Thursday, December 17, 2009


Sigh! Finally, it all boils down to that- To pierce or not to pierce!
and allow me to say in the same breath (lest the irrelevant may not be heightened)that the physical act of holding an electric blue gun to one's trembling nostril and pulling the trigger with the merciless finesse of a seasoned assasin, DOES NOT hurt...not in the least.
but what disturbs, perplexes and pricks, is all that follows after...

what am i engaged in as i proceed to pierce something as prominent as my nose?
reclaiming previous acts of powerlessness?
adding a sexual stimulant?
'retribalization' of the planet?

and do i now stand back and ruminate over these options, picking and choosing, blushing over the prospect of one while sweeping the other up in a desperate bear hug?

why not take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders and proclaim- all, and none...???

and yet, societal paradoxes have been our lot since eternity. in this ever-flowing ever-ebbing ocean of ironies, the innocuous little nose-pin shuttles between the mainstream culture and the counter-culture. so, what term should our society embody as its distinct identity? - the traditional? or the western\modern? (albeit, in a strictly generalized manner)?
if the culture of traditional societies view body modification practices as an affirmation and reproduction of long established social positions, then the west (still) connects such modifications with the individuating of the self from society.
so then, you tell me, (for i am at a loss)how do i explain my nose piercing?

maybe, i wonder, it has all got to do with one's age; and consequently, with one's social identity- the bride in her bridal finery (in our bengali culture) would reflect greater conformity to her tradition by plugging in that very nose ring (albeit in a magnified and more elaborate form) which however, in a college student\ (or more shockingly!) school student will evoke repugnance....

i try to locate the source of the half-baked stigma...but fail.
is it then that a girl\woman, still nubile, still expected to keep her sexuality under wraps\ feign consciousness of the reality of her flesh, is a threat to society's Book of Knowledge? knowledge of acts, deeds and crimes...surprisingly, acts deeds and crimes that are listed even before they are conceived...and listed with the glaring specifics of age, time and circumstances.

let me then proclaim (with much joy born of the irresistible desire to shock and confound) that my nose piercing is a simple act of non-conformity into which i have subconsciously poured in all the previous options that i have listed...
i choose not to conform to the relieved smile of the aunty next-door who would purr contentedly upon seeing my patched-up nose-hole- "bhalo korechish! toke manachhilo simple-e bhalo achish!"
and do i not know what the underlying meaning of - "toke mannachhilo na" is?
it is the bubbling fear of the incomprehensible....
of the book that you could read upside down till yesterday, and that appears gibberish to you now.

so, it all boils down to that finally....
to pierce or not to pierce.
and i have pierced!

Friday, October 2, 2009


I am probably one of those people who scavenge for jack-in-the-box gloves to spring out at them and demolish with a majestic thud all bridges and fences lining their faces.
probably so....
probably i get an adrenaline rush with every deep gash running down my arm, with every merciless puncture of death-cold pins on my neck...with sudden bites on the wrist, kicks on the stomach....or even a painful tug at a single thread of hair?
i don't know...
like i said-
probably so.

i can feel it...
the world is losing its patience with me.
i hear your restless clicking of tongue, the irritated shuffling of feet as your embarrassed pair of eyes divide chores between them-
"left! go check out the alleyway; no one should be seeing way!"
"right! keep an eye on her, she is throwing up too hard...and er, too loudly.."

it should be hence-
Normal enough to ride on a twister with my eyes glued to the black and white tiled world of crossword puzzles....
Natural enough to hiccup my way into the grave...

why do i care?
why do you care?- you ask, bewilderment and mild (uncontrollable) sarcasm bubbling out of the corners of your mouth.
things should be allowed to wave at them; holding up the towering middle finger is permissible perhaps...but no more than that....
you should let it pass by...comb down the feathers, come on girl! comb them down! (you command.)

the world would let loose the final wisp of patience....
the catalog of my 'hurts & worries' would tickle bellies, elicit smirks and uninhibited laughs.
look what the list says!
1)lost a one-month old friend to other souls. (boo-hoo-hoo! you need sugar-coated tissue papers for that?)
2)got thrown out of a music band. (*rolling of eyelids* grow up girl!)
3)feels threatened and uncomfortable around a certain curly-haired soul.(lap it up! lap it up! some things, people, paper mats, just cannot be discarded!)
4)detests a someone and dedicates an entire blog post in her honour.(it happens...and er, some of those things that she said about you are, er, kind of true...isn't it?)

and the catalog continues...egged on by the catcalls and whistles.

i know the verdict alright...

and so be it.
some day, one day, i would polish and shine....all ready for your world.
i promise.

