"You either die a hero.....

....or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain. "

I guess he chose the former.

For once, let's just not talk. Useless words anyways.

Bhenge mor ghorer chaabi niye jaabi ke amare.

There was dust, and there was light. Moonbeams, yes. And lots of rain. Lots and lots of rain. Drenched clothes and drenched hair. And a soggy, clingy me. There was greyness. And blueness. And a general redness on the roads. There was candlelight like melted butter, groggy mornings and groggier car-rides. Drunken midnights and random, insane conversations. Rabindrasangeet had rarely made as much sense.

Shantiniketan was grey. Like Kopai. And Red. Like the roads. And Blue. Like the sky. And Yellow. Like the candles. And Black. Like the rickshaw-ride. And Fiery. Like the fireflies. And orange. Like the bauls. And heartwrenchingly, mesmerisingly beautiful.

Sometimes, you don't hanker for more,

You take what you can, and let the rest be. :)

Because, as there was shouting and singing, hugging and sleeping, eating and drinking, and generally breathtaking living - a tiny bit of magic floating aimlessly around the world finally found a foothold and settled down over eight motley people and a little, red-laned countryside.

"Betrayals in war are childlike compared with the betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For their heart is an organ of fire".

- The English Patient.

Mone holo tai.

1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER?
Bhoothnaath. Mediocrity is even worse than being out and out trashy.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?
The Light Fantastic - Terry Pratchett.
Reading Lolita in Teheran - Azhar Nafisi.

3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
Scrabble, Ludo, Snakes and Ladders. I am basically a board game person. Come play.

4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE?
Reader's Digest, Desh. Once, when angels sprouted wings, it used to be Anandamela.

5. FAVORITE SMELLS?
The usual ones - air before storm, air after storm, topshe maachh bhaja, biriyani, new books. And certain people.

6. FAVORITE SOUND?
Generally all the sounds I produce. From screeches to thumpings. And the Pother Panchali soundtrack.

7.WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?
Betrayal. Have had it too often. *shudders*

8.FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP?
Another half-an-hour? Please?

9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?
Tibetan Delights, the Chhole-bhature place near New Empire, Cakes.

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME?
Nokuldana.

11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT.
If I had a lot of money I would....daydream less about 'ungettable' objects.

12.DO YOU DRIVE FAST?
Can't. Pity though.


13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
Kolbalish counts?

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY?
Cool! Obviously!

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
Can't drive a car. Can't ride a bicycle. Was not a toy-car person as a kid. Complete transport-retard.

16. FAVORITE DRINK?
Screwdriver, Jaljeera.

17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT,"IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD...
Heal.

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI?
No broccoli for me, thank you.

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE?
Pink? For the shock value?

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

21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Cricket when it's not being stuck-up and boring. Football, when underrated teams fight it out.

22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU.
We have had our tiffs. But amazingly, have always ended up as friends. :P

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
Dust. A cricket bat.

24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN?
Yes. But taller. And bolder.

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

26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP?
Sunny side up.

27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX?
The Ledge, The bed, The head.

28. FAVORITE PIE?
Chocolate.

29.FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?
Cookies and cream. Also, butterscotch, and the weird orange, fruity thingy I had once.

Kotoi rongo dekhi duniyay.

The ridiculousness and deceit of it all is making me sick now.

Because it is raining cats and dogs at 2 in the morning, and because Joan Baez chooses this moment to talk about rust and diamonds.

With rain on my face and rain on my bed, I need just one phone call to melt myself.

I know I shall repent, resent this post tomorrow morning. However, for tonight, let me pretend that the girl on the lampshade will keep you unharmed.

Random mushy-angsty-pretentious half-tag I did because this is my blog and I can. Ok?

10 things you wish you could say to people. (Don't take names)

1. Now that I have realized that the numerous conversations were completely meaningless and pointless, would you mind explaining why you had them in the first place?
p.s. And please do get an eyesight soon. Blind so young is not an option.

2. Twirled me around your pretty little finger and made me dance, didn't you? I admit I was young and exceedingly stupid, but at the end of the day, you turned out to be one of the biggest jerks I have ever met.

