And I thought it's tougher for those who stay back when somebody dear and precious bids a goodbye...because they are still surrounded by things and places all of which trigger chains of past events and bittersweet memories...and cocooned in a flimsy, misty wrapper of memory they stop collecting tits and bits to store for retrospection anymore...so it's only the past and glimpses of an imagined future while the present wheezes past!

So I thought it's easier to shake a hand, drop a tear, paint a dilute smile and say goodbye.

But it's not. It hurts to say 'bye', trying hard to not look into eyes, and make nothing of the moment the fingers touch and brush away a hint of tear from the eyes and the voice while making sure in vain one doesn't notice. And then one starts living in the memories that seem truer and dearer and lets the present wheeze by...

I am making an issue out of nothing and I am afraid the mush quotient might get on the nerves of my very few readers, so I end my post here. Erm...I'm off to Orissa for a week or so on vacation.

And why why why why why!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why you cowards! Why you brutes! Why do you open fire on a bunch of unarmed innocent people? why do you kill???? Since when have you started believing that you are gods of destruction and harbingers of welfare and a people of a grand new world! GOD DAMN YOU ALL! Why do you channelise such a lot of energy, dedication, single-mindedness in something that is so destructive? How can you sleep at night? How can you ever look straight into the eyes of someone you love? Do you ever have a moment of peace, do you ever see a spectacle of beauty? Can you listen to a child's cry without blaming yourslef? How is it that you have turned yourselves into such unfeeling death-vending automatons? How is it that blood and gore no more churn your insides? For every man you kill, you kill a thousand more and perhaps you don't even realise that you killed yourself the first time you killed one.

Deliver us God, from this abyss of helplessness. We don't want strength to endure but to resist and counter.

May you rest in peace!

On some days there's so much beauty around, such an absurdly huge amaount of poetry flowing in the air, I almost choke with joy. On somedays tears glisten and gleam on my face soothing the tempestuous insides that seethe in a beautiful fury of emotions...Oh God, sometimes I wish I could die...so that beauty is the last thing before my eyes and on my mind.

Sometimes I wish I could do away with this irascible, interminable rage of mine that engulfs me and blurs my vision, sometimes I wish I could be beautiful and normal...and not so claustrophobic.

You fill up my senses
like a night in the forest
like the mountains in springtime,
like a walk in the rain
like a storm in the desert,
like a sleepy blue ocean
you fill up my senses,
come fill me again.

Come let me love you,
let me give my life to you
let me drown in your laughter,
let me die in your arms
let me lay down beside you,
let me always be with you
come let me love you,
come love me again.
-John Denver
I couldn't write anything better for you.

These days you can trsut nobody. Not even friends. My sister entrusted her money-purse to a long time friend of ours, Basu. And can you believe it...he stole Rs. 20 out of the poor trusting girl's purse! Fie on you Basu, fie!
Readers, if you know Basu or you don't (well now you do), don't trust him with your purse. Don't even keep them lying here and there...Basu's always on the prowl.
:D
Like it?

For every (wo)man every moment passes, each moment has a next moment to it, untill he dies.

Some people are built so differently, and neither parentage nor environment can be proclaimed responsible for that, their goodness is an innate quality, something they are born with, something they will die with...and sometimes we are fortunate enough to meet such people who would not be pointedly good but we get the point somehow and we are sad we aren't all that good, but we try nevertheless. Thank God for those few good (wo)men.

This is a piece of poetry I heard somewhere. Loved it. Can anyone tell me who wrote it?

Hawa boye shonshon
tara ra kanpe
hridoyeo ki jong dhore
purono khap e?

I offer no excuse for my randomness.

I ought to write something but I am suffering from a major writer's block. Can't write a thing. So I'm gonna take some time off.
By the way, Pujo's been good. But it came and went before I could blink and say 'floccinaucinihilipilification'. I think it's becaue you've been around.Thank you. You've made things so different and everything a shade brighter.
Shubho Bijaya!

Initially love excites, then it protects.

Rainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainarain...

I walked in the rain today.:D.Willingly(will have to pretend otherwise).
Loved it.
Loved it.
Loved it.
And when I was in the auto the tangential rain wet me thoroughly, and the plastic sheet that was being used as a rain-shield refused to comply with their (the auto-driver's and my co-passengers') wishes and flapped itself madly. Oh, I loved every moment of it. And through the rain-dotted windscreen I could see the sky, wrapped in grey and what seemed white in contrast approaching us.Erm...I felt downright romantic...and somewhat like a Bollywood masala movie heroine...And I was reminded of Sikkim...the wet afternoon, the softened, sad light,me feeling happy as can be...Sikkim is so breathtakingly beautiful!! Funny how almost everything reminds me of Sikkim. I'd give anything for another trip to Sikkim, but I don't think I ought to go back. It might spoil the charm, I might raise my expectations too much! I must write about Sikim sometime. Those green hils, those sinewy roads, the little bridge in Jorethang, the moonlight, Varsy top, Kanchenjunga in the white moonlight,the long, long trek...THOSE WERE THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE!!

NO! Kheyedeye mota howa does NOT top the chart of my priorities, thank you very much! whatever!

And if you find this post random, blame it on the rains.They upset my chemical balance everytime they pay me a visit. But hey, I'm not complaining.I am very very very happy...(till parents come to know of my complicity in the forbidden act).

Right now, I am torn between three options of relaxing myself-blogging, watching Norbit on HBO, lying on the bed in my dark room, the mixed sounds of raindrops hitting the pool and wet leaves rustling and rain hitting hard on the cemented courtyard and the window-pane, entering me. I chose blogging over the others though the last one allures me so badly that I might stop right in the middle of a post and head towards my room.

But I need to talk.

Words have an expurgating effect, like rain. An exorcising effect. Sometimes when you are frightened, oppressed by the tyranny of a ceratin thought that refuses to leave you in peace, try words. Words hurt, words heal...like time and rain...and friends and truth sometimes.

Truth has a strange nature. It hurts and yet truthfulness is a coveted virtue. And then again, truth is multi-faceted , many-layered and relative. I try sticking to the truth. I violate truth for my conveniences, to cover-up for my carelessness, my reluctance in co-operating with my parents on issues of food and medicine. And even that makes me feel guilty. But if it's for someone else's life, should I or should I not violate the truth, if need be? Even white lies are lies.

This is just a stupid and random post. So don't bother.

I walk back home. The short, narrow pot-holed path to my home seems longer than usual, my bag heavier. I'm fingering the straps of my book-laden bag about to split at the seams as I splash through puddles and get splashed by speeding cars with blinding headlights that don't care a thing about my existence. I sit looking out of the auto on my way back home. The wind slams on my face and I cringe. I gather the loose starnds of hair from my sweaty face and tuck them behind my ears. The bill-boards outside shine bright. The earplugs in my ears belt songs one after the other and I lose track. I study faces and search for faces on the windows of the high-rises. I like the fact that they are indistinguishable from this far, that they are tiny blotches of indistinct colours. I turn to look at my co-passenger. There isn't a pair of dark brown eyes,watching over my trance-like state, drinking in every minute change in my expressions. Every song makes me cry. I swallow my sudden urge to hold a hand and cry like a child like I swallow my words and put them to sleep.

Thank you all for loving me so much. Thank you for being there always.
Thank you for your love.
:)
I'm just plain happy. Touchwood.

Over the past few months, I have entered quite a number of phone-numbers in my mobile phonebook. No, I haven't made new friends. I have retained old ones. Many of my friends have shifted base. JU has become the university they used to study in, Kolkata, the place they'll return to , to spend their short vacations... perhaps or never at all. And I go on adding city names beside their names on my phonebook, entering their new phone-numbers, hoping they wouldn't become as alien as these new patterns of digits. It's hard to let go. It's harder to stay back and wait.

