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Showing posts from November, 2017

Break

I am taking an indefinite break from blogging. By indefinite it could be anything from five days to five months to, God forbid, five years. But as far as I know myself it should not be more than a month. I have many things to write, many things to share. But for now I must mourn for some time. Even if I end up writing something I wouldn't be posting them. Death demands the respectful silence. And I am mourning a death right now.
See you soon.

A Science Fiction

I was just back from my date with Justice league. I was scrolling through my feed on facebok and I stumbled across this. It didn't come with a credit and I tried to browse on google to find who wrote this piece of sheer gem. Sadly I could find none. I hate sharing other people's masterpieces to draw traffic on my blog but I just had to share this. I just want to say this to whoever wrote this, "I LOVE YOU." I don't know who you are but you are probably my soulsister. Lately I have heard a lot about from a certain someone for my alleged 'bad habit' of hating women. Honestly, his allegations are not completely untrue. I absolutely loathe this clan of women who are at least partly responsible for the sad fate of their own sex. Women who always try to cage other women by petty, pragmatic values and refuse them to sanction them the wings they deserve so rightfully. For past few months my life has become hell owing to such type of women (woman). And then one fi…

The Survivors

There is beauty in falling in love with people who have suffered as much as you have. People who look at your scar marks and can tell you what you have been through. But above all, people who are not full of themselves. People who have seen blood and know how it tastes like. The taste of metal coupled with melancholy. They are not judgmental piece of shit. They will call you up at 3 in the morning and laugh through the fucking tears. They don’t give fucking damn about health and mental wellbeing. Because they have seen the end of the world and have lived through the catastrophe. Don’t try to teach them your fuckall spirituality as they have tasted the fire of doomsday on their tongue and they are still here to tell their stories. They don’t need to read some fuckall guru’s books because their own life is the testimony of all things those bleed. Shut those fucking books of yours. Close that fucking superficial mind of yours. Take off your clothes. And let them get rid of theirs. Touch …

Fall

Solitary autumn afternoons always remind me of endings. Yellow leaves crunching beneath the shoes. Tinge of gold slipping off the snow peaks. Everything is bathing in the dying ray of sun. Wind is too mercilessly cold. My numb fingers adjust the cozy layer of woolens. The tip of my nose is crying for help. Lower lip has been bleeding since I smiled at the random stray dog. I stride across the crowded street. People are enjoying the last part of the day before heading home. Kids are returning from school. Their scarves are painted in cheery shades of yellow. They remind me of Gryffindor students. Happy looking couples passing by hand in hand. Do I feel a sudden pang somewhere inside me? Ah, must be the cold. Solitary old man is dozing off in the shadowy corner of neglect and decay. I look up. Sky is looking so bloodshot all of a sudden. I shiver in spite of myself. I think of blood dripping off me, slowly coagulating into red patches. My favourite kind of red. The red that is smeared …

Fickle

When you read someone’s blog and realise you have your own things to say and that might get a bit longer than an average comment and start writing your own post fueled by what they wrote, will that be considered as stealing the ideas? I am not so sure. In fact I was planning to write a post on self-harming tendencies to creep the fuck out of your souls my dear readers. But then here I am, writing on concentration (or the lack of it) and my list of excuses for it.
Let’s first start with concentration. The first para contains approx 92 words and within that I checked whatsapp twice, reacted to a Paolo Coelho quote, checked facebook once and changed song on the playlist. Yes, most of the times I type with my headphones stuck into my malfunctioning earholes. Wait, maybe I need to eat a little chocolate and drink some water before I can sit and organise my words. Not to mention the water intake will lead me to reluctantly clamber off the bed and walk out of the door in another ten minutes…

Not Hurt

New Friend

Reminiscence

Memories are weird. Some stay so strong that it feels like only yesterday when it was ripping apart your reality into a forever lasting scar mark. Some go into oblivion. And they come back in flashes while you are probably putting makeup on in the morning or sipping coffee on a quiet, sunny afternoon. You feel shocked at first thinking if it really happened once. And then the indifferent rumination gives you the second wave of shock. You sit there, nodding your head with a divine smile on your face. If people could see the corner of your mouth twisted into a curve they would think you were sharing a private joke with yourself. No. You are just merely laughing inwardly thinking how on earth you thought this memory this faded trace of a bygone event would matter so much to you. But the truth is – nothing lasts forever. Love dies. Fire extinguishes. Rain stops. People leave. And even someday this one little blue planet will go to sleep without setting its morning alarm for tomorrow. You…

Thor Ragnarok (No Spoiler)

Last couple of months has not been good for me. I am disappointed, torn apart, but not shocked. I am hardly ever shocked when disaster happens in my personal life. (Touch fucking wood. Please god, do not take this statement as a challenge. I beg you.) I know the trend of my life. As some wise person might again jump at it and start charging at me for being ‘stuck in my past’ way too much for their convenience. But hey man, I studied statistics. We learned how to use past to predict our future. And most of my batchmates are earning their bread doing that only. No I don’t do that; I am just a boring bureaucrat. So let’s come to the point. What was I living for during these past two months? Transfer? Yes. New books? Yes. New clothes? Yes. Oh screw you, I am shallow and I don’t give a damn. But above all, I was waiting for one particular day. November 3rd, 2017. Thor Ragnarok was coming that day. If there is one reason I go to bed with a motivation to wake up the next morning, that would…

Taurus Full Moon

Today is a full moon night. The sky is clear. Liquid silver is flooding across the sleepy town. You can’t tell apart the stars and the twinkling lights adorning the hills. I look up. And then I look again. I can’t believe my eyes. Did you ever see snow-clad peaks under a moonlit sky? I just did. It is not a special night. No lost love has come home to cuddle with me under the same blanket. No kiss has been shared promising together forever . Yet I am out there. On the terrace. I am standing. Clutching the railings. Looking up at the moon and the invisible mountain gods. It says that moonlight doesn't touch your skin; it touches the veins inside and becomes one with the blood until it possesses you. Lunatic. That's the word. I am not sure if it is due to crying or the midnight chill I am shivering so violently. But I am out there, counting my karma. Making pact with the gods. While staring at the mountains that look like masterpiece of some nameless cosmic painter at the momen…

Two Events, Few People, and the Lama Who Speaks Bengali

So far in Darjeeling I have attended two ceremonies which are purely Buddhist in nature; one Tibetan, one Sikkimese but both follow the same tradition of Vajrayana. My office is below the railway station from where there is a shortcut to my house but on most of the days I take the longer route via chowrasta. Life is pretty lonely here, especially after sunset. So I try to linger outside as much as possible after office. It was last week when I was going home from work when I saw this little notice outside Kunga Restaurant. The Tibetan Himalayan Buddhist Women Association was organising the yearly puja of Devi Tara at the local community hall. And I knew I had to attend this. I knew where the community hall was but the problem was something else. I am a pure chickenshit when it comes to unknown or new social situation, let alone barge into some community ceremony uninvited; even though I was almost sure they wouldn’t mind. Still I called up my landlord Mr. S and requested him to intro…