3. Stop with the wise retorts. How insecure do you have to be to come up with this as a defence mechanism?

4. The days of self-induced martyrdom are SOOOO over. Are you angry because people are not falling at your feet or are you angry because people saw through your veneer? I mean, how mean do you have to be to do what you did?

5. I really like you. I wish I had the balls to pursue the gut feeling. But because I can't, I won't whine. And by the way, do sort out the mess that is your (non!?) relationship.

6. I admire you and love you. But sometimes, you scare the s*** out of me.

7. I think you are extremely intelligent. But I also think you are easily flattered and misguided. Your coldness terrifies me. There's no life in those eyes, if you know what I mean.

8. You are a nice guy. Why are you best friends with such stupid and messy people?

9. Don't try to act snooty. I can see right through the act that is you and your fake intellect. You are stupid. Really. And please DO NOT try to imitate me. It is scary and I don't like it. And after a point of time it gets irritating.
p.s. And while I am at it, if you are really such a big Potter-Pratchett fan, why do you shy away from any discussion I try to have about them? Go on, tell me who Lord Vetinari is. Do!
p.p.s. And please don't google.

10. You are so frustrated that it's not funny. (Not the sexual kind of frustration though). You are also pretentious AND backboneless. I have a bad hunch that you are gonna die unhappy.

Writing stupid articles means a little self-sufficiency during the beginning of each month. And sometimes, that random book for bhai or that pretty little cell-phone-pouch for didimoni.

The old house, however, is practically coming apart at the seams. The two old people cling to each other, and cling to the house, and cling to the past which is so dead, that it crumbles if you touch. And steadfastly, they refuse to move. So they get to see bhai and maa and me a few times a week. And the days we don't go, they get to see the past which comes for a quick visit and a cup of tea, but stays forever as an unwelcome guest.

So, this week, I get them icecream. One snowy haired face grins in toothless glee, while another pair of short sighted eyes gleam at the butterscotch. And so they smile, and they eat. And I sit there, as they gulp it down. Ask if they want second helpings. And didimoni, at last, manages to convey that she hadn't had icecream in over a year. The children provide the fish and the rice. And the medicines and the daily routine phonecalls. And the sarees and the vests. And the fridges and the airconditioners. And the caretakers and the drivers. But no one remembers the Banchharamer lyangcha or the piping hot Amriti which came in their dreams. There is no one to read aloud Sharatchandra to dadumoni any more. People don't care. Or remember. And I am being completely hypocritical here because for a few days, neither did I.

I give her the second scoop of icecream and watch her gulp it down as if it would disappear. And as I see her scrape in the last spoonful in a shadowy room with 3 people and 300 ghosts from the past, the bloody lump-in-throat wouldn't go away.

Screw the snazzy lights. I am going back home.

How many you have?

1. Satyajit Ray.
2. Satyajit Ray.
3.Marlon Brando.
4. Johnny Cash.
5. Che Guevera.
6. Al Pacino.
7. Bob Dylan.
8. Wasim Akram.
9. Pablo Neruda.
10. Gregory Peck.
11. Did I mention Ray?
12. Roger Federer.
13. Denzel Washington.
14. Neil Gaiman.
15. Rahul Khanna.
16. Rahul Bose.
17. Zaheer Khan.
18. Neil Nitin Mukesh.
19. Kunal Kapoor.
20. Hrithik Roshan.
21. Hugh Laurie.
22. Matthew Perry.
23. George Clooney.
24. Steve Waugh.
25. Gael Garcia Bernal.
26. Antonio Banderas.
27. Anthony Hopkins.
28. Siddharth Suryanarayan.
29. Tom Hanks.
30. I didn't forget Ray, right?

It is a long list. But the longer the wishlist, the larger the possibility of at least one coming true! :P

Pnochishe boishakh.

Thank you. For this.

Happy Birthday.

To the love of my life.

Wistful.

"And what did the Princess do after the Knight rescued her from the tower?

Why, she rescued him right back."

I'll be there for you.

