Blood-shot

Pick that almost healed scab.

Ask not what caused it.

You know you want it to bleed once more.

A pinprick of scarlet swelling into a pool.

And then running  red furrows down your skin.

Warm and sticky and icky.

Watch the patterns it makes.

Oozing.

Let it spill and drip and slip.

Count the minutes until it stops.

By itself.

You'll do it again.

Because you can't cry.

The Conversationist

A conversation is like a game of table-tennis. To have a good one you need a good opponent who can give you a good rally. Yes, you need to listen, but you also have to actively participate. It never works otherwise. It's not a passive situation where you can take a backseat and let the other take all the responsibility of driving the tete-a-tete. A conversation is not a seminar, it is not a lecture, it is not pep-talk. There are reasons why those are not synonyms for conversation. A conversation needs nuances, it needs agility, it needs response.

X: Hey, what're you doing?

Y: Nothing much, just watching Perfume, the Story of a Murderer.

X: What's that?

Y: You know that movie where the protagonist makes perfumes from women's bodies after killing them?

X: No...

Y: Erm... The one where he was born with an extraordinary sense of smell...

X: No...

Y: You should watch it.

X: Okay.

Y: Do you want to download it? I can send you a link...

X: Maybe later.

Y: ...


How would you rate this conversation? I'd give it a maximum of 3 on a scale of 10. Do you know how this could have been a good conversation? Like this -
X: Hey, what're you doing?


Y: Nothing much, just watching Perfume, the Story of a Murderer.

X: What's that?

Y: You know that movie where the protagonist makes perfumes from women's bodies after killing them?

X: No... What's the story like?

Y: It's really weird! This guy is born with an extra sensitive nose and he's bent on making the best perfume in the world...

X: So why is it called a story of a murderer?

Y: Because he kills women to steal their body fragrances...

X: Woah! That's psycho!

Y: Do you want to download it? I cam send you a link...

X: Yeah why not? It's bizarre though...
Y: Well, do watch it and tell me how you liked it.

X: Will do...


Now that's more like it, isn't it?

Good conversationists are hard to find these days. I happen to be one of those people who find a good conversation highly erotic.

Friends Without Benefits

What I'm about to make can be a very controversial statement. Some may consider it anti-feminism. However, from personal experience, I've found it to be true.

Guys are easier to be friends with compared to girls.

Now, if you ask me for reasons, I'm afraid I won't be able to give you any. Whether or not girls and guys can remain friends and only that is also a valid question. But, all that given and said, I will stick to what I've just stated. 

If you are the no-nonsense, undramatic, slightly weird girl like me, I'm pretty sure you'll agree. I'm not undermining any of the friendships I share with my girls, but I also realize that having male friends, that too good ones, has made me quite a balanced individual.

An Apology

People who know me will know that I don't do this often. But I think I owe this to my writing career.

I am sorry. I am sorry that I've not written for all this while. I'm sorry that I couldn't complete the A-Z Challenge.

And, I'm not making any excuses.

I will, however, try to be more regular. I will try harder to write better. I will definitely try not to disappoint anyone, including myself.

Mahalaya

1500 kilometers from home, some Bengali youths gathered on the fourth floor of the Academic Building of their University at 0400 hours on 15th October 2012. They came in varied attires and night clothes, some yawning, some rubbing their eyes, but all of them intent and excited, for one thing. That one thing was the elocution of Mahalaya.

They didn't have the authenticity of the Akashbani live telecast of the Mahalaya programme. All they had was pure devotion, to the tradition of beginning the best time of a Bengali life - Durga Puja.

For those unfamiliar with the concept of Mahalaya, it is the day when Maa Durga defeated the evil Mahishasur, restoring the world to peace and prosperity. Seven days from this day, the epitome of the good over evil will be worshiped. It is also the homecoming of the victorious, and us mortals rejoice in it to extents a non-Bengali cannot ever comprehend. Maa Durga is not just a deity who defeated evil for us, she is our very own mother and beloved daughter at the same time. The entire battle of Maa Durga and Mahishasur has been retold many times, but this particular rendition by Birendrakrishna Bhadra and his team is aired on the radio every year for all. It is an unwritten custom for many of us that we listen to it religiously, because if not anything, it is a beautiful form of elocution art.

Durga Puja has always been an integral part of my life, like all other Bengalis. This year, away from home, I feel the significance all the more. I can hardly wait to go back. Puja is not just a time for worship and prayer, it is also the time when families get together, friends re-unite and everybody is offered a piece of happiness. 

Every year, Puja brings new hopes. Hopes of conquering evil. Hopes of regaining lost strength. Hopes of a better day. Every year, Maa Durga saves us from the lurking demons -  ones we encounter every day, on the road, in our workplaces, in our homes, inside ourselves.

This year, Mahalaya not only sets off the homecoming for Maa Durga, it marks the homecoming for me too. I'm going home. 

Love and...

Here's my take on the mother of all cliches -

Love is like flying a kite. Sometimes you get cut.

Love is like flying a kite. If you catch the right wind, you can soar to heights you never thought you could.

Love is like flying a kite. It's no fun if there's no distance between the kite and the flier.

Love is like flying a kite. If you pull the string too taut, it breaks.

Love is like flying a kite. It doesn't cost much.

Love is like flying a kite. Even if you don't have your own kite, it is still a happy sight.

Love is like flying a kite. You need practice to get it right.

Love is like flying a kite. It can leave you totally breathless.

Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscopes have always fascinated me. They are so simple, yet so beautiful. When I was a kid, I spent hours on end just rotating the cardboard tube and looking at all the myriad designs forming inside the cone. I think I still have one back at home. I wonder who invented these.

I like to think of my life as a kaleidoscope. It's made of a lot of ordinary simple things, but it's still beautiful.

The friends who are so weird that you can't live without them.

My family which is the reason I'm this crazy.

The roads I've walked, drove and passed.

The college that ground the brains out of me.

The skeezes who made me realize my own worth.

The poems I read but never understood, only my skin was left in goose-pimples.

The fairs I've been to and got lost.

The cats I cuddled on the road.

The last benches we carved our names on.

The wallets I lost, and lost more than money.

The best friend I found in my boyfriend.

The scars on my legs when I was learning to cycle.

The tears I wept that nobody knows about.

The burps that scandalize but also amuse my buds.

The flowers I picked from a far away hillside and pressed between books.

The autumn sky with clean white cotton clouds.

The smell of a brand new book in a musty store.

The vapours of a plate of warm khichdi on a rainy afternoon.

The old house with vines growing on its walls that I once called home.

The wind that blew tiny leaves in my face and hair.

The forks of lightning I viewed from an open terrace.

The make-believe stories I played out.

The reality which had once become make-belief.

The dates that went bad.

The movies that made me laugh and cry and swear.

The times I loved and lost, but learnt to love again.
  

To all those bits that make up my kaleidoscope every day -