Ages since I got a letter! So send me a letter. You, if you will. Will you?
Your smile rubs the signs of sorrow off my face and you make me smile...just like magic!
Purity and bliss.
So smile and write me a letter.
:)

Yes, it hurts. It shouldn't but it does.

There's a little sad song inside me, that plays according to its whims and moods. It can start playing anywhere, anytime...on rainy nights,in moments of intense happiness,during lonely strolls in the terrace, while reading a beautiful poem...and I let it play.
My song has the melody of a pan-flute playing in the distant blue hils on which a scrim of silver mist descends when the orange in the sky deepens into a melancholic violet. I ride on the waves of its notes, plunge inside myself or surrender to a state of nebulousness and let the world fuse into me.
I like happy songs and love people who sing them for me. But no happy song could ever replace this little sad song that I have, the one I can never sing, the one that leaves my eyes moist and my throat aching, the one that will never fade away.

I really have nothing to write other than some very mundane facts and an overtly sentimental narrative and dried poempetals...which I will refrain from, for my sake and others'.
Incidentally this is my third attempt at writing a post today.
That's about it.
I am drained but not unhappy and hence not complaining.

You are walking slowly on a black road glistening with rain. At regular intervals yellow light from the tall streetlamps falls on the black road making it shine. A light drizzle touches your skin...amorously. The earphone plugged to your ears is belting out...'Dil se re'.
Suddenly you want to turn your face upwards and close your eyes and let the rain kiss your face gently. Suddenly you want to outstretch your arms and lose yourself. Suddenly you want to mingle your tears with the drops of rain running down you face.
Suddenly it feels like love.

June 2008 is the longest month ever!! It doesn't want to end! :(

Hey you three,
Chances are you guys will never even know I wrote this for you. But now that you all are going away and it'll be ages before I see you again, I just want to tell you I love you all...a lot. So a few lines to each of you.

Sayori- You are one person time will never make me forget. You and I met on the first day of college and stuck together for 3 years, saw a lot together, did a lot together, went through a lot together. We've had differences...glaring ones...but I have always had this feeling that deep down inside we are very alike...you are the worldly-wise, sensible, practical version of my emotional dreamer self...the person I could turn to when I lost my stuff ( admit cards and heart alike). If we were asked to choose from an array of letters you and I would pick up the same ones, make the same words and compose different sentences. You introduced me to Toni Morrison, ways of this world and JUPC. These three years have unravelled you to me little by little...and I know now how you feel what you feel and why you feel. I don't claim to like everything about you...but I understand your logic and your philosophies now, you have always been very sure of which. I haven't told you ever, you are a person with immense potential and I believe you have the right amount of ambition to do justice to it. Shine on Shy.I have so much to tell about you but words aren't the perfect medium. Love you.

Sayak- You are the brother I never had...my best friend, my confidante, my patient listener, my loving counsellor I can not even dare to imagine my days without you. You make me laugh. You irritate me to the point of insanity. You crib. You nag. You behave stupidly.But your philosophy about life amazes me, so do your sense of humour and your keen power of observation. You hardly have a word of praise for my writings but I am a fan of your poems. You have touched my life in a way few have. you are always, always, always there not only when I am down and out but when I am happy and rejoicing. There hasn't passed a day when we haven't fought but we always put them behind us don't we? There's only one thing to ask of you, now that you are going so far away...be my friend always.Love you Doggy.( don't even think of retorting!)

Arko- Hey Baba,you are simply wonderful! Did I ever tell you that? You can't expect me to, can you! what with our mock fights and your Rag-the madgirl motto! Thank God you haven't seen my "dispooted" blog. Thank God you don't search for updates here. Since you'll never stumble upon this blog of mine it's safe to disclose that I feel sad that we hadn't met earlier, I feel sad that you are going away, I feel terrible thinking about the Arkoless adda sessions that will follow and that there will be nobody to pull my leg and send me home fuming and seething. Will miss you horribly. Love you(grudgingly).

Here's to the three of you.
Love
sohini.

