Memorable March week one-True blue or too blue

Okay,time to don the hat of the proud moderator and get down to the real business. First of all,the saddest thing just happened. The queen bee Kanika who had started it all couldn't participate for reasons unknown. Maybe she was busy,maybe I didn't do her brainchild justice...I can go on and on.
But other bloggers more than made up for it. I started receiving mails since last night and I give myself enough credit for surviving the whole day without any activity over here. Now,it's time to write my post(I've received such amazing pieces that I'm afraid you won't read my post if I give out the links early,hence the selfish act;I hope you'll understand and sympathise).

True blue or too blue

Blue is a colour I've never been comfortable with.
.
Sometimes,it's too loud.

Sometimes,it's too cold.



I'm blue.

I'm darkness in its brightest form.

I'm the last ray of hope you see just before the sunset.

You might have known me as orange but I actually AM blue.



I'm blue.

I'm the one you hold on to when you're too afraid to hope,

yet too hopeful to let go.

I'm mediocrity in all its grandeur.

You might have known me as middle-parted oiled hair but I actually AM blue.



 Life doesn't do much justice to me.

Death over-glorifies me.

Where do I seek refuge,pray?

Yes,it's the womb of thee-

where life hasn't started to take shape yet,

where death hasn't been able to extend its cold wrath,

the ultimate twilight-the most pleasing fading away ever,

that's where I reside,fellow travellers.

Now comes the bunch I'm so proud of-
College buddy and fellow blogger Sanjana surprised me in the middle of the night with her emotional visuals.
Sudeshna stayed true to her promise and wasted no time in painting a serene picture.
My special girl Shiromi got inspired in the very literal sense and going through her post was like looking at a mirror,only better crafted.
And last but not the least,Dark Angel deserves a special mention for doing something so uniquely refreshing in the midst of all these words! I won't tell you what it is. You HAVE TO check her blog to know and trust me,it's worth it!
                      Guess I'll see you guys next Saturday then. I certainly don't expect to have more than FOUR awesome bloggers on board but I DO expect Sanjana,Sudeshna,Shiromi and Dark Angel to stay put. Sudeshna,Shiromi and Dark Angel,if you guys ever come to Kolkata,DO meet me up and drive me crazy until I buy you guys cupcakes. You SO deserve it!

Adieu...

Everybody DESERVES to be born.
You did.
I did.
The smelly,naked child living in the shanty next to the Railway quarters did.
Osama Bin Laden did.
So did Saddam Hussain.

No matter how much we glorify mother,
I'd like to believe the nine months in that dark,meaty chamber was very much a horror for us.
Not that I was happy coming out,
but I knew I had earned it.
So did you,I guess.
And them.

No one DESERVES to be killed.
Though one might deserve to die.
And what if you cannot plan it as meticulously as you had wished?
You die once,and wait for a re-birth.

I'd rather be dead than planning my death.
Funeral disgusts me.
White nauseates me.
Black blackens me.

I'd die and wait.
Wait for you to take a leap,
to catch up with me.
And then,we'll die again.
Hand in hand,or intertwined,you choose.

Or maybe we'll live,
like the selfish blokes we've always been.
Using Mother Earth till we suck the last drop of blood out of her vagina.

Why,pray do we need to be such hapless romantics?
Let's keep stupidity for poets only.
You and I,Laden and Saddam,are people.
We make promises,break them,make them again and again.
We bid good bye only to grace the world with our venomous selves again.
We come back hungrier and angrier each time.
We don't die.
We take a break.

I am one of you,
but I'm still different.
That's why I don't kill without letting my eyes escape a drop of tear or two.
That's why I hesitate before kicking a poor beggar right where it hurts(his empty stomach,if you might).
That's why I feel a little uneasy having the dinner,knowing I've taken the same dinner away from so many hungry souls.
I am a sinner.
Only with a little conscience left,till now.

On this very day,I bid adieu.
Not to meet ever again.
Carry the torch of my sin.
My uneasy conscience,soldiers.
I leave my soul to the care of thee.
Do me a small favor.
Pray just once before setting that village to fire.
Smile just once before shooting that child in front of his mother.
Or look away just once before raping that mother in front of that child.
And I shall be grateful.

