Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Flying Home. Or Something Like That.

You know that awesome feeling of being saved when you suddenly realise you've forgotten your wallet to work and thankfully  remember at the nick of time so you can borrow some money from your mother who is just about to drop you..? So, now you don't have to go around asking random  people for money so you can catch a bus home?I experienced that today.And then my Boss's car got held up behind mine because mom was paying me. So it took a lot of mental strength not to hit my head repeatedly against the wall  in frustration. 

And then I let go because that kind of stress is the reason we still have assholes in this world. It's a fact. Stress wafts and floats into the asshole factory proving to be the vital missing ingredient for true brown assholery (because assholes are full of shit..get it get it?? I'm so funny I surprise myself, unless this is construed as some sort of a racist slur...let's go with beige then? True Beige assholery? Fuck it, it's called true blue for a reason, because it rhymes, why do I do this to my head?). So I stared out of the window willing the stress to ease out of me and watched  a crow steal a piece of mutton  liver and fly on to a parapet, and then mouth feed it to his lover.

It could have been a brother or a sister, but let's just assume it was a lover (because I am romantic like that). The liver was maroon, and I could see some of the blood drip while the crow flew with it surreptitiously. It was kept at the top of a shopping bag, resting on a bicycle handle bar. The bicycle was parked. It belonged to a man who was visiting a random homeopathy doctor's clinic with his little son after grocery shopping (just another day at the Indian bazaar) If I were a contemporary of William Shakespeare, I would have probably construed this as  portentous occurring.Except, I found it quite adorable.

This should be some sort of a benchmark for love tests right? Can your lover fly? steal yummy food for you? and then feed it to you without getting caught?Then it's true love lady. Please proceed.

And while some of us are not always lucky to have (I'm going in for some kind of metaphor here, bear with me) air borne partners who help you zoom and swish through life,  there are  those moments when you can trust  yourself, your family and friends  to always save you just a little bit so you can  get  to the one place that really matters at the end of the day: Home.

Friday, April 4, 2014

A Brief Recap.

I dreamt I was in a top secret research project. Except something was going completely wrong like it happens in thrillers (people dying, reactors exploding, you get the gist). And  this guy in the team finally figured out who the culprit was. She was the accountant with a stun gun and obviously she was present when the righteous man deduced all of this,so she stunned everyone except me, because she was confused if I was dead or alive. Because the whole time this was happening, I was lying down  with my eyes closed. I may have been a cat in my dream. And then this accountant knelt down,  tore my eyelid open and....

She.licked.my.eye.balls.

That's when I woke up.

And now I will  never feel safe in a room with  the accountant at office.

It's weird how fast everything's happened.. it feels like days since.my ex colleagues shoved me out of the Uni. And suddenly I was walking into a world of dress codes, and this whole text book  salary lingo that I'm still getting accustomed to. My mother doesn't get it either because she's self employed. She thought the whole concept of Employees Provident Fund was really just an elaborate trick to reduce my salary unnecessarily. It was giving both of us a headache for a while.

And then there was the whole matter of the job. Being a part of the professional world kind of brings what it calls "networking" but is more like watch-me-embarrass-myself-in-ten-different-ways-in-a-social-gathering.   And it made me wonder if  there was  a job where people could just  talk without having any consequences? Because the pressure of constantly not sounding inappropriate was getting to me. .

And it's only been a month or so. I don't know what lies ahead.  But I'll just be happy if no eyeballs are hurt by the time I begin to get a grasp of this.

Monday, March 31, 2014

It's Been Weird, Sticking My Tongue Out So Often Last Week.

I'm suffering from what is termed "burning tongue" syndrome. Apparently, it happens to women who have hit menopause. So, I'm guessing my mouth is finally catching up to the age of my brain.

Common side effects of this dramatic irritability includes depression and anxiety. And just this once, I would really like to hope that all the lows I've been feeling lately (it has been the worst weekend in a really looong time) will go away if my mouth somehow manages to convince my brain that it's really not on fire.

