Live a little, they say
And I wonder how would it be
To really live but just for a little
Than to not live at all
And I wonder how would it be
To accept
Live a little, they say
And I wonder how would it be
To really live but just for a little
Than to not live at all
And I wonder how would it be
To accept
Remember those days???
While my school result days were generally celebratory, college result days were absolutely random. They would choose random days and more random time of that day to publish the results without any prior notice. Decorum? What Decorum?
Ten minutes into this random result publishing, the servers would crash and we'd be left with endlessly waiting and worrying of when again, the results would be out. Then, there were a few studs who believed in "ignorance in bliss" but I, was always this super scared pact-with-god-making human, chewing away all of my nails in anxiety. This is back in the days when anxiety was just another day of "bhoy lagchhe".
Tomorrow is one such mid year result day. This time, in the school of life. No pacts are made. Bhoy lagchhe. Hoping the Gods will be kind and finally have some mercy on us. Totally counting on S's luck this time. Mine, I ran out in 2014.
Beg? I'm doing every second.
Let tomorrow be a happy day, Dear God!
Writing this with dry throat, literally, because "no water after 11pm"
After about what millions of humans being go through everyday, General Anesthesia is still making me nervous. N's wise words saying "Anesthesia is the best invention of the medical world" is on loop on my mind and heart.
By now you know that drama is my middle name. So drama I shall do. I hope to get out of this situation someday and write a book. Till then,
Dua mein yaad rakhna. See you in a bit. Inshallah!
Everyday has been a struggle to cope up with and pray for medicines and miracles. My skin and heart has been pricked and probed. My prayers have been disorganized and scattered. My office has been blur. I no longer know what I truly want. I no longer believe in the power of prayer.
The car has not been out for weeks, no holiday plans at the horizon, all normal clothes have been changed into Kurta and easy pants, Chatgpt has now become my affirmation generator
What am I doing?
What are you doing? GOD!
"What is the bravest thing you've ever said?" asked the boy. "Help," said the horse.
I had taken a long hiatus from reading until 2025, when I realized I had become intellectually stunted to the point where my 20-year-old self would have rolled her eyes. I used the same words and adjectives, "very" for both moderate and extreme, and "beautiful" for beautiful, lovely, and extraordinary. Words started to fail me. The AI revolution had made me a slave to quick fixes, starting with emails and, before I knew it, I abandoned pens and typing altogether. Nothing much has changed since that realization.
"If at first you don't succeed, have some cake."
I picked up The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse yesterday after an anxious work day. It was a farewell gift to S from Alpana, and I blindly trust her choice. Of course, S had kept it neatly placed, with its edges protected, on one of our new shelves. I picked it because it had drawings—hand-drawn, with a tea cup stain, and handwritten prints—somewhat giving the feels of "The Little Prince."
Verdict: OMG
"When the big things feel out of control, focus on what you love right under your nose."
The book is from the self-help genre, a genre we detest and have a carton full of giveaway books of. But never did I imagine something so simple could be so deep. You can pick up the book and start from any page. The story moves through drawings and scribblings. We know the end from the beginning, and yet, every line is a masterpiece.
Hence, book 3 of 2025! So glad we met.
"Sometimes I worry you'll all realise I'm ordinary," said the boy. "Love doesn't need you to be extraordinary," said the mole.
Never too late to Master...
There's an old photo at my home in black-and-white. It shows mother in her college years, wearing a neatly pleated cotton Saari, straight long pleated hair, a black graduation robe and a rolled paper in her hand.
I had looked and admired that photo during growing up years before paper photos lost their way.
As I had always dreamt to achieve all that my Maa did (and still does), I kept imagining how I would look in a graduation gown for very many years. Then there was a long hiatus.
Nevertheless, so happy to finally know that's how !
Post-Graduation!
MBA, 2025
P.S. Hyderabad has finally redeemed itself of its many heartbreaks to me in phases !And jaaaaast when you are almost about to count Calcutta as a blessing, the city makes you feel unwelcomed, unwanted, guest-like
Almost fighting for my piece of land. Trying every bit for acceptance.
But for how long!?! Why this step daughter treatment. Why no sympathy? Why so unkind?
One blessing finally without fighting my way through the basics of life? Atleast? Please?
"Teen Show Taka," said the Uber driver.
"Thik Ache Sir."
"Cash deben kintu."
Nisha shrugged and started searching through her bag for cash. The Calcutta rain began pouring, washing away eleven years, taking Nisha eleven years into the past…
2014
"Teen Show Taka," said the yellow taxi driver.