P.S.And with that,Fantabulous February comes to an end. I'm too emotional to make sense. My post must've given you an idea how carried away I got. But anyway,I,hereby,would like to thank Kanika for sucking all these posts out of me. She made me feel productive,and useful,and important after a long time. I bid adieu to Fantabulous February with a heavy heart for sure but ask for just a little space for Memorable March. It's an extension of Fantabulous February. But rules are a little different. Like I said yesterday,instead of blogging everyday,it's blogging every Sunday(I'm a lazy bum,like you must've known by now). I'll post inspiration of the week(word(s) or sentence(s)) on Saturday night and you will get the whole Sunday to write about it. Mail me the link to soumipaul07@gmail.com by the end of the day and I'll post your links along with my thoughts on Monday. Sounds simple,doesn't it?

Fantabulous February-day twenty eight

Don't tease me by spreading your hands like that when your departure is just a few minutes away.
I'm too shattered to enjoy your dark humour.
Not that I ever expected you to stay,
it's just that we ended too soon.

I had so much more to see,
and learn,
and feel,
and appreciate.

I was yet to be warm enough to survive my Winter without your embrace.
I was yet to be cold enough to survive my Summer without your shadow.
I was yet to be mature enough to see things through without your help.

I dare not say,'don't go'.
But I just request you not to make a fool out of me while you're on your way.
I'm thankful for the way you've shaped me up.
What was I but an ugly ball of mass?
I'm thankful for the way you've inspired me.
What was I but a fallen star with no direction?

I never thought I'd found you.
But when I did,
I knew we were to be one of the most talked-about things in the years to come.
A sense of belonging,a sense of security,
you,for me,were a picture of comfort.

You pushed me to the edge unforgivably,
but you were the first one to comfort me when I thought I had fared miserably.
It's only because of you that I learnt to shed fire instead of tears.

I'm not sad that our time is up.
Because 'not forever' makes it all the more interesting.
We shall be remembered...

Even talking about Fantabulous February makes me emotional. It's one of THE best things that have ever happened to me! So,I thought,instead of mourning it,I should take the initiative to extend it into 'Memorable March'.
Rules are simple. I'm not as dedicated as Kanika. Also,blogging daily was a little exhaustive for me. So,in 'Memorable March',you'll have to blog every Sunday,in stead of everyday. Since I'm no fancy photographer(I don't even have the eye to pick up a good picture from a bunch),my inspiration will be a little different. I'll post an expression((a word/two words/a sentence/a paragraph...)on Saturday night. You're welcome to interpret it your way. Do anything that the expression inspires you to do. Write a poem,do an outfit post,click an abstract picture,make a sketch and scan it and post it...do ANYTHING. Just try to explain why it meant what it meant to you,for the sake of the readers. I don't expect it to be as phenomenal a success as Fantabulous February,but even if one person other than me decides to write,I'll be humbled. Mail me the links to soumipaul07@gmail.com. I'll upload them along with my post on Monday.

Fantabulous February-day tweny seven!

She loved this few minutes in the morning.
Because she could have it all to herself.
Because she could allow every random thought in.
Because she could carelessly go through her greying hair without drawing a chuckle.
Because she could slip her hands inside her blouse without thinking about anyone looking.

These were the very qualities she had liked him for,years ago.
He was egoistic,highly opinionated,judgmental.
Much like herself.
Only a little more aggressive.

But after two decades of togetherness,she feels tired.
Tired of all these so-called intellectual qualities that had driven her towards him back then.
The constant criticism,the fixed gaze,the nonchalant belittling,
she is too old for all these.
She is sick of always trying to live up to his expectations.

One of the less bright sides of being married to a moody poet,she thought.
One of the less bright sides of being married to an ideological naxal leader,she thought.
One of the less bright sides of everything going off perfectly in the earlier years of one's life,she thought.
Yes,she thinks a lot these days and he won't have approved of all the topics.

