Scary big words that life keeps throwing. I know people have it worse. But there should be a limit to sadness per month, no?
Be back in a bit, minus diseases. Inshallah. Please God.
Scary big words that life keeps throwing. I know people have it worse. But there should be a limit to sadness per month, no?
Be back in a bit, minus diseases. Inshallah. Please God.
With topical dermatitis or psoriasis or dry eczema (No, Doctors have no idea. Yes, multiple Doctors) joining the misery party, here comes the "Go Back" placard from Calcutta, again. There would be another attempt to dip my toes tightly inside the Calcutta mud and try to stay longer, forever. Only time would tell if a gush of misery wave is going to put me away or standstill would continue. Instantly worried about S's career which could get affected by this hate hate vibe that fate has developed.
Stress is a trigger. I have been told.
Wow Gods! So kind. I don't even know what to say. I am just so tired. As if losing Hreed was not enough. Now, my home too? I know people have it worse. But some have it better. Way way better. Why can't that be me? Why can't that be us? Time to start listening to prayers maybe? Gods? Anybody home?
Somewhere, someone cries
Somewhere, someone dies
While someone takes a long haul flight
Someone rushes
Someone pushes
Someone stacks a pile of lies
Someone struggles
Someone rebels
Someone wholeheartedly complies
All of it
While someone takes a long haul flight
While someone takes a long haul flight
May luck, come by
May life, come by
While someone takes a long haul flight
- Obhi
Just when you think you've seen the worst of worst, life gives you a new low! Not sure if my prayers have any effect but totally praying for the 24year old to not have L.
Just when I thought my problem was the biggest, here it comes. I can't even. My god.
Story, because AI could never!
Growing up I could gain and lose weight very easily. The years and phases when the weight was on the higher end, my height weight jugalbandi would droop down my confidence to eventually cause me to eat more to cause more drooping down, a vicious cycle.
Last one year was one of the most medically and financially exhausting years where, ofcouse, the dropping down reached an all time high (technically). This drowned my confidence in Hoogly. Gained weight, lost hair, still losing peace of mind.
Medicines for weight gain
Keto for weight loss
Repeat
July
August
September
October
November
December
And by now I was 5kg lighter by body mass and 100 kg heavier by mind weight. Mind over body. Remember.
So when they gave me a new diet chart today. I laughed.
Mind over body, the nutritionist said.
What would you know.
"Children, those are slides..." said Mrs. Young, my Lower Nursery class teacher. "You are in a convent school; what is 'Slip Slip'? Speak proper English," as we made a long queue to take turns on the solitary yellow-colored slide beside our Pre-Primary section premises.
I instantly knew I had to go home and tell my aunts and Amma about this new English word.
As a child, I grew up in a joint family for the first 10 years as the only human who was below 10 years old, so obviously I was pampered and spoilt in every way a middle-class child could be pampered and spoilt. One of those episodes always had Nana take me to the park in the evenings whenever I wanted, but in the park, I always had to face a long queue in front of the Dolna—the swing. Back home, since everything was presented to me before I could know I needed it, this "waiting" game was too much for me to handle; so, of course, I switched my favorite from Dolna to the "Slip," which was always open, always less crowded.
In school, we could use the "Slip" only during PT periods in Pre-Primary—only twice a week, really! But come Class I, Primary Section, we were free birds graduating from the yellow plastic slide of Pre-Primary to the cemented slide in the central ground of our school! So, every morning, when our school bus would drop us at school 50 minutes before the school actually started, all of us—Bus No. 16 , 14 and Bus No. 8 friends—would gather around the three-faced cemented slide until the Assembly Bell. There was special joy on PT days when we wore keds because that would make running and reaching the top from the bottom front of the slide a cakewalk compared to the daily ballerinas.
This ritual stopped once we were in the Secondary section because other things started seeming more interesting. During this transition phase, one day we went to D-Uncle's new flat in a society of those times which had a slide INSIDE THE SOCIETY! My 10-year-old brain went giddy with dreams of living in such a house that would have a slide. In my dream house with a slide below, I would return home every evening and run to the slide and all would be well.