"TEEN SHOW?" Nisha exhaled and looked at her pink purse, which she had purchased especially for her first day at her first job from Esplanade.
She started counting all the tens, twenties, and fifties from its various zipped 'pockets'; together, it made 360 rupees. A mental calculation of 50 rupees for lunch and 10 for evening laal cha left her with exactly 300 for the taxi now. But what about the return commute from work? She fished more and found a few five-rupee coins, enough for a non-AC bus ride home. Phew. Sorted.
"Thik Achhe Kaku, cholun taratari, khub late hoye gechhe.”
She cursed all the rain gods and her luck for this late start on her second day of work. How could she be late on her second day? 300 rupees would now be unnecessarily spent on a lavish taxi.
‘Eka Eka Taxi Chora, Moja toh’.
But three hundred rupees was her budget for three days of travel and food.
"Maybe I’ll take some money from Mom," she thought.
But now she was a working lady; could she ask for money? Is there any acceptable age after which children cannot ask for money from their parents? She knew there isn't.
Anyway, she sighed, and then some more.
“Tomorrow, must start early,” she repeated to herself a thousand times.
The yellow taxi swooshed through the Calcutta monsoon.
Eleven years passed by!
2025
Nisha still does not have cash, but this time, it is out of choice and mostly laziness to visit an ATM.
"UPI neben Sir, please"
"Extra ponchash lagbe. Brishtir din."
Nisha nodded and smiled as the white Uber swooshed through the Calcutta monsoon.
It's been a few weeks since I moved back. The main reason to not shed many tears while leaving Bangalore was the racism that has emerged out of nowhere. But here, in less than a month I've heard "admi log k beech kyu bol rhi hai aap" from a broker (I blamed his education); "saali double battery" from a random audience at Bassi's show (I again blamed his education, a little to loudly this time); filled a police clearance form asking for "spouse name/পত্নীর নাম" like it's impossible for a Bengali female to fill the form unless they want only lesbian couples renting out (again, education?). What's with this sexism all around. Calcutta was never this way! Or I have been in blind love? Like always in love? Was this all a mistake? Like always in love?
But then, last Friday, I drove through torrential rain and heard Jimmy on Dilse; my heart instantly knew, all shall eventually be well. One way ticket, was and would always be worth the struggles. Inshallah :")
Video is for the doubt days. But cut down on sexism, you.
Staring at a blue wall
Staring at clouds
Staring at cold mountains
Looking away from crowd
Reevaluating decisions
Fake laughing loud
Trying not to be ungrateful
Almost making myself proud
Never did I ever think that I'm going to be one of those night howling Aunties but here, hear:
DON'T be preachy about sacrifices. Who can bear how much does not prove anything about anyone. It's not cool, not even mildly sophisticated. It's unbreathable.
Excited about the possibility of today to be the beginning of last semester mid terms. Calling all Gods to not ignore my marks requirements just because I have obsessed over other things way too much. Blessings for the greedy child. Today, Sunday and till End Semester results and beyond :)
Song because, pretty!
Dependence and Independence
Independence has been a word of pride and extreme honor for Indians. As women, specifically, it's a milestone of pride and honor to be able to achieve it.
A certain turn of life events made me realise that we, the financially and academically privileged women have probably never understood Independence.
Why is it that we still need biological and emotional biscuits to be thrown at us despite all the 'Independence'. Does that make us independent in the first place? Slowly slipping into a deep dark mind line where there is no light and a lot of dependence.
Did you know that the opposite of self worth is dependence? I figured, just today.
Of all the things I wished to be
I wished to be Clementine
Keep dyeing my hair
Keep pretending I am fine
As a child, adult, always been a fan of Valentines Day! This time even managed to convert S into a Valentine's week celebrating husband. But ofcourse fate HAS to blow out the candles before it's 12
Here comes tube test and job scare. Just when I thought that things are finally going my way! H and the home I dream of was just getting clearer on the horizon and poof; the horizon is as far as it seemed 3 years ago!
Dear God. Why!
So I will spend Valentines this year, convincing my manager's manager why I am a wrong fit for his bizzare plans for me and myself, that I can do the tube test without Anesthesia.
And you, say a small prayer for a boring Bangali 10-7 job hugging Kakima life for me please! I've had enough thrills and unconventional jazz.
Totally hoping for mediocrity and 'regular'. Please.