I had to write something! Anything! At times I think I suffer from hypergraphia...err...not quite...erm... may be an obssessive compulsive writing disorder...whatever!!!
Okay so I am drawing up the list of books I should read before my classes start again.

1. One hundred years of solitude.
2. My name is Red.
3. The journals of Sylvia Plath.
4. Three men in a boat.
5. The trial.
6. Julius caesar.
7. The Devil and Miss Prym.
8. Great Expectations.
9. Jao pakhi.
10. Duurbeen.

Chances are I'll never finish any of them. Argghhhh!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!
*DHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP*
AAAA ...AAAA...AAAA...AAAA.

No points for those of you that think that I am referring to the much-laughed and much publicised popular joke about the sound emitted by a freely falling body [read human being] being directly proportional to the height of fall.

Oh okay, I shall substantiate. Here's the joke for the uninitiated.
Case 1. person falling from the twelfth floor of a high-rise.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
curtailed by a resounding *DHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP*
[Note that *Dhup* is a very Bengali sound equivalent to the English *crashing sound*]


Case 2. Person falling from the first floor of any building.
*DHUUUUUUUUP*
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.


But none of these cases complement the sound image I have drawn at the beginning of my post.
I'll explain.
Let's divide the problem into three parts.

a)AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!
b)*DHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP*
c)AAA ...AAAA...AAAA...AAAA.


a)-That's my neighbour's obstinately rambunctious daughter shouting out in glee for God-forsaken reasons.
b)That's a resounding slap on her back imparted by one of her parents, I know not which.[ Thank God they sometimes feel disturbed and react savagely! Pity we can't react thus to them inspite of being disturbed always and unceasingly. Love thy neighbours indeed!!]
c)That's the child bawling.

Reason enough for another headache!!
On the same note: Some Paresh Rawal quotes are unutterably accurate for such moments as these!

To think that my most beautiful dream could come true so beautifully!!
Now I have a truly beautiful and a beautifully true dream, thanks to a wonderful magician.
:).

Words have changed. Meanings too. And the emotions they used to arouse.It's a different world now. I'm too starry-eyed to see if it's better or worse...perhaps it's just the same...only I have more courage to face it now, more confidence, more freedom. Touchwood! :)
And I'm nearly a graduate now.Touchwood! :)
There!! I am growing superstitious!

I have a little c in the middle of nowhere.It's only mine and for me only.I'm flying.

8 Things I am passionate about:

Love

Poetry

Friends andFamily

Psychology

Babies

Fashion-designing

Photography

Music

...not necessarily in that order, but love tops the chart.

8 Things I wanna do before I die:

Make my parents really happy.

Be a deservingly(I hope) famous poet.

Earn loads of money.

See to it that those bloody bastards who abuse little children and women get corporal punishments.

Make laws against spitting on road.

Be happy and in love.

Make it up with people I've hurt, intentionally or unintentionally.

Make proper human beings out of my children.(heh heh)

8 Things I say often

Awww!!

Hyaan Hyaan!

Bloody hell!

yay!!

But that's not fair!

DUH!!

HUH!!

Puchithang.

8 Books I have read recently:

Persuasion

The Alchemist

If you are afraid of heights.

Fire on the mountains.

The Outsider

A street car named desire

Three plays:Eugene O'neil.

Loitering with Intent.

8 Songs I could Listen to over and over again:

Ami Srabon akashe oi diyechhi paati.

Aji godhuli logone ei badol gogone.

Hridoy aamr prokash holo ananto akashe.

Ogo tumi ponchodoshi.

Aji tomay abar chai shonabare je katha shunayechhi baarebaare.

Annie's song

Mera jahaan.

Tu hi re.

(There are so many more. Rabindrasangeet mainly, and songs by Rahman)

8 Things that attract me about my best friends:

Simplicity.

Innocence.

Unconditional love.

Will be there for you, anytime, anywhere- attitude.

Genuine concern.

Non-stop paglami and baje boka.

Understanding each other without having to say things out aloud.

