a terrible painter, a dreamer, a rebel , a feminist and a self certified bisexual Witch. Who is always trying to visualize whats on the other side of the canvas she paints,just another human- Living alive Life. Now also a green tea addict.

Wednesday, 30 September 2015

Hobo Diary- 1 (Critical)

Today I am in ill condition. It is on these terrible days when my mind goes berserk with ideas and thoughts. I want to write, I want to jump around, I want to read, I want to do anything and everything. The  Networking and Wiring connectivity in my brain gets amplified and I become hyper aware of my surroundings. In other words in my sickness I become possessed by the divine Muse!

Sitting with warped body in sheets and drinking green tea with honey & holy basil every hour has turned me cranky and lack of a proper outlet makes me go crazy. Here is a one-shot panel on my Own Condition. I have an exam tomorrow on  Critic as an Artist by Wilde, and I have no idea how will I fare in that paper. So before I crumble down for mark churning pressure and rot up like a ostrich in desert.Lets laugh at myself.   


P.S-  Time for another cup of Green Tea, forgive me for typos I am bit delusional 

thanking you to bear with me

Monday, 28 September 2015

Boiled Omelette

At twilight I peep out from the balcony and realize I ran out of my supply of bread and cucumber for next day’s lunch. Many people love food shopping in this world, among them my father is a champion when it comes to buying fishes. His ‘Bongali’ blood binds him to fish, every day he will go to bazaar and return with more than six overflowing poly-bags of fresh food items. Sometimes its avalanche of green leafy vegetables at other times coin sized fishes destined to cut down ones throat or simply an assault of snake gourds.

Today it’s about my regular rant, my life’s biggest problem is with the word food, eons ago when I was a moving pumpkin I would devour anything given to me. I would relish it with such a pure conscious that my fragile heart was warmed up by layers of fat. Now that I am on proper BMI scale I dislike eating. So here I am sitting out on the balcony watching the sky turn dark and I expect the poetic mind to give some sweet words for my twitter poetry, but pops up the thought- I ran out of bread. 

When the sky turned into black veil, I stretched my exhausted body and yawned out some curses. I got into some decent garment and left my hostel on my green bicycle. When I reach the nearest food selling establishment I frowned. There is this rickety shop at the corner in which sits the vendor. He is the human who must have inspired the illustration for Aladdin’s evil uncle. He sits there on his crumbling mora(a round furniture) and turns his head around like an owl with every passing vehicle. 

He sells me two cucumbers and four eggs and hands them to me in the poly-bag with such care as if they were newborns. When I am putting the eggs in my clothe bag he warns me never to keep eggs in my bicycle basket- carrier. But when my hands plan to keep my cucumbers in basket he warns me again, jerky road would spoil them and the fellow had no bread to offer with the advice. I do as the expert owl says and ride away from the shop.

Once I get inside my cozy dirty room, I bring out my purchase and as my tiny heart had feared, my cucumbers attacked the eggs.  One of my egg was mutilated and spilling itself out in the poly-bag. Now the miser that I am thinks of what to do, I could not waste my egg, they cost me five rupees each. If it was one of my ex-roommates, I could always ask them to fry it for me. But now I am alone and I do not own a frying pan or stove. What do I do of this broken egg? 

My biggest and most effective policy is, when in doubt call up the Mother! As the tring-tring goes on I wait for my Mom to pick up. It’s a classic story in our household, my Mom despite owing a touch phone, a smart phone and a calling tab is never near the mentioned objects. On top of it we do have a landline connection. At last ring, a hello breaks out and it belonged to a male, who happened to be my father. I was surprised he could receive the call, as he is a bit clumsy. 

In full throttle ‘bangal’ I poured out my problem. And the reply comes in same crispy atrocious dialect. It was simple, I had to boil water and drop the egg when bubbles were cracking up. As if doing the deed was so easy! I happily repeated his words and assured him that I totally got his method. I take a deep breath and look at my surroundings.