They were there for me all right. Because this was what kept me sane all through the hell that was last week. This, and the prospect of certain binges at saat-tola once the ordeal got over.

I would study for an hour, feel all moronic and give myself a little treat in the form of one episode. And then I would get all happy because I was DEFINITELY smarter than the Tribbiani guy.

My greatest fear is desertion.

Realisation: Post SKC

Welcome to the land of the stupid and ignorant.
Inhabitant number: 1.
Me.

Lala.

Of all the things I have given up half-way through, I miss this the most.
Shit. Sometimes, you just have to be that much stronger to hold on to love.

This is it, though. After semesters I am joining classes again.
It's time to go back home.

When the quill stops spinning words, tags are a certain path to mindless blabberings. Therefore, thankee Suddha, and a resounding * ruffle ruffle ruffle ruffle *.
It is technical, really. Answering a few mindless questions can be startling in their revelations. Anyways, here goes -

Life ten years ago....
.....was simple. That's it, really. It more or less sums up my entire 10 year old existence then. It is amazing that if I look hard, I can still find pretty much the same girl staring at me from the mirror now.Life, apart from the humongous mamar biye which happened that year, consisted of books and dance. And endless conversations with erstwhile best friend. It was insane, the number of books I devoured. I was reading while I ate, I was reading while I was supposed to study - heck, I was even reading in dance class one day. Lonely afternoons took on a magical quality as I embarked upon my quest of books. Dusty bookshelves in dim corridors were finally reachable (because I had figured out where the keys were kept). Jane Austen and Walter Scott. Jawaharlal Nehru and Charlie Chaplin. Sharadindu and Bonophool. I was encountering all. And though I didn't know then, the habit which I cultivated at that time, has saved me a LOT of sadness these 10 years. Give me a good book, and even today, heartbreak and disillutionment can go take a hike while I switch off reality at my own free will.
I was discovering Agatha Christie, Mikhail Sholokov, Mohasthobir Jatok, Bibhutibhushan Mukhopadhyay (Ponur Chithi, Borjatri anyone?) and loving it. I was learning Bharatnatyam, and hating it (the teacher beat me up one day, and I never quite got over the trauma. Even today, when Manipuri finally offers the much-needed solace, Bharatnatyam still haunts). My road to nowhere was beginning to get away from Malory Towers and winding through St. Mary's Mead. There was a 3 year old brother who had just started on his lifelong journey of B-torturing. There was a brand new mamima to talk to and gaze at. Captain Planet was of course the person whom everybody wanted. The three fingered Fred and his Wilma occupied many a solitary afternoon. And, being the class monitor was the greatest ambition in life. Titanic happened. And with it, the falling in love with Leonardo DiCaprio. For more than a month, I breathed Jack Dawson in everything I did. Scrapbooks were made and bizarre phone bills notched up while talking about this blond-haired, blue eyed dessert of a man. The quickening of pulse, the rush of blood. Ah, the first love is always always special. And then, of course, there was Benares. Lonely evenings spent listening to the gurgling of humanity on the Ghaat steps. And the winding gullees of Godhulia. And the BHU campus on Baba's scooter. Oh, and if you are interested, the growing realization about the birds and the bees.
But then, one ripe morning of 1998, I watched this. And discovered that there was more to a certain tall man than Feluda, Shonku and GuGaBaBa. Life, as I knew it, would never be the same again.