I remember living with this dream for a few days once we returned back home.
Then years passed, I grew up, and I don't remember getting on any kind of slide for at least the last 10 years, or maybe 20.
However, today, I noticed something. I had gone out to buy something in the morning and, in the random 10 degrees of Newtown's extra chilly winds while coming back, I saw that there are not one, not two, but three (technically four) slides right below my building.
These existed for the last 6 months as well, but they never seemed important enough to be given a moment of thought. When we were house hunting, this was not even on the list, whereas things like "Covered Parking" and "Security Deposit" were all that I cared about. What have I become?
Hence, this gratitude post from that 10-year-old dreamer.
The current me is still exhausted and low on faith, but at least I finally have the 'house with a slip', for now (fate Gods, no nazar and uprooting, please)
Kolkata winters have always been an experience. Trust a radically sick person to still gather all her might and turn up for parar program, especially for a band that she had never heard of.
Fakira, when I heard them, especially when I saw an entire early 20 something crowd sing along line by line while I only sang chorus, for a while, I thought that maybe our time is over and the 10 years of Bangalore has taken me away from Bangla music scene and now, old age has to just nod the freshly chopped hair, headbang what headbang, Hello Pretence, my old friend.
And then there was a homage to "GOUTOM SYYAR", there was Prithibita Naki, there was a 60 something gentleman stand up and do Aahahaha...aaaha Aahahaha! I did too, so did the 20something headbangers, so did parar kakima and khukumoni!
That's when you know, the dead weight might pull you down, but then, you can always lick your wounds with Bhebe Dekhechho Kiiiii Tara Rao Koto Alok Borsho Dure.... Aaro Dure....
There goes my Hreed... Aaro Dure
Loss. Something we've all dealt with, or, are dealing with. Of people, places, substance, memory, dream, hope, possibility.
Reeling from such a loss, or the possibility of it. My father had always tried optimism when watching cricket "last ball e kichhuo hote pare". Today I heard that he's optimistic as well, so is everyone I spoke with today. I as usual have very little hope about my medical situation. I hope I am just exaggerating this out of proportion and mine will be a story to tell next year. Header "Storm in Storm"! H, please.
God, this one time, prove me wrong about my worries and them right about their faith. Very very tired. Really.
Tears.
Some of joy, some of pain,
Some for people to never meet again,
Some for choices, badly made,
Some for bold chances, mocking fate,
Tears.
So many known, many unknown,
Few, beautifully wiped out,
Few, never shown,
Few, present continuous,
Most, anonymously passed on,
Outgrown.
-Obhi
All fate Gods, please, let the day be of happiness. It's more important than ever. Praying with all of my might. Counting on all of combined dullops of faith and prayer and belief.
Anxiety pro max tonight.
Remember that time after board exams; you prepared your best, you sat through the exams, you think you did well, everyone is saying papers were unpredictable, now you wait for the result.
Wait, not knowing if your emotionally charged up essay would go in the hands of a non romantic teacher, not knowing if the teacher would "step mark" your half done maths sum, not knowing if you'll pass.
Going through exact same phase. Want to flex that I have never failed. Want the streak to just continue. Touchwood. Gods, I have no strength left for any barter. So, just for the love of love, don't fail me this time too. Please.
Hot chocolate for the weak heart.
Nomatter how much you spend, no matter how much you push your body to tolerate all sorts of pain just to be at the basic pink of health, it all comes down to a lot of luck and love from the health Gods to sail you through and finally stick to a happy shore.
High temperature, runny nose, burning eyes, almost disrupting my medical procedures for tomorrow. At this point, I don't even have the heart to pray or feel bad or be hopeful. Just numb. Remembering every person who had told me to start adopting a better lifestyle years ago, multiple times.
Just hoping, I get lucky this time. Dear Gods! Please
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.