Monday, August 31, 2009


It actually makes sense...
The deluge of contemptuous comments, the meticulously-perfected rolling of eyes, the claim to omniscience...
Though ridiculous, it all actually makes SENSE.
But makes sense of what???
It all makes sense of the fact that deep down, this self-styled deity is nothing but a boiling bubbling cauldron of mediocrity.....Mediocrity of the sort that reduces her to a despicable, ridiculous non-entity...A non-entity that reeks of the commonplace. So much so, that she would just roll by, and the world would but yawn and say (in mock-anger of course)- Where is my broom boy?! Now go clean up the mess!

However, let us not lose the vein of humour...
In other words, let us join our hands and wits to humour her who is all but clinically dead...
But is she dead?
Of course silly!
She is ridiculously dead to the 'thisness' of things (and thanks be to sir Duns for providing us with a word finally!) And so it goes, (sadly enough)that she would believe all to be 'inscaped' with her 'instress' (and hopkins takes a plunge from his high rise.) Sigh! If only she knew the world....
But of course she doesn't! To know the world, you need to smash all the mirrors lining your walls, to discard the umbrella and wade knee-deep in tea-coloured puddles, to crush under your heels the smirking halo of morality....
What would she know of these?
Of these, and much more?

So, to reveal to You what (excuse the unavoidable bouts of justified anger)a first-rate SCUMBAG you are, here are a few pointers...kindly take note-

a) You question a person's moral standards. we ask you- who put you up on the pedestal? (and just to be clear, wiping the blades of ceiling-fans balanced atop a pedestal does not qualify for this question, though of course, wiping of fans and other such stuff might form the essence of your existence.)

b) You mock our love. we ask you- do you even FEEL love? we doubt. for, to love requires an intensity of emotions and a spontaneity of spirits that you clearly (and vividly) lack.You call my love a 'wimp'. He might appear so (to your Almighty of course). but guess what? He loves me and i love the depth of our very core, a feeling that would take you more than a single lifetime to kindle within yourself. The pity of it...But then again, it takes god to pity a SCUMBAG (and excuse me again, oh ye scandalized readers!)

c) You think you are the epitome of culture and breeding, (what with a rabindrasangeet drifting effortlessly, albeit pointedly into our eardrums every time we called you on your telephone)but the truth to be told, culture and breeding are nothing but hot-air balloons punctured with a ball-point pen, (many times over)if they are not coupled with a flexible, unprejudiced and empathetic disposition. And sorry to inform you dear, but you lack in all three requisites. Your bigoted mind is of no worth to the free-thinking world. Or rather, YOU are of no worth to this world.You commented that at my house, it is the 'culture' to address every woman relative (save my mother) as 'aunty'. Well hello! First of all, you are ridiculous in your opinions, (which you so love to parade as established facts)and secondly, there is a vast difference between established culture and inherent culture. thank god that my family belongs to the second category, that my mom does not expect my man to be nothing but an IITian or a JU pass out, that she has never put me in shackles. Just goes to show dear, that culture goes haywire when you try to press it into bottles and put them under lock and key.

d) You ask why our friend does not secure as much marks as you. you celebrate the fact that you have managed to get more marks than me in every semester. you probably throw 'congratulation parties' for yourself where your over-zealous folks don lop-sided party-hats and blow mechanically on whistles (the ones that throw forth lurid-coloured plastic sparrows at their tips with every blow!) But wake up kid, school is over and done with. Robots who would learn by rote pages and pages of jstor notes, are not worth a dime in the world that we inhabit at present. We are all witness to your utterly pathetic efforts at oiling your imagination, your 'pillowtalks' have long been stifled, the pillows, long dead....even before you thought of writing. And if you are happy with your sugar-coated candies, so be it.

e) You said that success has gone to my head after i won prizes for dramatics. I have just two comments to make in that direction- 1> The thought of being a witness to my success was so unbearable to you, that you chose not to come even after repeated invitations to the said competitions. 2> Success? er, what do you know of that??? (a screech of a voice does not really qualify as a melodious voice, sorry to tell you that.)

