"Beware", I had said.

To my 18 Day Old first cousin,

I am here to advice you because the world is a big, bad and harmful place full of Maoists and people who support Manchester United.

I would appreciate it if you do not listen too much to adults. They are insane creatures (and almost universally acknowledged to be very frustrated) who want to go Paris. They will tell you to stick to principles that they themselves have failed to adhere to since they were in white towels with pink borders. Like, ‘Don’t be dishonest’, ‘Don’t tease a lesser mortal’, and the like. Lie if you can get away with it. And tease Liverpudlians to death.

You will encounter all sorts of people in life. Some of whom will want to convince you that there are painters who are greater than Van Gogh and Gustave Klimt. You will tell them to kindly fuck off.

Recognising the fact that you will have no grandfathers, I will cough violently once in the middle of May every year and then tell you to quickly put on a sweater as the non-existent Nor’wester is hazardous for health. I will also get you out of sticky situations of all kinds in return for promises of pickled mango.

Always cover borrowed books with newspapers before reading them and creasing their covers.

You must never pester your parents for things you will be ashamed of in later life. Like Bugs Bunny clip boards and foot long Santa Claus pencils. I also think you should read Macbeth and Poetics as soon as you start making sense of words as the vast number of references to these works in later life will kill you. Unless you are planning to plunge into Physics. Or kill yourself.

Please don’t smoke or sit for long hours in front of the computer, playing Age of Empires. Be a human. Blog.

Don’t develop the irritating habit of not untying your shoelaces before plunging your foot into a shoe.

When you watch a movie, dont be a critic. Remember that the director and the producer and everyone who was involved in making it, made it to entertain you. And to satisfy the underworld.

Don’t fall in love before you turn 18. And make the girl support the team of your choice.

Of course, a time will come when you will forget all your passwords and smile for totally inexplicable reasons. Then. You will not need my advices anymore.

The State That Looks Like Emmylou Harris

There and Back Again.

Once upon a time I went to the Rajasthan.

There were many sands there.

There was also a camels.

I rode on the camels backside with my mother and with my father.

They were very happy.

(I was driven by an irrepressible desire to smack the camel owner but that is beside the point)

We ate lot of bajra and saw many fort.

We sitted under tent and saw many pretty ladies dance around blazing fire with talent.

In Jaisalmer, my parent gifted me golden stone bowl.

Then I got up on a railway track and returned back home.

Koeschens

I am tired of writing lengthy introductions. A blog is not a Hard Times assignment.
So I’ll arrive at my point without much drama:
I have many questions ( eternally pronounced “koeschens” by unnameable persons of my academic past) and they are:


1. “You know what your problem is, Finch? You get carried away with your own importance--but not far enough.”

Where would we be without DC and Marvel?

2. Why did my father look like I was throwing up metal yo-yos when I asked him exactly what people found objectionable with Silvio Berlusconi?

3.Why do the edges of carpets curl peculiarly against gravity, thereby creating very clever traps for ones abnormally long toes, thus making one fall nose-first
on the hard-unfriendly marble floor when one would like most to be discovered hurrying to college?

4.What is Dipankar Lahiri doing in his current Facebook display picture?

5.Why do I not have the good fortune of waking up one fine morning to hear that a freak molten meteorite visited the earth while I was dreaming of talking kettles and hit Sir Alex Ferguson square on the face thereby obliterating all chances of survival of the victim?

6. Is there anything that Arshdeep Singh Brar does not know?

7. I use Lux Soap daily. So why do I not look like Priyanka Chopra?

8. Where is the five rupee coin I once hid below my mattress in an attempt to start saving up for a visit to London?

9.Why is it never cold enough for me to wear that gray tweed jacket my Uncle got from a swank air-conditioned place in California?

10. Why is it that when defenders score goals, they have no idea how to celebrate?

11.Exactly what were the students doodling on their spare parchments when Thomas Carlyle was reading out 'Hero and Hero Worship' to them?

12.If Barack Obama could win the Nobel Prize for Peace, could the Embryo within my pregnant aunt’s tummy be far behind?

Win or Lose...?

My desk.
Because this afternoon I made a lot of intricate hand movements and explained to DeepteshInFlames that Chelsea have been relegated mid season.
And he believed me.

Divine Nocturne

Beauty.
The splash
of the first autumn rain
disturbing the dust of the street.
The nascent scent.
Of dormant clouds.
Of sleeping winds.
Of older beginnings.

Surprise.
The change of the bright red light,
to blue,
to green,
to yellow.
Against the twilit redness
of the seldom-blue sky
Of the seldom-blue mind.

Awe.
The macabre idol.
Worshipped in the act of killing
all that is cruel,
while her children smile.
While their children laugh.
And theirs.

Freedom.
The soft rhythmic drip of
night into day
and day into night
(amidst the bedlam)
And the orange ice lolly
planning a plunge into the
unstarched pink salwar.
While the consumer giggles
(amidst the bedlam)
at two in the morning.

Love.
Under the nine-tier chandelier,
of the brilliant tent
on the edge of every road.
Every shining stone
of every shining bangle.
Every iris of every third eye
on mud.
Every conch blown.
Every tear dropped.
Every splash on the Ganga.

(This could be my first attempt at writing civil poetry. While the attempt will undoubtedly make Deeptesh and his flames very proud, I might just have ensured my acceptance into LoserLand with this.
And yes, this was written during 'Durga Pujo 2009'.
And yes, because I was happy and giggling like a donkey this Durga Pujo 2009)

DOs

This morning, while brushing my teeth with Colgate Active Salt (one cubic inch of it is just enough for completely ruining the entire day, thank you ), I realised that now that I have made a blog, I have to write in it. It is an obligation. An added pressure. I use 'added' because I am 18 and support the Chelsea FC and (much to my own surprise) go to college. The point is being made that I am thus living the sunniest heydays of unadulterated pressure. Thus this blog will ruin my life. You will one day discover me lying prostrate in a garden of petunias, sporting empty eyes and white knuckles, clutching a laptop and muttering 'fill my blog oh fill my bloggie' to the tune of 'We all follow the Chelsea'. I am officially bringing about my own decline.
Henceforth I will forever try to grab inspiration from anywhere and everywhere ranging from Mamata Banerjee's most recent diss-them-Marxists comment to Alex Ferguson's most recent Chelsea-are-never-winners comment, and include them in my blog.
I will make a big deal of everyday matters like cleaning (and breaking) ugly china vases or fishing cornflakes out of a bowl of milk, and record these as if they were extra-terrestrial experiences which someone as mundane as you will never ever have the fortune of having. All in my blog.
I will even comment on Rakhi Sawant's chosen fiancee who has the name of a fish.
I will go to places like Mukutmonipur and pretend that it's the latest Venice and that it humanely will not be possible for any one to have the same amount of fun as I will have there. Then I will aptly mistake this blog, my blog, for a travelogue and give every gory detail of my travels and seduce you into commenting on my ramblings.
I will surpass your wildest dreams with macabre accounts of my macabre looniness and never-ending-forever-surprising flow of madness. In my blog.
I will raise a hue and cry if a classmate borrows my pencil. Such matters obviously have to be included in my blog.

And you only have to wait till I have a break up. Then. I will turn this blog black.