My dentist is partially to  blame for this. He prescribed me a mouthwash which I've been using undiluted for quite some time. I think I've written about it here.So, apparently if it's for prolonged use you're supposed to  follow a  1:1 dilution ratio. My mother keeps blaming me, for not knowing how to read simple labels  properly. Thanks a lot Mr. Dentist, this is how you repay someone who follows instructions blindly.We could have had something special, Sir. But now you've just poured strong alcohol over the whole thing and set my mouth on fire. I've been enjoying the burn of it,  thinking this is the healing kind of pain.

Till I realised I was turning into a mouthwash junkie. 


Rainbow tongue. #Funny #Cats #LOLcats
Discovering the Importance of Ice. The only Perk of this is being able to go on Ice Slushee diet without guilt. 


So now I have to take double doses of vitamins and this weird ass oral suspension called Enterogermina? Which if you ask me sounds like something a wand brandishing Potterhead would say...you know? Like Expecto Patronum?  except it's "let- germs- enter- and- fester- in-my-body".What's weirder though is that it tastes exactly like water. So really...it could be water with a fancy name to scare wizards away. 

I take it with a healthy dose of suspicion. 

Thursday, March 27, 2014

An Absence and a Presence: Hiraeth.

I swear to you I hated everything about my locality.

It's not posh, it's not posh at all.

I would shudder to invite my friends here.

Because everything about the place I live in is different from the places I've been to after I got into  school, have hung out at with my friends, and even traveled to with my family.

So I always feel like I'd be judged for being a hypocrite,  projecting a certain level of  normalcy about my life, when in fact my home address didn't even have a street sign  saying this is the place in no man's land that you're looking for, until very recently, like this month.

Funny thing though? All my life I've lived here and nobody felt the need for a street sign. Weird.

With the onslaught of time, one might even characterize my address as being  quaint, where shops, business.. life shuts down at 10 pm, where the only excitement and buzz is  about marriage ceremonies, tenant landowner scandals and family tussles.But they don't happen everyday, and there's nothing newspaper worthy about it either.

Some relatives have commented on the quiet that prevails if one just sat and listened, the kind that allows you to hear birds chirping covert messages to each other.

I have never known a different way of "being at home." When we come back  from a day's trip to anywhere at the heart of the city, my mother says, "and we're back to our hamlet, again." Although she sighs and huffs about it, I know that she calls this place home just as I do, with a grudging acceptance of Ugly Duckling's mom.

Because our place of residence is so unlike us, we have stuck out in our neighbourhood. This was what was initially built by immigrants after the partition of Bengal. But I doubt if those families live here anymore. We were perhaps the first struggling family that moved in here for rent(mom and dad had wanted a fresh, nuclear start) , and then had to deal with the after effects of a broken home. My father moved out. Everybody talked. And of course as I was the kid, a lot of questions that they wouldn't dare ask my mom were directed towards me. I never did mind telling them the absolute truth. And this was a problem, because five year olds have no concept of privacy. So I was asked not to hang out with the neighbourhood kids. We had a maid. And she was all I had for a childhood friend. Sometimes my isolation would be so complete that I would pick fights with her just so I could find some reason to cry. I was an odd child. This one time I cried the entire afternoon at a Dumbo mask I'd made at school( maybe that was my way of willing it to come to life.)

Now there are new kids that have moved in with their Baba s and Ma s . New families that are less intrusive about me and mummy's little world. Because that's what it is really, a tiny bit of cosmos that does not appreciate grey areas. In a sense, growing up in this kind of setting was perfect for my ever indecisive mind: pick a side: baba or mummy, pick a friend: cook or maid, pick a dress: pinafores or dungarees. Sheesh! So when I found my mother marking clear boundaries for herself, painting a black and a white over the events unfurling in our lives, I was in pain but very relieved at her decisiveness.

 That was it then.