Being different without having differences.

8 People who should do this tag:

Sree

Basu

Honey

Indra

Ashu

Anurima

Deya

Bunky.

Tag

Inihos tagged me. I tag none. Here goes.

1.LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER: Kalpurush. Please don't watch it.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?- My Name Is Red

3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? err...Ludo? Chess is good but I never win.

4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Graphiti. Nothing in particular really.

5. FAVORITE SMELLS? Old books, Napthalene, Freshly painted doors, knacha aam, babar gaayer gondho.

6. FAVORITE SOUND? My name being called out by loved ones.

7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Feeling that you are mediocre.

8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE? Fragmented dreams.

9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE? Roadside junk food stalls.

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? .Child? I was planning to have children!

11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT. "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I'D end up with no money at all within a few days.

12.DO YOU DRIVE FAST? I drive people crazy pretty fast.

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Yeah. Two teddy bears and a doggy.

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY? Sublimely beautiful.

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? Never had one, not even as a child.

16. FAVORITE DRINK? Water, sprite, nimbupaani.

17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD be the same old procrastinator.

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI? What? why? how? where?

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE? Burgundy.

20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN. Beldanga, Kolkata.

21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?, Tennis, Spelling Bee.

22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU. Bright as a flame.

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? makorshar jaal ar jhhul.

24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN? Yes, a little more practical perhaps.

25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL? Night owl.

26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP? eh?

27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX? I think it's all in the mind.

28. FAVORITE PIE? None.

29. FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Vanilla.

30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST? None.

I search for a soul-stirring emotion... an incident, a word, a glance, a touch that would induce it. Sometimes I need something to shake me into being...to help me comprehend that I'm alive.
Winter rain is more welcome, I think, unlike summer rain which comes only to exculpate so many...winter rain is more personal, whimsical, without a reason, more me.

One can not fall in love with perfection, but when in love, one considers oneself , the love and the loved one to be perfect.
True love will always be imperfect, rife with flaws and utterly human.

Entirely my opinion, anyone is free to unsubscribe.

Sometimes it so happens that a song or a tune or even a word catches hold of my attention and refuses to let go. It keeps on playing inside my head and sometimes becomes synonymous with my perception and conception of beauty. So has happened with this Rabindrasangeet that I was singing in the evening today. Though I have sung it many times before, the song in all it's beauty surrendered to me only this evening. I have made an attempt to translate it, keeping to the translation word-by-word method, because translating Tagore by the sense of his song is beyond me,I humbly admit.

Deep nibhe gechhe momo nishithosameer e

Dheere dheere eshe tumi jeo na go fire.

E pothe jokhon jabe aandhaare chinite pabe

Rajanigandhaar gondho bhorechhe mandir e.

Amare poribe mone kokhon shey laagi

Prohore prohore ami gaan geye jaagi

Bhoy pachhe shesh raat e

ghum ashe aankhi paat e

Klanto kontthe mor sur furaay jodi re.

here follows my translation

My lamp has extinguished, in the nightly breeze.

Quietly you tread, in soft unheard steps.

O do not turn back and walk away!

When you walk this path, in the darkness of night

By the fragrance of rajanigandha

In the temples by the roadside

You shall know I am near.

I wait for you to remember me,

I keep awake, singing the hours away.

But a fear haunts me…

Slumber might steal into my eyes

Late in the night,

The song might cease upon my weary lips.

Quietly you tread, in soft unheard steps.

O do not turn back and walk away!

Underneath the brown skin and white bones, there is somebody else, somebody who's always awake and watching. She speaks too. How do I reach out to her? How do I turn my back on the outside and reach inside?

I add another to my list of desires.
I want to stroll on a small-ish railway platform of an obscure little village, milky white in a half-moon's light, looking up towards a star-spangled clear sky, a breeze through my hair and a distant song in my ears!

It's a blue day!

Themadgirlobserves:

Love has two types.