I see a steel bowl and sealed packet of butter. I recall a dish my Mom cooks for me, called Egg Paneer. I be crafty and butter bowl nicely and pour my smashed egg in the bowl. I add chat masala (Spices) and mix them. Next moment I bring out my electric kettle and fill it up with water and drop the steel bowl in it carefully. I cover up the kettle and let kinetic energy do the work. Though what my Mom does has delicate touch of flavours and years of experience, my end product was degraded version of her art. A pathetic imitation Plato would have said. 

Fifteen minutes later I prove necessity is the mother of invention. I have soft yellow spongy creation of egg. Once I cut out a piece and put it in my mouth, I figure its tastes just like eggs should do. Soon the photograph of the creation was circulating in my friend circle and my elder sister labeled it as pocha (bad).  Yet I take pride, I just learned cooking and created another dish without the use of fire! And I even gave it a good name! Boiled Omelette!

It looks fine! A Little pale may be, lets not forget my cucumber attacked it. 

P.S- I am still wondering, if I should upload the photograph on Instagram?

thanking you to bear with me

Wednesday, 23 September 2015

Heartbreak Lessons! (Five Point Post)

Q-Why am I writing this post?
A- To cheer up my dearest best friend who has been a weeping enough to flood her house and I want to end the chapter for her. (Ideas below are not mine own nor are the photographs)

Right now I feel guilty, my match making skills are a gift from divine and so is my break up skills. Once up on a time my one sentence critique on love made girls break up with their lovers. I have stopped giving those careless criticisms now. But I do keep dabbling with making couples; the tendency to become Cupid has always been high in me.

In my zeal, I bought two of my close friends together and things have unfortunately turned out sour. My oracle vision had only focused on the good parts but, I never saw past the honeymoon period. I believe in the honeymoon period and nothing after that. Yes an escapist view, but crucial for survival. Sadly people around me see beyond the honeymoon period and see too much of reality- Job, house, car, marriage, kids and death of course. All these regular stuff makes them incapable of enjoying their youth and relish the present.

Heartbreaks are cool for poets and writers, but regular sweet people get stuck in limbo when love fails them. When that regular genuine person falls in love and gets heartbroken, things become bleak and hopeless. This is an apology to the person, I deeply care about.

1. Best way to lose weight:- 

As your heart breaks, you stop eating. Your appetite flies out of the window and you sulk for a person who trampled over your emotions. So keep crying while the person you cry for is actually throwing a break up party. Heartbreak is good at times for losing your baby fats and baby notions of relationship.

2. Mobile Expenditure Reduces:- 

 Come on, you can’t deny it! Before you had to worry about every rupee you spent on small luxury like ice-cream or a pair of earrings or a can of beer. You would keep calling up customer services to learn about the cheapest call plans. Then Whatsaap was not enough for your big love, you required age old SMS pack! Now look at yourself, you can spent all that money on new pair of shades?

3. Plenty of Time in your Kitty:- 

Though the value of lost time will come after one month of break up. First one month you will cry, lament, cuss on your best friend's inbox. Then after a month, volla you have plenty of time, you will watch the films you missed out because you had to match your taste for now the 'missing half'. You have time to have good undisturbed sleep. You wake up without being guilty about the good morning wish you forgot to sent. Look around you have a century of snail time.

4. You become socially alive again- 

You become Single Santa from the Love Yeti that you had been. You become free of self imposed exile. You reconnect to people you may have lied to, avoided or simply eradicated from your brain. You actually pay attention to the present. Once you are single, you gain back your admirers. You are no longer the walking zombie with a ‘Reserved’ sign board around your neck. You can chat with your best friend 24/7, meet new people, go out to party with many common friends; no one is waiting in home to pick a fight with you. No jealous crude berry in your pot roast.

5. Eye opening days are ahead of you:- 

Finally you realize there is a world beyond the'missing half'. You will soon become the member on Advisory Board in the Singles' Club. You will champion single-dom and make people learn lessons from your mistake. You are just a step away from attaining the Single-Nirvana. You are happy, confident, well cared, self sufficient and stable.

P.S- in the end your heart is still protected by your rib cage, what’s broken is the relation you had created with the marketed image offered to you. As a best friend I apologize for terrible match-making.

thanking you to bear with me