f) You call yourself the connoisseur of fashion. You would not spare an iota of respect for the feelings of a person before blurting out on her face- this dress? it is so common, really! But i am perplexed- are those gigantic dangling earrings that you so love to clip on with every single attire that you don, so amazingly avante-garde that we, the fashionably illiterate souls, can not help but laugh our guts out every time we feel their menacing jingle jangle?

g) Finally, (since this has disgusted me to the very core of my being)as for your highly educated comment- " I'm sure anurag's mom would have preferred a better looking girl for her good looking son", i have just one thing to say- I pity the fate of the girl who would want to be married to your son, (if you have any that is)for she would be subjected to the most parochial and unlettered minds of all. I am sure the poor girl would wonder- is this woman educated at all?
(thank god that anurag's mom loves me for what i am, and not for what the petty mirror reflects!You see friends, the 'congratulations party' would not amount to much else other than the party hats and fake whistles!)

so you know, as we all actually makes sense.
such creatures as her are, by the gentle norms of humanity, to be pitied. Throw in a few coins in her chipped bowl if you like, for we haven't encountered a greater beggar than her.


Saturday, July 11, 2009

there are those who would perch their pretty selves upon the ledge and allow the world to roll\stroll\amble by...
but there are those who would perch their pretty selves upon the ledge and NOT allow the world to roll\stroll\amble by without having detained it to conduct a frighteningly thorough X-Ray and (mostly)persecute it with a garish pink ticket screaming- "THOU ART MORALLY CORRUPT!"

they would be hiding behind walls and spying with laser-glasses.
they can read minds, mind you! (or so they seem to suggest, who am i to dispute that, eh?)
not a single soul escapes their scrutiny.
and then they would roll out their dog-eared dictionaries...its pages, stiff, unmoving, they wont budge no matter what may be the force of the winds of change...sigh! that's the pity!

ah! spare me! will you?
spare the world the suffocatingly narrow lanes and by-lanes of your mind.
spare the world...
pollution-stimulated global warming has done damage enough without without having to accept such generous dollops of contribution from you!

just spare the world.

we will be fine...without you.

Friday, May 22, 2009

in times like these....bleak and blighted times, the Modernist conception of 'circularity as a paradox' weighs down the wrong way, in the wrong direction, inflicting in the soul a galling effect- you desire for the inconsequential existence of a crustacean, or the insensate flapping of a gauze curtain perhaps...anything, but this all-important life compulsively clearing its throat to attract attention!
yes, they say we complete the circle, but the agent of completion is a strikingly (and in my case, revoltingly!) different man....Experience they call it too, but for me, its a fine heady concoction of a pint each of sarcasm, cynicism, pseudo-benevolence and stoicism...and, bottoms up! down flows in gushes, cascading life....
so i choose to see it, a futile and ridiculous exercise...for, what is it? huh??!
the feeling of deja vu is all that's left to strike....but will strike you nonetheless, as you rest your head on the chopping-board and in all your intellectual finery, pursue the all-too-silly act of imitating the chicken...yes! then it would strike!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009


A thousand bows of gratitude to the Benevolent Administrator above, who, by the grace of his divine blessings, brought back my accursed blog from the diabolical fangs of Death....
Oh! What terrible seizures of dismay i survived when upon the opening of my blog page, lo and behold! there was no blog! And there my screen grinned back in malevolent black- This blog has been deleted! I could glimpse snathes of the Fortune's Wheel, tipping me over, ever so gently, while it continued in its rythymic revolutions, in tune with my palpitating heart!
But now, a thousand coconuts will i break open at your altar, The Holy One; the oil distilled from it, will i wash my tainted blog in, resurrect it from the clutches of the deadly Shadow, embellish it with a thousand moonstones and sandstones, (rings ofcourse!) and last but not the least, never venture to gaze upon its bewitching, captivating, beauteous countenance, without having lighted a thousand vanilla-scented incense-sticks and muttered under my breath, a thousand prayers of deliverance....
So there!....Now come and harm me, you Wretch of the Underworld!
I fear not You, or a powercut, or a cheeky virus....for the Lord is with me, and i shall not want.
A-men.....(and for all you heathens, thats not a racial slang.)