One is silent,apparently quiescent, soft-footed, beautiful as the twilight, a trifle sad,assuring as the darkness of the night, purifying as the first drops of summer rain,pure as a child's smile,serene as a dolpurnimar chand,safe but passionate all the same and always, always there!Dhruvatara r moton.



The other kind is eloquent, sure as the morning sun,intense,passionate in the conventional sense,makes its absence felt ,also its presence,scorching as mid-noon but just as purifying,dazzling as laughter,kalbaisakhi,makes one lose directions, as ultimate as death and just as true.

Both types are what legends are made of and tragedies too.

In another 17 minutes she turns a year older and I grow with her. Happy Birthday Maa.

Kal amar screen jure megh korechhilo.
Sondhyebelaay chomotkar brishti hoyechhilo. besh ektu bhijeochhilam.

WHATEVER!! I break my promise, take back my words, whatever!
Some people are such pseudos. Such know-it-all megalomaniacs!! I detest them! And detest them more when I have to be all smiles and politeness incarnate while they indulge in endless braggadocio! ARGHHHHH!!
And I wanted to write about something I observed. Something really interesting. But that shan't happen now!
Raag dhore gelo!

I won't be proud anymore nor critical of others, I promise.

Another of my songs!

Bavra Mann Dekhne Chala Ek sapna.

Bavre Se Mann, Ki Dekho Bavri Hain Baatein
Bavri Se Dhadkaane Hain, Bavri Hain Saansen
Bavri Si Karwaton Se, Nindiya Door Bhaage
Bavre Se Nain Chaahe, Bavre Jharokhon Se, Bavre Nazaron Ko Takna.
Bavra Mann Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna

Bavre Se Is Jahan Main Bavra Ek Saath Ho
Is Sayani Bheed Main Bas Haathon Mein Tera Haath Ho
Bavri Si Dhun Ho Koi, Bavra Ek Raag Ho
Bavre Se Pair Chahen, Baavron Tarano Ke, Bavre Se Bol Pe Thirakna.
Bavra Mann, Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna

Bavra Sa Ho Andhera, Bavri Khamoshiyan
Thartharati Low Ho Maddham, Bavri Madhoshiyan
Bavra Ek Ghooghta Chahe, Haule Haule Bin Bataye, Bavre Se Mukhde Se Sarakana,
Bavra Mann, Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna

Sohini, my true namesake and Bedtari, the brilliant critic tagged me. So here's my take on the alphabet.
A-Annie's song! It makes me come alive. Also 'A little sweet, a little sour'
B-Best. There's no need for an explanation.
C-Cry-baby. Tears flood my eyes at the slightest provocation. Childhood. I'm still living it.
D-Death. Dreams.
E-Endlessness. Eyes...something I obsess about.
F- Freedom from everything small and petty. Friendship!
G- Good in red...something I'd look forward to everytime the teacher returned the answer paper.
H- Honesty, my strength. Holden Caulfield. Hope.
I-Imagination.
J-Journey. Jorethang. JML-for the uninitiated, just my luck. JUDE. JUPC.
K-Kabir Durrani, the suitable boy. Koala.
L-Love.Anyday.Anywhere.Anytime.
M-Maa. Mind. Moon.Music.
N-Night.
O-Oishee, my 3 yr old niece.
P- Poetry. Plath.
Q-Questions! I ask a lot of them.
R-Reason. That's why I ask somany questions in the first place. Red, my colour. Rain.
S-Sohini...love my name and his too. Surrealism.
T-Tears.
U-University, my little universe.
V-Virus. Heh heh heh!!
W-Wanderlust!Writing.
X-Xerox and X-ray. I always wrongly substitute one for the other.
Y-Yay! :D
Z-Zenith.
I tag clouds, Honey, Basu, Sree and Anurima.
I had forgotten to write W. Freudian, you say?Thanks Sree.

I try impressing faces onto my memory, faces of strangers, somebody I select from the faceless crowd. I have a bad memory. I want to remember faces...when I close my eyes I want to be able to create a face in its perfection, in its perfect details. I fail, almost everytime I try.
On a completely different note, even pseudos love being with genuine people. Or do they feel inferior and hence intimidated? And if they don't feel intimidated does that mean they are not pseudos?