Oh,how she envied those shallow friends of hers now!
Happily married,with kids and Sunday eat-outs and watching family soaps together...
Their post-marital sex was definitely less passionate,less heated,less of a constant argument between two very individualistic intellectuals.
They definitely didn't burst into Joyce while walking down the hide-and-seek of Russell Street.
But they were happy(and they still are).
They didn't have to put up with the disappointment of their husbands at being one of the 'husbands'.

Two minutes and thirty seconds.
That's exactly how long it takes.
Timing is crucial.
Otherwise,the tea will taste too strong and bitter,much like her life.
And she didn't need any reminders.
She was too careful.

A few more minutes of leisure.
A leisure she could still allow herself.
And then,with the 'swoop' of the last sip,
she'll be back to her life.
A life she has chosen for herself,much to others' dismay,
and her own will.
A life of supporting a failed genius lifelong.
A life of bearing the frustration of the failure she had played no part in,to begin with.
A life of always feeling 'not good enough'.
A life of silent,choked tears.
A life of the busiest Chartered Accountant in the city.

P.S.This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day twenty seven by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos. Two more days to go! I can't believe it! *Tears and sobs*
I already feel orphaned. And the icing on the cake? My exams are starting from 2nd March.So,that ensures that I've ALL THE TIME in the day to write my Fantabulous February posts. But Fantabulous February SHALL GET  a grand farewell,it SURE SHALL. I'll see to it.

Fantabulous February-day twenty six!

I kept the tattered flower carefully folded in my diary.
Hoping it'd blossom some day,
provided it got the tender love and care it was used to.
At least until you 'bought' it for me.

You don't matter that much any more.
You don't,really.
But I DO love the flower.
It reminds me of myself in weird ways-

Neglected,abandoned,hurt.

It's not a gift from you any more.
I've formed a bond with it.
We've a story of our own now.
And you feature nowhere in it.

She's my Miranda.
I'm her Lizzy.
I keep talking,
she listens to me with all the patience in the world.

We go window shopping together.
Though I'm yet to know what she admires over there.
We spend hours in the Crossword,
going through the books she and I both get lost in.
She,because they're too vast for her fragile self.
I,because I've always felt safe hiding behind words.

I gulp down phuchkas,
she laughs at me.
I cry my lungs out,
she never wipes my tears.
She still is my best friend.

At times,I wish I could give her something other than my age-old diary and my yellowed words.
You know,she deserves much,much more.
At least a shelter,food,clothes.
The basic necessities a human being is entitled to.
You know,just because she doesn't have two legs,two hands and a genital organ,
it doesn't mean she doesn't have a soul.
And I'd have a soul over stray limbs any day,for reasons so obvious to you.

P.S.This is part of Fantabulous February-day twenty six by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos. If my attempt felt incomplete somehow,it struck the right chords. That was EXACTLY how you were supposed to feel. I can't believe Fantabulous February is coming to an end though! I LOVED it to death!

Fantabulous February-day twenty four

She keeps reading.
The glasses start getting a little blurred.
Her nose starts sweating.
The bulb flickers.
The naked light hits her eyes too hard.

Attention shy,she devours every piece of paper that comes her way,
crinkling her curious blackheads-studded nose a little.
Ah,the nose.
Blunt,ugly,shiny.
Does not remind one of the crests.
In fact,one doesn't really notice it till it gives way to the pimples adoring her cheeks.

No matter how she seeks refuge in the books,
she wants to be pretty too.
She wants to be the popular queen bee in school.
She wants someone other than her teachers to love her.
She wants to feel the adventure of sneaking into her room after late night parties.
She wants breasts-big,juicy,bouncy ones.
She wants to see the first smoke curling out of her nose.

The bulb crushes her back to reality.
The reality of perfect grades and empty souls.
That no amount of Jane Austen can cure.

