Seems I was so disturbed by that morbid show I didn't even notice what it's called. It's called Raaz Pichhle Janam Ki and not kahani purvajanam ki. Ekta kapoor hangover. I should go and die. or may be I should go to that show , get analysed and find out why I am neither tall nor pretty. Perturbs me big time. I'm serious.

P.S.-Since he won't read my blog, it's safe to disclose that Sounak is a worse badminton player than I am.:). Readers,believe me.

Mixed bag

As is normal with me, I have been putting off writing on this blog [spellcheck wants me to change it into glob] though stories, anecdotes and emotions have been piling up inside me, not out of sheer laziness but on the contrary because of my preoccupation with other stuff such as studying,which is not normal with me. So anyway once again this post is doomed to be a mocktale of a number of unconnected events, feelings and opinions which I shall try to concoct while racking my brain frantically for witty comments and hard words.

And that brings to mind by what one would like to call reflex action a professor's wonderfully witty comments about how one should use as many hard words as one can, when young, because one is doomed to forget them later anyway and seeing that the pleasure of using hard words just for the sake of using hard words is comparable to that of having sex for sex's sake, one ought to have a fair share of it early in life. So we laughed gaily for a while today.

Okay so, 3 days into the new semester and I have started studying. Hard to believe as that is, even for me, it's true. And it felt good, to say the truth. Though I'm a little scared I am turning into a nerd, who loves studying just for the sake of it, dreams high, but aims nowhere. So be it. If only I could go on studying all my life. Oh God! that sound horribly nerdy doesn't it? I switch topics.

So Jyoti Basu is grievously ill. And he has been grievously ill before, and has always recuperated steadily and gone back home to celebrate yet another birthday. He's not 95 for nothing . So I hadn't paid much attention to his being sick now. And then this afternoon we heard he was dead. And we checked a blog which mourned his death. We are an unfeeling bunch, we are! [Sadly I'm not even too sad about that. I'm sure we can all be sad when it's really time to be sad.] We were more concerned with the speculation on whether the next day would be declared a holiday . I think I felt a little bad for him- Poor old man! He died...that way. Because all through my growing years I had heard not really pleasant things about the man and being as uninterested in Politics as I am (shamefacedly) I never bothered to clarify unbiasedly .By the time I left for home, all of us were sure the former chief minister of Bengal had secured us at least one holiday. Back at home the TV channels confirmed otherwise. It was a nasty rumour! Nasty indeed it was! Besides killing a dying old man before his time, it had deluded us into a happily tranquil state that is only possible to attain when one gets a sudden holiday in the middle of the week, the cause notwithstanding.

Buk bhora asha dhuk kore nibhe jaoa and all that!

I played badminton after ages yesterday! Lost both sets, but not without a fight! However puny my stature, however diminutive my frame I put up a fight yes![Not that it helped much, my opponents helped me better] And now

My right arm aches

My right hand aches

My back aches

My right leg aches

My left leg aches.

But I love the ache!! It makes me happy.

I admit kahani Purvajanam ki is a show that spooks me. I cannot entirely disbelieve it, nor can I accept it wholly. Mostly the stories are traumatic and the analyseds seem to be suffering during the process which makes it all the more difficult for me to dismiss them as complicit in the TRP boosting conspiracy, if there is any. It seems to be an irrational, illogical void. I myself sort of believe in birth-cycles whether instinctively or otherwise.Or may be only to dissuade myself from thinking too much about Death, which I already obsess about, to the point of morbidity. When I was young I had a belief that I was a female trapeze performer.Whether it was an original imagination- using the term in the sense of its image-forming aspect- or I had appropriated it from a story book is a question my memory can not be trusted to answer faithfully. But the show is about death and strange coincidences and it disturbs me no end.

Tunna is recharged by sucking her tiny little thumb. Tunna says the sweetest 'ta-ta' ever. Tunna is the naughtiest baby ever. Also the petukest ever. I am her fan. But she'll grow up soon.:(

Some days I feel so full of love that I find two perfectly ordinary men speaking to each other a lovely sight!

Old people without teeth look amazingly cute. I do not mean to be unfeeling.

Oh, and May seems so much nearer from this side of 2009. May is a nice month.:) Much better than August.

Emosonal atyachar?

Goodnight.