Saturday, April 11, 2009


The idiocy of installing a massive chunk of iron in the womb of the earth finally makes sense- Irony, thou art the all-encompassing life force of the very life on earth!

We take a kind of unexplained pleasure at perverting all Wordsworthian Pantheistic philosophies, and every form of Hermeutic doctrines by needlessly kicking stones out of our way, or tearing off a rose-bud for the sake of a sharp sadistic snap! For ofcourse! Inanimate objects are supposed to be just that- inanimate to all pain and shame! (look how didactic i sound..and im loving it!)

but tell you what, the story goes another way...the sharp jab of the iron dagger again!

I went to Mani Square a few days back (obviously lolling my tongue after the sudden anachronistic windfall- all food at 21 bucks! Utopia is here!)

anyway, having managed to bag a seat, (which, mind you, required more than simply staring hard and salivating equally hard at the table of some poor munching souls) i had more than a hefty 35 minutes to spend by myself, (on myself, if i may lavish such luxuries on so spoiled a being) coz my table-partner had gone in quest of the Holy Wittles.

so, there i am, studying my nails, palms, the hair follicles erupting on the back of my hand, when, there is a sudden "ouch!" right beside me, and there is a poor lady, all tripped and messy on the floor, her hair all matted with sweat and grime, her two-and-twenty teeth rolling out like gleeful marbles all over the place, her towering pink nails following suit, her nose a blasted bridge...(and since i couldn't have exaggerated more, let us proceed with the main story.)

the object instrumental for her fall, was a wooden (or was it brick? can't really tell with these modern architectural devices) tile that had come loose on the slightly elevated floor of the place, and this, dear friends, was what kept me engaged fro the rest of my time- thanks to Thee again!

what followed then, was quite a psychological study, being compounded no doubt, with doses of sociology...and trust me, it was a study conducted in 100%% consciousness (coz, hungry mice had not yet begun their march.)


so this what i recorded-

there were in all, roughly, three categories of human behaviour with respect to the abominable tile-

1> thoses who could be called the Humanitarians- these folks made it a point to fix the tile back in its place everytime the human being preceeding them upset the order. the cause- obviously, avoidance of accidents. however, deep within these souls, might be a repressed Freudian desire for fame and accolades, the moment of glory when people would rise on their feet and award these bravehearts for thier commendeble duty towards all mankind. Pats of "Bravo!" is what they live for, day in and day out. and, to stretch this psychological study further and enmesh it with with the tenets of social behaviour, one might point out, that the nature of the desired reward for this category of people might be largely, capitalistic- a free hotdog or a hamburger is my bet.

2> the second category would be the Passive Conscience-striken- these are the ones, who would trip, upset the order of the tile, do nothing about it, and yet keep looking back at their sin with abhorence and guilt of such hilarious magnitude, that not a single morsel of food would go down their food-pipe. in fact, this single act would be the death for them. their dreams would be riddled with cannine-barring tiles, and they would not bathe or flush out their bowels for fear of treading on further tiles- having injured one of their breathen, and left it to fend for itself, these guilty pricks won't venture even an inch nearer to thier toilets. Amen be to them. and their bowels.

3> the third and last category would be that of the Defiant Assassin- they are those who would watch the palpable tile from a distance, stealthily. They would watch it getting in the way of pencil-heels and polished boots. and then, the pervert in them would strike- with the subtle deftness of a professional football player, they would kick the poor tile out of its appointed place, and standing back, watch the sheer fun. Anarchy of the basest kind id what they crave for. yet, from a deeper psychological perspective, it might seem that these acts of force are nothing but the venting of bottled-up personal frustrations. poor souls, all!

Thus it had been, till my food arrived.

quite a study it was. it taught me a hell lot.

and the greatest irony of all- i owe it to a single wooden tile. (or was it brick?)

Friday, April 10, 2009

Whoever said tragedies were nothing but an exaggeration of subtly ridiculous woes in the really-real world, need to break out of their glass-bottomed boats and take a nose-dive in the really-real slime-pool!
Tragedy is in the REAL.
I mean, what could be more tragic than the fact that i wear an XL and my boyfriend wears a L...???
(That's the size of our JU t-shirts. What were you thinking, you bunch of smelly socks????)