P.S.This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day twenty four by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos.Just so we're clear,the protagonist here bears little resemblance to me. I DID have blackheads and pimples and I was no queen bee but at the same time,I was blessed with THE CURVES(if you know what I mean) and I was far from a nerd. I've always been quite a reader though but that wasn't because of the emptiness in my personal life. If anything,my personal life was a lot more colorful than that of most of my friends. The nose described here,though,is hundred percent mine,I'll give you that. But I managed pretty well with that one. So,no complaints.*Wink*

Fantabulous February-day twenty three

I look in the mirror.
I see myself.
Lopsided,imperfect but happy.
I see the scary roads I walked down.
And suddenly they don't look that scary.
I see the mistakes I made over the years.
And suddenly they don't seem that terrible.
Turning back can be re-living the horror of failure for some,
but for me,it's just coming out of the frame and looking at it.
Yes,that's how memories are.
Upside down.

P.S.After a not-so-long(but loathed anyway)break,I'm back with another Fantabulous February post. Kanika of Sensitive Chaos can inspire one in funny ways. I'm writing a happy post,can you even imagine? I'll give some credit to fellow blogger Rahul too. He writes beautifully,without giving in to the temptation of being frustrated,disturbed and angry. Yeah,I believe it's easy to write in pain or anger but it's tougher to produce a beautiful piece exuding loads of positivity. But that doesn't mean happiness isn't beautiful,right? That sure as hell doesn't.

Fantabulous february-day twenty one

Words are not enough.
Neither is silence.
Glances are not enough.
Neither are gazes.
Touches are not enough.
Neither are feelings.
It's not an apology I'm fishing for.
I've never been interested in 'things'.

I want to see you in pain.
I want to see you cry.
I want to see you beg and
whip you till you die.

P.S. This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day twenty one by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos.I'm sorry for the absence,people.I was busy 'thinking'.The good ol' offline ones,you know.Had a life-changing conversation with verbals teacher(yes,the super cute one). Though how much the life actually changes or not is yet to be seen.But all I can say is very few conversations have been so enlightening so far! I can't stop thinking and thinking till then! You know I won't miss Fantabulous February just like that,right?

Fantabulous February-day seventeen!

It was bright.
Almost too bright.
Was it fire,was it light?
I couldn't be sure.
Days of dizziness caused by the drugs made me doubt even the most obvious.
And to think,once upon a time,
I used to be good at reading people.
I used to say all these flowery words about sensing the vibes of a place(and its persons).

Are they celebrating?
Are they dying?
I don't know.
And I couldn't care less.
I'll die anyway.
Coughing an old man's cough at the age of twenty two.
And when I'll be done fighting,
I'll lie down silently and obediently,
wrapped in a white sheet.
Clean,stark,naked.

Maybe they'll celebrate again that day.
The death of a burden on the world.
Reason enough to light the diyas,
reason enough to burst the crackers,
reason enough to take out the crockery,
reason enough to make merry,
all in the name of funeral.

P.S. First things first,the super cool Bhushavali of Fashion Panache has been kind enough to pass on the happy blogger award to me!*Drum-rolls please*(Though I don't have the faintest idea on what grounds I might be considered a happy blogger,all I ever do is rant,rant and rant some more,maybe it has something to do with my smile which I find hard to wipe off my face,*wink*) Thank you so much,Bhushavali! You wrote my name wrong('Sowmi' instead of 'Soumi')but I liked even that! Almost felt like a loved one was distorting my name in that sickeningly sweet way to make me feel extra special. Big hug to you.

                                                                                                                             As you must've guessed by now(judging by the standards of my super-intellectual readers),it's a post inspired by Fantabulous February-day seventeen by Kanika of Sensitive Chaos.Only this time around,the real inspiration came from Shiromi of The glass half empty and Kanika played messenger but I thank both of them from the bottom of my heart. And I thank you for going through a slice of my highly dysfunctional brain without complaining. Cheers.

The final jerk

The final jerk brought her back to her senses.
She hadn't realized when she had drifted off to sleep.
These days,sleep seemed to be the only productive thing she did.
Because it allows her to get lost into the surreal world,
because it allows her to believe things the otherwise cruel world won't let her believe,
because it allows her to relive the past as if it weren't over yet.
As if she still had a reason to live.
As if life hadn't poisoned beyond death.
As if she were one of those teenagers who wanted to live.
Above everything else,she loved it because it allowed her to D-R-E-A-M.

