|I have a head full of buzzing noises, and this, here is my outlet.|
Cést la vie
I have the flowers you gave me tucked inside the box carefully. They've dried. The essence is long gone. The sheet of plastic you used to wrap them, has loosened it's grip.
When I see them, the colour of reddish black, the hue of dried blood on a sheet of paper, the picture of them when you gave it to me, flashes across. I wanted to preserve them fresh. No man before you ever gave me flowers. I was taken by surprise when you brought them. Like joys are, short lived and fleeting, the beauty of flowers wanes the moment they are plucked.
Like all things that have life, perish, they did too. Everything that has life, that was once young will become senile. They have to give way fo...
To the world,
I am a woman, and fortunately in my 24 years of life, J have had more experience with men who seemed loving, kind hearted, and protective than those who wanted to cause me harm. I have had the misfortune of coming across men who molested me, and in the process, a huge part of me lived in self doubt and insecurities for long ; It was a man who helped me out of my darkness and into the light of truth.
I am a feminist, who knows that there are men, good men in this world, a fair share who believe, we females form as much part of this society as them, and we share equal rights to live our lives liberally.
With changing times and the ongoing debate about feminism, and supporting it,...
If there is something I ask for God, let that be your light that obliterates self doubt, and insecurities which prey on me, being the barrier that misleads me from doing my best.
I seek strength to bear the outcome of my own doing, which, if not in my favour, I struggle, resent, and close my eyes to the faults in me.
You test my spirituality as much as you put to test, the rest of us. There are questions everywhere. Let me open my heart and mind to see what you intend me to see.
On reading Memoirs of a Geisha -
By Arthur Golden.
This book I have read which gives me an insight into the tradition of the Geisha of Japan, and a few instances of how the commoners were aghast with horror of the impending gloom during the years of World War II. I haven't known much about the Geisha, but from what I come to know of this first hand account , the numbers have plummeted to lows where it might only be found in history books. So many beautiful things have been crushed, by jealousy and hatred ! It's a pity, that true Geishas may never be found again, the art lost to tragedy of time. I remember watching The Last Samurai, and a quote from the movie left an imprint. " From the mom...
I find it rather intriguing how we, humans function. Sometimes, we hide the best of us, as a savoury only for ourselves to steal a taste of satisfaction we the need be. We'd make a few excuses, lie if we have to, and even the most pure of conscience won't feel guilty, if it involves revealing this side of her to the world around. It might be anything that we regard high in our opinion. A habit, a certain interest, a certain behaviour, anything. The reason behind shrouding, might be the misgiving of not being encouraged to indulge in it as often as we want to, or being chided at, even the fear that this special thing might be taken away from us.
From what has inspired me to write this, I und...
The Lettrs Café.
In my figment of imagination, I see walls, of four different colours. One in chalkboard black, with frames of typographical 26 alphabets adorning the wall, industrial lamps hanging down the ceiling. Another wall, painted in white, where there would be a huge corkboard, for pictures of the café as it evolves down the passage of time. A framed picture of Drew and the co-founders hanging above the corkboard. Well, they deserve to be known.
The two other walls, one painted in a shade of yellow, with a red letterbox standing tall ; the other with protruding bricks, where there would be a counter top, coffee machines (smiles), grinders, mugs,saucers, and coasters. At one end, th...
She bled love. Her heart, a sponge for absorbing the appalling, helpless, the sick and poor. Her calling, undeniably benign. Known to us all as a mother,
She healed people, with so much her kind and tender heart.
Being canonised, the official Sainthood being conferred upon her, now she stands recognised, amidst the most humble, dedicated and loving workers of God. Although a saint, she shall never cease to be the divine mother she was known as.
I wonder why didn't I tell you how beautiful you are ! You're an ocean of possibilities in yourself, harbouring millions of thoughts, emotions, desires and ambition.You're a magnet my love. You are yet to know what an amazing woman you are becoming. I stand by you, every moment, caressing your smiles, laughing with you, wiping your tears in silence. You cry often. Don't you feel ashamed; that helps you get up. You think bottling up gall is wise ? Trust me, venom is better spit out than carefully stored.
You send a dart to hit my heart when you look at me straight into my eye. That gaze, so powerful and intense, makes me want to hold you in an embrace.
Flaunt those dark curls wit...
The Gemini woman fell off bounds for a Capricorn man . Checked their compatibility a hundred times over sites online, and not one said, they were compatible. It scared the shit out of her.. She knew the traits of his sunsign. Oh boy ! he was quite something.