Life five years ago.....
....was good. It was the year of the dreaded Madhyamik. The birthday sucked. Because I celebrated my turning 15 by writing a maths exam. 2003 was the year of the renewal of the first crush. This was way more serious than the first love, because the crush actually existed. It was the year when P got herself a boyfriend, and I finally thought myself to be grown-up enough. 2003 was the year of turbulance. Board results were good. And I wanted to study Arts. The thumbrule of "good results = science" was ruthlessly ignored. Thus, angering most. Finally, a compromise was reached. Statistics and Mathematics were taken up - to harrass me throughout the next 2 years. I got an 88% in my first boards, and promptly flunked the first mathematics exam in class 11. CLT was happening. And dance was making a lot of sense. There were a newer set of friends, and endless rehearsals. Sweaty, itchy, thirsty twirls on stage. The pen flowed freely. And Statesman was a big thing. There was the coordinators card which opened the gates to freedom. Sunil Ganguly and Sandip Ray, and an endless stream of write-ups which, strangely enough got published. Ganguly didn't offer us tea and Sandip ( I refuse to refer to him as only Ray. He is too short for the title) was rather curt. But does that really matter, when you know that perhaps the idea for Maganlal came while someone stared at these very ceilings? The best friend and I were still going strong. Economics was being loved. Rhett Butler was discovered. And Atticus Finch. And Holden Caulfield. Prothom Alo was read. And dissected. And then, one started on Rabindranath. Eagles was encountered. And beatles.
Lennon 'imagined'. And so did I.


Life tomorrow....
.....will be hectic. Didir biye happening. Plethora of visitors. Saree and jewellery. Food, adda, tearful fairwells will certainly take up a lot of time. I also need to sort out some stuff, and start working on something. Really work, I mean.


Five locations I would love to run away to -
1. Nischchindipur.
2. Europe (Venice, Florence, Paris, London..you get the basic idea.)
3. Hogwarts.
4. Yellow Brick Road.
5. Someone's arms. :P


Five bad habits I have -
1. Procrastination.
2. Dreaming. About the unreachable, mostly.
3. I have major issues with trust.
4. I distinctly lack a backbone. Sometimes.
5. Did I mention procrastination?


Five things I would never wear -
1. Rani coloured anything. I bloody HATE it.
2. Lip stud.
3. Ankle length boots. I am short. Therefore, the boots would be like a one-way ticket to stumpydom.
4. Glittery, sequined flashy ANYTHING. I hate flashy. I detest flashy. I would rather be underdressed than overdressed. Get me a weird stone-studded top, and I shall puke on you. No, really.
5. Pink eyeshadow.


Five biggest joys at the moment.......
1. Earning. For the first time.
2. Certain newfound friends.
3. Fragile things.
4. Starmark next door.
5. Our Films, their Films.


Something to achieve by next year -
Love. Stability. A scholarship to Ox-bridge maybe? (Okay, that's seriously overdoing it.)


Something that impacted me last year -
Backstabbing. Let's not get into the gory details.


What I will miss about 2007 -
Literature of the English Revolution by Amlan Dasgupta.
Oly meets.
Late night conferences.
Her.


Five things I want to do before I die -
1. Experience Ox-bridge/ Harvard. Real life. And probably meet John Nash.
2. Dance. At the Royal Albert Hall.
3. Go snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef. Hitchhike across Europe.
4. Work for BBC.
5. Find love. Bothsided. For good, this time.


I tag Sonai and Ugi. Go figure!

The Flat seems scarily like home now.

It still has a long way to go to come even close to the Old One. But someday, perhaps 10 years down the line, I see a faint possibility that it might.

That would be a day of much heartbreak, though. I am sure I shall end up feeling like a rootless idiot.

The 20th.

Picture courtesy: Saptarshi.

Mush.

Alexander Andrews: Oh, er, do you mind if I ask you a question, frankly? Do you love my daughter?

Peter Warne: Any guy that'd fall in love with your daughter ought to have his head examined.

Alexander Andrews: Now that's an evasion!

Peter Warne: She picked herself a perfect running mate - King Westley - the pill of the century! What she needs is a guy that'd take a sock at her once a day, whether it's coming to her or not. If you had half the brains you're supposed to have, you'd done it yourself, long ago.

Alexander Andrews: Do you love her?

Peter Warne: A normal human being couldn't live under the same roof with her without going nutty! She's my idea of nothing!

Alexander Andrews: I asked you a simple question! Do you love her?

Peter Warne: YES! But don't hold that against me, I'm a little screwy myself!




Tottttal awwwww-inducing. Ami puro sucker for mush types. Pink fluffy ball at heart.
Oh, for Clark Gable's unrumpled suit!
They don't make them like this anymore. :-(