Thursday, April 9, 2009


Dreams can be real shockers. (pleasant or pungent, is highly speculative.)

back from the Mumbai trip, i was rejoicing at the sudden magnanimity of my Fate which seemed to have (finally) shaken all blankets of cynicism and sadism off its shoulders and dived into my pitiable cause. so, i did rejoice- this had got to be the mother of all joys, travelling to another land with a single backpack on me, and freedom blasting through my ears! and of course, with the perfect bunch of fellow-travellers!

i swore to myself that given a chance, i wouldn't\couldn't have been any happier...100% unadulterated bliss!

but, whoa! the DREAM!

and there i was, preparing for another trip, stuffing my bag vigourously...yes, vigourously, almost with animal-fervour! the strange thing about dreams is that, (and i forbid Mr.Freud or Mr.Lacan from ruining my wonderstruck musings) you can almost feel the texture and depth of know what is happening in your heart, to your heart. there are times when you feel pangs of fear, stabs of pain, jolts of excitement...and wonder of all wonders, it happens right there and then- in your dreams!

but i deviate...(stab me with a thermometre the next time i do so.) i was this particular dream, i was preparing for a journey which seemed to be a cause for great, boundless excitement. i was almost talking to myself, (in the dream, duh!) telling myself how fulfilling this journey would be. and finally, it lay revealed before my inward eye (that's what you call the dreaming eye, right?) that i was to embark upon a journey with my school friends! those long-lost folks who had once been my world.

wow! i said to myself when i woke up. life does have an assertive way of reminding you what had once been good, and also, indispensible.

i mean, through no fault of their own, not a single college-mate of mine knows the real 'Me'. i have sheilded myself off, i know that within my heart..and why not? i just don't feel that alive anymore...(and that's a cause for worry, right?!)

aah! those were the days! (now i know why this statement has become a cliche!)

what NOT had we done?

and at the end of it all, we remained a bunch that was still alien language to many....and didn't that please us so?!!!

u do not have time-turners in the real world. the real world is just that- shamelessly on-your-face REAL. you got to go on with the wheels, chugging along, speeding up, halting...all in perfect unision with the damned rusty spheres.

but dreams...well, they are of some other making. so we have an equally surrealistic name for them, see!

and thank you whoever for making dreams a reality in this tiringly real world.

it would do for this life.


A bug akin to Madame Conscience has been tormenting me since the day i coronated this blog with the title- besh korechi!

so, this very post should be my confession-box (of sorts)-

the title 'besh korechi!' sounds too strong for my appetite. look, let's be frank (to the self, it should not be that tedious a task) - for someone who intends to spend the better half of her (scatological) life (through, of course, no desirious desire of her own) with a 'De-Pend-All M' by the bedside, it would not be wise to undertake such a momentous task . such is the tragic Fate as i see it unfold before me with amazing grace....One can not complain, a flush is all it takes to conceal the 'secret' forever...from bowel to bowl. Amen.

so, coming back to the point- i might have issued a few mis-directed arrows with my rebellious title. Besh korechi??? "But what have i done??", asks my innocent little gut. i can not betray its faith. i am more or less, a chicken- the kind that are so born with nothing much to alter. yes, i do speak up when wrong things happen, (and again, 'wrong' is a dangerously subjective word) but alas! not much happens (has happened in the recent geological past or would happen in the far future) that has given the chicken an occasion to shout out to the world, walls..whatever- "besh korechi!!!"

so, why raise the bars??

dramatic yawns and intentional rolling of eyes would break my fragile cut-glass little heart....

and my blog has suffered enough to last it a lifetime...(see what an insatiable greed for immortality does to you!)

thus, let the title be.

let it file its nails, take a hot bath, walk the ramp...whatever.

we would proceed with our matters of mock-immediacy...right???



so, i begin with an official apology- this blog started off into the world with determination raging in its loins, but as it happens with all, er, well...over-enthusiastic hitch-hikers, it got into the wrong car, got mauled, kicked in the brain with the heel of a fake 'Adi Das', lost a couple of teeth, nails, et all....

Now,though it calls them 'Magnificient Misadventures', i cough it into silence....

so, umm...sorry to all.

so.....deliver me from this hilariously formal address....

Thanking You.