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Showing posts from October, 2017

Of Being an HSP and Sadness

I am a sad person. Not sad as in pathetic. Like, ohh that is so sad, I feel so sorry for her. But sad as in, full of sorrow. You take away anxiety, take away fear, and take away the apparent bitchiness. All that will remain is that sadness. Like some sort of melancholy entwined with my whole existence since the time before I was I, but someone else, some other sentient being. You might have looked at my social media profile; some of you might have stalked me and wondered why this girl sounds so morbid and occasionally creepy at times? Well yeah, if sadness is my deep rooted prevailing state then creepiness is my second identity. I entertain myself with that aspect of my personality. And like most people out there, I am hardly ever apologetic of showing my deepest, darkest, truest nature to others. I know that makes you uncomfortable. That makes you hate me. More often than not people hate me in a weird way. Most people stand at a distance and look at me like an enigma and conclude wh…

Darjeeling, So Far

Somehow the new place had me a lot distracted and blogging took a back seat. I guess I miss the spot on my bed back home where I have a left a deep dent, proof that it belonged to an unsocial, introverted person. Well, it still does. Here if the new bed is making me homesick then also the cold is a little crippling. I don’t feel the pressure of its sharp teeth on my arse as long as I am roaming about outside. But once I am back in my room I don’t feel like keeping my unprotected hands out of the comfort of my newly purchased made in China polyester blanket. As far as excuses go this is not bad, eh? Right now I am sitting on a little rectangular of patch sunlight pouring through the window and having tea with some delicious Nepali snack and trying to get past my silly excuse and jog my brain.

I am living with a widow Nepali lady and her seven years old son as a paying guest. I live on the first floor. No roommate. I have an open terrace just outside my room where I go onto first thing…


So lately there has emerged this new trend on social media, #metoo. It basically comes with confessions from women all over the world that yes, I too have been sexually abused at some point of time in my life. Twitter, facebook, blogger are flooding with various confessions, posts, and even memes saluting this great effort to de-stigmatize this crime that most of us women were taught not to talk about.
Have I been sexually abused? Well, of course, yes. Many times. And the 'beauty' of sexual abuse is that, it comes in various forms. But that's another story. Today I am dying to shout my lungs out about a different kind of abuse. The kind of abuse where nobody lays their hands on you. The kind of abuse that can't be reported because there's no law for it yet. And of course, like any other abuse, it is not gender specific.
Have you ever been abused mentally on a daily basis on the verge of losing the last smidgen of your self-esteem? #metoo And these abuses came in s…


Someday When it is 3 am And you are sleeping by my side Peacefully Oblivious to the fact That I have been crying For past one hour The sound of my silent sobbing Didn’t reach your Sleepy ears Silly boy You thought you had won me That my heart was at peace How wrong you are You don’t know Some people Are cursed Even before their seed was sown In the womb Even before they took Their first breath They are carrying Some ancient
Prophecy of doom In their tired soul The curse of coming back To the earth again And even though We are together We can never be One As I was designed To be alone My heart and soul Trapped In the shackles Of my own dark fate And I am exhausted I want to leave I want to slide off the bed And disappear in the dark Don’t look for me Don’t shed tears Over my absence Rejoice As I will have found The peace I have been searching for My whole life

New Chapter - Darjeeling

So long story short, I have shifted to Darjeeling. I had opted for this posting quite some time back but it got delayed due to so many reasons for an indefinite time period. I am a firm believer in fate, destiny and all kinds of prophecy written on the stars that are beyond our reach and logical comprehension. I hate logic. So I diverted my mind from the bureaucratic bullshit at work and told myself that the delay was pre-destined and I was supposed to fulfill some other tasks meanwhile. You may laugh at my belief and call me half-witted and superstitious but so many things happened in between that now I am more of a zealous believer in that ancient saying – nothing happens before time.

So here I am, sitting in my room that I have rented as a paying guest and writing my first blog post from Bengali’s all-time favourite hill station tormented and almost torn apart owing to decades of political turmoil. Although my interest in Darjeeling doesn’t exactly follow the typical Bengali path…

An Ending

It wasn’t the ending she had hoped for. It didn’t fit with her prolonged fantasy about this moment. She had pictured it differently in her infinite bound mind. To begin with, she didn’t imagine the day would turn out to be so gloomy, so disastrous. The incessant rain, worsened by the roaring of wind was only reminding her of the emptiness that filled every square inch of her chest. Her damp clothes were hanging limply around her somewhat shrunken frame, sending repeated shivers through her spine. She was dying for some warmth. She was probably missing another human's touch against her numb skin. She was losing out on way too many things lately. Why today? She couldn’t help feeling a little resentful. But then almost immediately she got the answer from herself. The universe doesn’t give a damn about her moment. No, not really. 
Rain or no rain, she expected this moment to be a lot more emotional. But no, they didn’t hug before parting ways. No farewell wishes were spoken. Nobody l…

The Many-Faced God

Ok first let’s make this clear. I am not suicidal. I am not contemplating killing myself. This is not a suicide note. If I die after writing this it would either be an accident or someone has murdered me (I’m sorry I’m reading too many whodunits these days). It is just another blog post. The topic might sound creepy but then you see, writing about cute things is not really my forte. Everyone has got their own style. So someone writes heart wrenching, feel good stories of her day to day life in the capital city of India. Someone writes about her travel stories and her (so far unsuccessful) trysts with men. Someone writes about recipes. I write about creepy stuff. That’s my thing. And whenever those episodes of depression and mental turbulence hit me I get awesome ideas in my head. Well, you see as long as you are living in those little bubbles of temporary happiness you try not to look at the harsher aspects of life. You shut your eyes really tight and try to recall the taste of wine …

Pujo Outfit: 2/2

Ashtami and Nabami were the most fun-filled days but rain played spoilsport. We (D and I) couldn't get to wear saree owing to obvious reasons. And mine was a cotton white one! Ashtami evening was spent at the complex playing silent but secretly disgruntled spectator of the cultural programme that got right on our nerves. Even the photo session was a tricky one. It's not easy to balance umbrella in one hand and use the spare one to click that perfect instagram shot. D's parents were out of station on a trip so we had the whole place to ourselves. A freedom that we celebrated watching TV at the highest volume and eating Maggie at 12 o' clock in the night sprawling over the floor. Well, we are geniuses. On Nabami morning D and I set out to explore south Calcutta pandals. We had just left Ekdalia Evergreen and were having a late breakfast at the nearby Cakes shop when it started raining. Rain, like the devoted partner, kept us company till we hopped into a dilapidated yel…

Pujo Outfit: 1/2

Let's begin with an honest confession. I had a shitty pre-Pujo time this year. Usually the pre Pujo period feels better than the actual Pujo days. The month long anticipation time is much better than those blink-and-you-miss five days. But this year I had reached such an almost half dead state before Pujo that not only the fun of counting the days was totally gone but also I was dreading every moment of upcoming festivity. Pujo was early this year so the late October chill was not in the air. Instead it was stiflingly humid and hot. And maybe I am really losing something with age but I really couldn't smell Pujo in the air this time. But to be honest, most of the time my nose was blocked due to excessive crying. There you go. I just cracked a joke on my misery. I rock! But then miracle happened. And despite a completely sleepless Shosthi night (No I was not busy pandal hopping, I was in my bed lying wide awake, wallowing in dread and agony), and a scandalously strenuous Sapta…