A man came today and took away the monitor of our computer. Something had happened to the picture tube. The screen would suddenly blinker, grow darker and then fade. White bands would dissect the screen-white lines whiter than the snow-blanket clad farm of mine on Facebook. And Baba said it was time we got rid of the old monitor and got a bigger, better, flatter, snazzier one. I couldn't wait for the new monitor to arrive. But when the man came today, in a rather modest attire, it was so sudden and I was so unprepared that I dismissed him as the grocery man. Probably I thought that the chic monitor demanded a more stylish man. And suddenly I felt bad for my old monitor, that had been with us since we were in the 12th standard. I helped the man detach and disentangle its cords. He set the new one up, had a cup of tea and left, with the other one packed inside a cardboard box. I'll forget about it in a couple of days, I'm sure. But now the computer table seems wider, the picture on the screen more distinct, bigger. The result is better no doubt but I have this tiny clot inside that refuses to let me feel happy and agree whole-heartedly with Baba when he praises the new monitor. Weird sentimentalism for something I didn't even pay much attention to when it was there. Strangely I don't feel the same way about this year which will be cast away to give place to the first year of the new deacde in less than four hours. This year has taught me a lot. It has made me grow up. Which is why perhaps I am not quite half as sentimental about it. Anyway Happy New year to all of you out there. May you miss 2010 on the eve of 2011.

Fragility, is another name for life.

And death is the darkness at the other end of the tunnel of life, not all parts of which are illuminated with equal brightness-some parts may be darker than what awaits the end of the passage.

Years, fly a little slow. Let me yet touch my childhood without straining my outstretched fingers. Childhood,do not yet die. Memories, do not slip like silk from my clutch. Dreams, hold on a little longer. Weariness, delay a little on your way.

Why am I this morbid?

*Thunks head on poor wall*

The Rhododendron sanctuary in Hilley, when the trees are in full bloom, looks heavenly I've been told and I must visit Jorethang once more. For as long as I live, Jorethang will never leave my dreams.

I desperately need someone, something or some event to make me happy and keep me happy till I do not itch to plunge head down into a pool of wallowing sorrow, and monkharapkora again. Making me laugh for an hour or so counts, but I want something bigger and better and longer than that. Oishee isn't here to make things better. And even when she does make a fleeting appearance, the 'fleetingness' takes the joy of seeing her away and the moment of genuine joy passes hurriedly. I never thought one person could make such a huge difference.

Alone in a crowd. Only books sustain me.

Anyway, people have been complaining about my morbidity. Rightly so too! God! Had my writings been someone else's and not mine, I'd have definitely winced at the high morbidity quotient. Then again, I might not have. Most people find Plath morbid and I adore her. Positively worship her. However that isn't a case that furthers my argument. Morbidity minus genius is painful. Poor you few, rare, hapless readers!

Networking sites disgust me! Or is it really because I interact little with the hyperactive networkers and am generally ignored, rarely gathering comments or appreciations? The 'in-crowd' repels me, probably because I don't belong there. Gossipmongers irritate me and drive me into a shell. And I have serious issues against back-biting, spinelessnes, backstabbing and smoke.

Presumably I'm not having the best time of my life because inspite of being short-sighted as I am and happy to be happy (though this post wouls suggest to the contrary), I can see my faults too. And trust me life isn't easy when you can see your faults and become painfully aware of

your shortcomings.

I suppose I've got to work on myself. Thank God, you are still there despite me being as I am.

Bon Voyage

July this year was the shortest ever. So were these one and something years. Shorter than a day.You have been wonderful. :). Best of luck. And lots of love (more than this expression expresses). We'll do fine, D'uh.

p.s. I'll call you when I lose my way, and when I'm very happy, and when I'm terribly upset, and when I'm buying something for somebody,and when I've written anything new, and whenever I want to, and whenever you want me to, and even whenever you haven't told me so. you, I know will do the same and more.

Little glimpses of hell in a masquerade. I have lost my way and do not know how to sail through. Masks never remain constant. They change faces. Just when you think you've grown used to a face and started holding on to it as if it were the only branch however weak and tiny, on that barren crag you are hanging from...it changes its contours. People moult too. I don't know the ones around me. They have all moulted. Where do I run?

shob chhere palate ichhe korchhe. So tired.