kabutar ja ja ja…) are gone. For real men, its better to stay single than mingle with the goats whose measure of love and et cetera is calculated by the daily phone minutes. Technology has ruined all dil ka connection. The icing on the already stale cake is the constant demand from the whiny dolt as to how many minutes and seconds have the folk managed to miss her. So much of time management is totally and utterly disastrous.

We girls have very intelligent brains so we draw immediate inference from propositions from sheer scientific Aristotelian logic. So if Hunk-A has not called Chick-A, and Hunk-A is not receiving calls from Chick-A on a given particular day, then Hunk-A is not interested anymore in Chick-A. The probabilities of devious Chicks B to Z doing the Hunk stealer stuff increases manifold and Chick-A is left feeling depressed. But the depressed chick may fail to understand that Hunk is probably busy with FIFA or the likes, or watching Messi glide through the stadium or is simply busy snoring or watching weird movies. No common sense, such girls.

There are many more reasons why we sometimes pose as a pain in the posterior, like being unable to understand whatever that can be very simply understood, shedding away tears to glory to achieve ones end, unable to realise the reason why a certain shirt should be worn and not made into floor mops, et cetera. A guy when single, at least till the age of a quarter century, is left without all these burdens that are in essence so heavy on the youthful shoulders. And sans these burdens, not only the Pujo season in Calcutta, but almost all the seasons can be enjoyed with perfect delight.

P.S: There has been no attempt at generalisation in this post. It has been posted with particular people on mind. :p

Thursday, 17 September 2009

Senti stuff. Posted strictly for myself ;-)

The problem with me is that whenever I am senti I can’t write anything. The thing is that I actually miss those days when I could spontaneously do whatever I wanted to, not that I can’t do that anymore, just that the blessed fellows who were my accomplices are hard to get hold of in these busy times, and a trip without them isn’t half as joyful. It would be like, hopping on to a tram and going till its last stoppage, and then coming back in the same way, virtually wasting hours of my life doing almost nothing, but then it made me really happy. And they say happiness extends lifetime, so I was not wasting time but adding more to it.

I have these weird desires to go to places. I like the sea more than the mountains. Those big things scare me bit and I end up being phobic that the wind is going to shove my down the hill slope. The sea is quite sensuous and I am always eager to take a snooze near it, as it works well with my lazy nature, with sporadic shots of hyper-active enthusiasm. I like being near rivers and seas and can even deal with lakes and all that. I really enjoy dangling my legs from the edges of Victoria Memorial’s semi-moat like thing and then taking a walk back through the interiors of the muddy-green Maidan where mules and horses laze around too, and where, as a child, I remember a rather unruly monkey, supposedly trained, almost eating up my balloon as I cursed the irate fellow amidst showers of tears. Prinsep and the river side is an old lover, from where our lives begun and we grew. There are times when I am bored and I think of the things that I enjoy the most. Around the Eden Gardens and across the field at night, Prinsep and the train, Dalhousie with an umbrella, four people and rain. It’s like poetry with a tune, and penning them down, almost profane.

Thursday, 10 September 2009

The relationship that confused me...

I have realised what I should have realised ages ago. Our relationship has been for long and it was fun I admit. But then as I got rooted into the quagmire, I realised the loopholes of what I thought was the ideal bond. I don’t want to break free. No matter what you think, I am not someone who would let go of what is perhaps the most precious thing in her life. But then, I’ve realised my mistakes, know what irreparable damages have been made and I can’t do anything about it. The fetters of the relationship hurt, but I can’t let go…

Yes. I can never let go of the internet from my life.

The fact is that my relationship with the internet has been almost parasitic. I have been clinging to Orkut and the likes for the last few years, gaping at the screen in a manner an adolescent often gapes at the member of the opposite sex. I’ve also enrolled myself into the Facebook thingy that I can’t even remotely decipher after technically having account for eight months. The internet has almost shaped my personality. My total confusion in many things in life has been caused by… err… Facebook. I tell you, when I took a personality test over there they said I am like Ross of Friends. And the batty folks later said that I am like Winston Churchill. And the animal I resemble is an orang-utan. So the simple logical conclusion is:

Ross = Winston Churchill = Me = Orang-utan

I was content up to the Churchill part till the site gave me a dose of reality with the hapless animal. Though I blame the internet for the sheer confusion that springs up whenever I try to analyse myself, not that I should get into analysing it anyway, I shall be indebted to it for many things. Anyway, the topic is rather touchy for me. I don't even know why I am blogging about it, may be just to kill time. However, enough time has been killed. Now I'll be resting in peace with the orangutan inherent in me.

Tuesday, 8 September 2009

Rain and the associated mood

It has been pouring all day. It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up to such a dull morning where even the crows refuse to execute their morning orchestra. Our garden was never in a respectable shape, always looking like a mound of weeds, and at this moment, it has managed to take the shape of murky stagnant pond. Most in my class has been cursed with a perennially running nose and as I sniffed away to glory yesterday with a torn tissue, a professor continued to glare at me in a manner as if I am that bloody hog that started it all.

The cats loath the downpour as well. The sexy female in the block recently had proliferated the feline world with five more folks. Thanks to the rain they have made our balcony their make shift home and two of the overgrown off-springs are sprinting up and down a grubby ladder that is kept there, occasionally trying to pinch my lunch kept in the kitchen that exists in its periphery. So my task at home is to be the watchdog. What utter joy.

As for me, I am hoping against hope that some miserly folk like me will come online to wile away my time. I can’t even do the sexy-lady-with-a-coffee-mug-romantically-looking-from-the window because the effect from a grilled window would be like desolate-freaky-kid-stuck-with-a-mug-glaring-from-the-window. I don’t have any story book at this moment that will lift up my mood from the deluge apart from my history books and those are the last things I want to set my eyes on, rain or no rain.

It’s still pouring. And no amount of typing is going to lift up my spirit. I’ve got nothing fruitful to do. I guess I’ll just snore away for a while. Good afternoon and Goodnight.

P.S: A fellow intelligent blogger pointed out an essential point I had missed: about the mighty insects. Yes friend, there are reigning supreme all over. Some are sprawled on by bed too. Bloody buggers. For information on other things on the loose, check the comments :| But I am not responsible for all that is discussed there :|

Saturday, 5 September 2009


Calcutta’s sky has been behaving like my mood: highly whimsical, alternating rain with occasional peek-a-boo of the sun. Its one of those highly romantic evenings, where the happy romantics would like to sit with a cup of coffee, sipping near a cosy window, conversing with the drizzle. Some would like to read a good book snuggled in the bed, with some stolen chocolates. Some would like some senti music. Some would like to go out, and some would like to get into censored activities. As for me, eternally confused, I am trying to blog. This virtual world has virtually ruined me. It has caged me, making me incapable of communicating with nature, letting my soul be free... All right, no more melodrama.

Anyway, the crux of the matter is that it's an absolutely hyper-senti weather and I am disregarding its utility by attempting to blog.

I am such a nuisance. :P

Enough. Time-passed.