The hard working, nerd of a man, a friend who knew her as she was, in her worst and the best, who wasn't interested in wooing women, yet had a simplicity that she couldn't help, but fall head over heels for. She tried to keep this to herself for a year, even staying away, hoping it was an infatuation and would fade off, but damn, cupid had struck !
He however, didn't have a clue about this ride he was gonna take with her..
" Don't bend ; Don't water it down;
Don't try to make it logical;
Dont edit your own soul according to fashion;
Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. " - FRANZ KAFKA
I belong to the difficult troupe of fickle minds, A Gemini that I am. Those days when my mind plays games, and I am unable to win against myself, this is one quote that helps me do what I ought to do.
How do I close my senses to the stinging regrets of my past ?
How do I make peace when on days, all I dwell on the possibilities of could be(s), and with a heart full of anger, with tearful eyes, look upon the things that once were.
How do I tell myself, my choices will do me justice one day, when all I have today is misgivings ?
How do you know which choice is the one that's right for you, when you are equally passionate about both choices ?
There shall always be defeat,
Clothed as an instrument to push you
to the edge of those rocks,
from where you'll fear a fall straight down.
There, along with fear, arises another probability, "Oh my dear, what if you fly ?"
From nothing, from the despair of doing what we do usually, and grief at the never yielding results, reaching that edge of rock takes tremendous change. Metamorphosis !
Green tea and Black coffee
Scene: A dining table at home.
Dad : The coffee you make tastes much better than any other I have had at a coffee shop. Lets get rid of the instant ones.
Dad: Your husband will be lucky to have you make him such nice coffee every day.
Dad, he prefers green tea to black coffee.
Dad: What ? Who ?
The hills are growing on me. More after I have returned back, from short visits to these places cocooned among the majestic himalayas.
These places are so calm, perfect for people who want a getaway from the clamour of work calls, the ruddy sound of vehicles, honking of horns that pain the ear drums, all day.
Only if I could stay there, and live until my senses are rejuvenated by the white clouds of snow that the mountains seem to the immersed in !
It gets me thinking, why there are more foreigners at these beautiful places, than our own people. Why is it, that they find more days to take a break while we take short breaks and hop from a world here to one at an end of another continent,...
A few memories flash by; I am overwhelmed by how no one understands how I feel. I see myself seated at the basketball court in school. I just fought with a friend because she leaked out, that I fell for a guy in my martial arts class and that he had tried to approach me in an inappropriate way. I remember the rage that followed.
Another memory; my father was teaching me Romeo and Juliet. It wasn't a part of my school curriculum, he felt I should read the book. The grip it had on me, the insurmountable pleasure I felt when Romeo proposed to Juliet, the lacerating pain that was caused when Juliet dies, made an impression. We were being taught Caesar in school. My teacher was teaching us crit...
Writing about the best friend makes it a little weird although, an exciting thing to think about though..
These are people who one hardly acknowledges and shows love for in public, yet they never demand it. They become our backbones, the walking stick an old man can't walk without, the sunglasses on a sunny day. How else do you describe best friends ?
Oh ! And they sure are the ones that bring you immense relief on days you feel so let down, and life seems grey. They kick butts when need be, be the shoulder to cry on, and they bore you to death sometimes, no one can irritate you more.
They are the ones with whom you could fight over silly discussions, throw your opinions on and they'll ne...
If ever that happens, which is as much a fantasy as finding myself to be the world's richest woman, my joys would inexplicably multiply a hundred thousand fold.
I have been selfless, but now with this suitcase, I wanna be selfish. I wouldn't talk of donations and charity. I don't believe in changing the world with it. Would 10,00,000 be enough to eradicate poverty in the world ? Nope. I don't want the noble peace prize too.
I've not been extravagant and I somewhat know to manage money, invest it in funds so that suitcase full of 10,00,000 turns 1,00,00,000 (unrealistic again) Oh, but how would I ! That would be black money, and the Income Tax guys would put me into jail.
Chuck that !
We have been dating for years now, though an official date hasn't been checked on our to-do list yet. We have taken long walks along the road by the reservoir, held hands, when people weren't around in the vicinity of our visible horizon, we stole a few treasured kisses, knowing this would be a moment that may or may not come soon again.
Being miles away from each other year after year, I have secretly hoped for a real date. One where it's just us, in the lap of nature, perhaps even more romantic to the idea of a date, at the sea coast. I'd put on a beach dress, you'd be in a casual tee and shorts, sun glasses making you look so attractive.
I do have an idea of what others do on ...
Thoughts at a café.
We sat by the coffee table, waiting, the aroma wafting in the air, of fresh coffee brewing at the counter. I looked around at the painted ochre walls, the portraits that narrate a story, of friends, of love, of conversations at the table. I noticed the barista, how impeccable she was with her work, and it struck me how much of dedication goes into every cup she brews, with a latte art carefully mastered.