I had a flattering dream today morning.
Somebody I am very fond of told me "you are as beautiful as the last two days of a long vacation before my classes start again in early april when I happen to have my birthday as well".
I have never received such a BEAUTIFUL compliment!
I wish the person meant it!

There are so many fears!
Fears of losing,failing, falling, getting hurt,expecting,breaking down, or walking in a circular path.
I wish I were immune to all.

The breeze was beautiful, caressing my sore heat-dry skin. The night was young. Tiny drops of rain fell about me, making little dark spots on my red t-shirt and countless little diamonds on my bare skin which glistened in the plastic yellow light of the sentry-like lamp-posts lining the walk.
Music was melting into my blood and I wanted to fly (it would not have been an extra-ordinary feat for the wind to perform, given my negligible mass) and I wanted to spread my arms and feel the purifying water on my face purging all sense of guilt or sin away. Rain has always meant something very pure, something that has an exculpating effect and was I glad when I came to know that Eliot thought the same too!!
The moon does things to me. I suppose I could lie on my back and drink the tranquil, pristine moonlight for an eternity in which neither I shall rise nor the moon shall set. Storms do things to me. They set me free. I admire their outburst. A black cloud-laden sky and the first drops of rain! When I was young I took great pride in the fact that Rabindranath loved barsha and I did too.
Rain does things to me. Whether it's the sound of water droplets falling thick and fast on a tin-shed or a busy road, where for once some other sound rises above the honks and screeches of murderous vehicles, or the musical pitter-patter of raindrops on a water body or submitting myself to an almost abusive torrent of rainfall, I love it all. I love the wetnes in the grass, the moisture in the air, the resonance of a silent rain-song.
The only thing I dislike is the smell of wet earth, which many make much of, and which always makes me nauseous.
That's all folks!

Way back in school I used to write fictitious essays on ' a day when everything went wrong' and I would tax my brain to incorporate every possible 'wrong thing' that could possibly have occurred in that essay.

I will write a similar but realistic essay today. It won't be an essay because when so many wrongs happen in a day you aren't left with enough energy or enthusiasm or even the frame of mind to write an essay.

I am attempting to write this post because I need to vent my frustration. Yeah as simple as that!

1. I wake up not so late but manage to sprain my toe just before going out for the day. It didn't hurt much back then. Now it does!

2. Somehow my auto got one of its tyres punctured.

3. Had to read an abominably bad poem by a supposedly lesbian Victorian aunt-niece combo. I have no clue who wrote what!

4. Was too lazy to get my resume' printed in time.

5. Wasted 60 bucks on eight instant photographs where I look like a 'raagi goruchor'.

6. Cannot find the negative of the one photograph of mine that got selected. What's worse is that I know I'll find it as soon as everything gets over.

7. Got a severe blasting from a friend.

8.Am so sleepy that my eyes hurt. But I have to stay up and make my silly mind up.

Not everything is as bad though. Scored decent marks in two of the class tests that I wrote and was apprehensive of. PLEASE!! I need that negative!

At this moment, everything has gone haywire. I am trying to comprehend and stay indifferent.
Funny! Nothing actually has gone wrong. I think I get a kick out of being crazy.
tumhara intezaar hai, tum pukaar lo. Such a beautiful song!

I am not a good person.
Agree if you will, do not contradict.

I watched evening descend on the busy city. The orange sky turned purple and the tall streetlamps came to life. The reflections on the jheel became darker and graver. The shadows started growing taller and finally faded away into invisibility.
There couldn't be a better ending to a lovely day!

I'm alive. Walking straight. Laughing.
Like I wasn't supposed to!
Had fun today! Had a gloomy phase and a gloomy face.
People are falling in love. dhupdhap dhupdhap. Poor my friends, I always bump into them when I'm not supposed to.
There's insanity in the air. It makes me want to cry and dance and float in the air.
If it sounds incoherent, nothing doing. :-). Sometimes I love being rude.