And then there was only one thing left, wishing for things to work out in their odd jigsaw puzzle way. It did, because I can't help but look at the new street sign with fondness now. I can't help but wish that everyone enjoy the tremendous righteousness with which my mother raised me and continues to  live her own life.  No excuses, no exceptions. It was painful every step of the way, but you know what? That kind of pain makes you appreciate all that is luminescent and good in this world, a rare gift that I joyously experience in our humble abode every day.


Monday, March 24, 2014

Over Thinking BuzzFeed Quizzes

So BuzzFeed quizes are very popular.

And every time someone publishes a quiz result, I get all pissy at this person and go "seriously? you need to know what kind of pastry you are?"

Then I always end up taking  the same quiz because now I'm too curious to know what I am.

VIENNOISERIES (croissants & roul├ęs au chocOlat) - There's absolutely nothing better than chocolate croissants
I am a French croissant, just in case you were wondering.
Image Courtesy: Pinterest. 



But I will never publish these results on my time line.

Can't help but wonder if this makes me a hypocrite.

This one time I thought I would actually make an excel sheet of all these quizes I'm taking with the results and then post it in the About Me page of this blog. But most of the time, I click on an option in the quiz because it sounds fun rather than something I would really pick-because-that's-me, so I don't know how much of these quiz results would really reflect me....I think?

And now I'm thinking about thinking on BuzzFeed Quizzes. Worst. Wormhole. Ever. 

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Mrs Sen Gives Me A Reality Check, Gloriously.

You know you're taking yourself too seriously when you overlook something like this: 



Mrs Sen : "It's a fuck- all ride darling, enjoy it while it lasts." 

It's been a  week of brooding and it doesn't help that I have an attention span of a fly. So I've been trying extra hard to make up for lost time, read between the lines, stay focused and please people at work. I know, I annoy me too. Somewhere in the middle of all of this I forgot to breathe, smile and allow myself to just...let it be. Then we went out on a work meeting in my Boss's car and my colleague pointed Mrs Sen (because her name can't be anything other than Mrs Sen, you guys)  out to me. And I'm like what the hell...this is my area of expertise..(My Twitter handle is "quirkyweirdo" for crying out loud!) how could I not see this sitting at the front seat of the freaking car? 

So yeah...I need to re-evaluate my priorities a little bit. And maybe visit my Optometrist.  

Monday, March 10, 2014

The Expanse.

I take immense pleasure in staying at home on Saturdays. My mother likes to call it: being  "the Big Bore".

 I have no idea how we've come to be such different people.

Moreover, my definition of spending a day out does not always boil down to visiting  one of the many malls of the city( or so I'd like to think). Because that's the general direction everyone heads to these days.Got nothing to do at home? Let's just head to the mall, and shop for more clothes, and more shoes and more accessories and more food and call it a day well spent. 

Really? 

When does the emptiness begin to hit you? Or are we so busy multi tasking these days that we pretend to have managed to  shun this emptiness.. or fool ourselves into believing that it does not exist? Because it does, oh it does.

The Void is Great but it does not fool, it does not lie. 

 I am flabbergasted at the lack of choices, so I chose to stay at home almost as a form of protest. (This is how one justifies being lazy, see?) 

I miss the old Kolkata or Calcutta as it was called. It had more than just  malls, and the  concrete madness to offer then. I was not a conscious part of this sadly. That Calcutta to me was more like  a small nondescript train station, the ones whose names are so easy to forget on my journey through childhood. Now I only remember the essence of it, the easy implied warmth I took for granted then. I can't find it anymore, not even in my dreams. I can only read about it in books,  and sigh at the magical twinkling lights of glow worms that became such an ordinary delight in the author's world, simple ephemeral beauties,  that seemed to light up their nights. 

And sometimes,  there's  a paragraph or maybe a line...of familiar lost memories of my own childhood...

Fireflies belong in poems.  They have appeared in at least one of mine.


I haven't seen a glow worm in years.