I was reading "the girl on the train" by Paula Hawkins, and there is this line that goes " Life is not a paragraph and death is not a parenthesis". I stopped to ponder on how authors connect with us readers writing such lines that capture our minds.
I was listening to a...
There are moments when I am so driven that nothing feels unattainable. Those moments last me 20seconds. My head is muddled.
I flip through my cellphone, open Instagram and flip through pictures. I see selfies, like one whole roll of negatives, like in old days when we had no DSLRs and no mobiles, just the negatives to be developed into pictures.
I dream a lot. Dream with my eyes open. Well, nothing like letting time slip by, when you imagine a world in your head, one where you head everything, where you're happy, and successful, from which you don't want to come out of, because real life scares you. The truth of your own state makes you want to give up on life.
The way I have belittled mys...
I felt so lonely and shouted at him,
hurled excuses to fight,
I wanted to feel proximity.
He kept silent,
listening to me with the patience I'd never expect him to have.
It made me angrier.
I was amazed at my own sentiments being played.
He knew me better than I knew myself.
All he did, was listen, and take me in his arms while I choked, burst out, yelled and hid myself in his lap.
I rained tears, and the next thing I knew,
we were the closest in all these years.
Good movies and books have no age, like things said by intelligentsia make quotes that run down centuries and are immortalised.
They charm the heart, fulfill the mind's quest for enlightenment.
Some days would make me feel, I am not sure whether I can go ahead with this relationship. For reasons unknown. May be, for reasons that are making my own life hard, for things I am unable to go on with, for my personal slack in not being able to be where I want to be, for many other things that make me mad.
When you really love, you love so hard, so deep, that this is the only emotion that drives you.
This person you are so intent to spend the rest of your life with, becomes the only vent, the only way to lash out all your negativity on. When living in far off places where you do not know when you would see each other, or go on a date, or steal a few kisses. You leave everything ...
That you are from the world of music, you would know this particular feeling of wanting to obssess over a particular song and listen to it all day all night long. This song - #Whenwewereyoung is one such amazing song you've sung.
I generally don't Facebook every song I listen to, but this one has captured my attention, totally, especially the part of the lyrics that goes -
" Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time that we might be exactly like we were "..
The power in your voice, reflects. The passion with which you sing makes every line reverberate in my ears. For quite some time now, (that might be very long) I am not going to stop obssessing over...
Oh yeah ! I am a coffee girl. Totally. I brag about it. Its like girls' obsession with pink and it's hues.
Its like my go to drink, my savior in bad mood, the only beverage I am fond of drinking, and perhaps I can't stop drinking coffee all my life, however much people around keep nagging me about the effects of coffee on health.
No, I am not addicted. Addiction is such a negative word. I deny it straight. Its that hot drink I chose to have every day, not because I am depressed or sad or life is not good. Come on, I have it because it gives me a feeling, I can conquer the world. At least it doesn't contain nicotine. At least it doesn't harm my lungs and give me cancer.
I wonder whether to feel proud of not belonging to a group of friends who have a different liking for things, or entertain a dubiousness that sets in, when they enjoy something I don't or vice-versa, which leads me to question, "am I a mis-fit here ? If not why don't I have one choice that is mutual among all in the group ?"
That man is a social animal makes him behave in a way he wants to belong somewhere in the society. What if the society you belong to, doesn't have a place for you ? What if you belong somewhere else rather than living a fake personality that you aren't, trying to please them ?
They inflict on you, a constant reminder that you're different in whatever...
From Lkg to the time school life got over, you have had a bunch of nicknames. Being a quintessential teenager you hated it, but as time gradually passed, when you entered the professional world of work and office life, you miss being called by those quasi names.
Behind them, are associated a teeny weeny bit of your appearance, body type, a part of your character, or qualities you may have and other inexplicable thoughts that friends have while coining those adjectives that become nouns in this whole process of building friendships that last a lifetime.
Some of these names replace your official ones on your birth certificate, and people know you not by what you were actua...
Divorcing one's own roots.
On days when I get back home weary and nothing but music can induce the requisite calm into me, and help me in the wee bit to resume my chores at home, I turn not to English music, but to regional music that I have been brought up listening to.
India being a country of varied linguistics, culture, music, and literature pertaining to each state, we are blessed with a plethora of melifluous music.
In Bengali culture, Rabindranath Tagore is a must, whether we speak of music or literature.
The words written in Bengali may never influence the reader the same way if they are translated into English. Like every language has its own charm, the hypnotic effect of regional...