Picnic was good. Great fun! So much so that I'm terribly tired. But happy.
My family's complete! And each one has a song. We shall contrive the complications soon.

I've had a haircut!
I'm looking good, I think. So says Mom. So says Dad. So says sis...but manages to quip in...this is too short!
I'm not looking good, I think. All my friends stared at me! Goggled at me! Gaped at me till I squirmed and they shouted 'why???', not in unison. One after the other.
One said you look like Tom Sawyer.
One said you look like a school kid. [sadly, I always do]
One said you look like a kukurchhana (puppy).
One said, in reply to the earlier mentioned, how could you be as rude as that?
One said, note that it is NOT 'how could you be as false as that'.
One said wow you have had a haircut! great!
One said this suits you best [ do not think the person mentioned is being nice. it is another way of saying you are a kid and this kid-style haircut suits you best]
One said ki je toder basona bujhhina (I cannot fathom your desires)
Okay!! Enough.
I have decided. I look good in this new, very short hairstyle of mine. Period!
Readers, if any, you better agree!
:-)

Go and catch a falling star!
Yeah that's about it!
*cryptic smile*

Today was an uneventful day...if the plotting and planting of the family tree is not taken into consideration and I was happy and sad, chirpy and silent, crazy and sober all within the span of a few minutes.
These teenager like mood swings!
On a completely different note, there's no one like you B! Never will be.

Of f*ux p*s *nd friends.

This is my first post in this person*l blog of mine where I c*n be m*d, politic*lly incorrect *nd even gr*mmatic*lly incorrect. I c*n flout *ll rules of the English l*ngu*ge *nd freely slip from l*ngu*ge to l*ngu*ge without being pen*lised.
Yippee!! Tot*l freedom t*stes good. So does being in my own shoes for * while.
So I decide to do *w*y with * p*rticul*r letter tod*y.
I m*de * m*jor f*ux p*s when *fter * quick reflection I fin*lly decl*red peremptorily th*t the sc*ntily cl*d cricket field th*t we were *mbling through h*d * different bound*ry for sixers!
DONTSMIRKLEMMESPE*K!!
I LOVE CRICKET!!
I KNOW EVERYTHING...erm ok*y not quite evrything but quite * lot *bout the g*me. HMMPHH!!!
Im*gine the ignominy of he*ring this st*tement of yours being repe*tedly repe*ted to every individu*l in the group inspite of the f*ct th*t he/she h*d he*rd you s*y those words you wish your lips h*d never *rticul*ted, *nd then to those unfortun*te very close friends who h*dn't h*d the chance to h*ve the first h*nd experince , then to common friends who go h*w h*w h*w clutching their tummies *s if they never he*rd * funnier line, *nd then to scores of close friends who don't even know you only to p*ss * hypothesis on girls *nd their cricket br*ins! [D*rn! I h*te MB], *nd fin*lly my blunder *tt*ins the st*tus of * legend*ry one *nd my n*me goes down in the voluminous volume of 'legend*ry fa*x p*s'.
*nd I won't h*ve people e*vesdropping when I *sk my mom perfectly norm*l questions on the phone *nd l*ter be te*sed mercilessly for no *pp*rent re*son!!
*nd I won't drink w*ter overdosed with zeoline *nd feel like I h*ve ble*ching powder in my mouth!! YUCK!!
*nd I won't have my v*nill*-str*wberry softy s*crificed to serve *s the guine* pig to the m*r*ttok experiments conducted by * horde of d*ngerously cre*tive culin*ry *rtists, fusion being their w*tchword. *nd I won't h*ve my icecre*m licked *nd gobbled up while I munch on the miy*no w*fer.

But without * second thought, I would h*ve *ll those *nd more bec*use I completely, cr*zily love the people who do those. They m*ke my d*ys fun filled *nd nights full of h*ppy dre*ms.
Love you *ll!!!