Dreams of days gone,
dreams of moments carelessly gathered.
Now rotting safely in her memory.

She laughed at herself.
A dry,cynic laugh.
Sounding like a fart rather than a laugh.
Bittered with life and poverty.

The seats will be filled again.
With people from various backgrounds.
Students,working professionals,smelly domestic helps and laborers puffing away.
Some dreaming of life,some dreaming of death.
Some dreaming of four square meals,some dreaming of four-tiered cakes.
Some smelling of affection,some smelling of vermin.

Lessons will be learnt and forgotten in moment's notice.
Dreams will be dreamt and forgotten until the conductor asks for the fare.
Curses will be hidden under breath until the creepy middle-aged uncle refrains from the temptation of feeling my breasts.

The same jerk will bring everyone back to reality.
The uncle will know that I'm out of his league.
He'll go back to his wife and suck her drooping and sagging breasts to sleep.
He'll know he is no match for the young goons in red tees whom I allow to feel me up.
He'll smile a wise man's smile before falling asleep.

She won't laugh this time.
She knows better.

P.S.This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day sixteen by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos.Do check her post too.Thank you all for supporting me in this initiative. It looked too ambitious to achieve but now that I'm done with half of the month,I hope I'll be able to finish it with not-so-flying colors.Stay tuned.Love you all.

I was scared.
I've never seen colours so vibrant.
I've never seen life so life-like.
I've never seen death so deadly.
I was scared.

I was scared.
It opened its mouth.
I saw the deep,dark way to the cavity.
I saw the deep,dark way to my death.
I was scared(and intrigued).

I was scared.
I was scared of falling down the black hole.
I was scared of not breathing any more.
What a pleasant surprise it turned out to be!
Dark but calm,
deep but comforting,
cruel but caring.
Death felt like the mother I've always craved.
And suddenly birds sang their sweetest,
the sun shone its brightest.
I was scared(and happy).
And peacefully dead.

P.S. This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day fifteen by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos. I'm so thankful to her for giving me a well-deserved break! I was feeling emotionally void.

Shhhhhhh...

I'll tell you someday,
when we both have walked down the path for a long,long time...
Long enough to forget our personal differences,
long enough to touch each other without feeling THE spark,
long enough to feel bad for each other,
long enough to look at your eyes without taking a tissue out,
long enough to forget the mistakes we made as teenagers,
in stead of pretending to forget.

Maybe then,maybe,
I'll tell you a secret.
A secret you deserved to know long ago
but I didn't tell you
because that was my way of taking revenge
for all the heartache you caused me,over the years,again and again.

Feel free to hate me then,
all over again.
Because I'd grow out of you,already.

P.S.This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day twelve on Kanika's blog Sensitive Chaos.I'm late tonight,it's day thirteen already but I've been busy like anything! Good thing even she's busy and will update it today only.:P

Ripples...created and forgotten

I touched the water.
Cold,chilled,distant.
I missed you.
I remembered your cold shrugs.
I remembered your chilled gaze.
I remembered your distant voice.
It's been years,I can't be blamed,right?

I touched the water.
Dancing,smiling,running.
I missed you.
I remembered our happy days.
I remembered your delusional speeches.
I remembered our drunken salsa sessions.
I remembered our 'catch me if you can' games.
It's been years,I can't be blamed,right?

Blame me all you want though.
I give you full right.
Call me ungrateful,
call me a parasite-
thriving on your urge to live,
taking blood away from you in return.
Call me selfish,
call me a witch.
It'll never change the truth.
I was the only messenger life ever sent to you.
Otherwise,you were long forgotten.

P.S.This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day ten,featured on Kanika's blog Sensitive Chaos.I honestly didn't expect to stick around for this long.It's my fifth post already!Long live Kanika,long live Fantabulous February!Please join us to make it a success.It's never too late.

Bonding over...

We bonded over our obsession with Che Guevara.
We bonded over our common distaste for politics as we see it.
We bonded over our Naxal fantasies.
We bonded,we sure did.

We bonded over our never-ending debates regarding green tea(my favorite) and masala tea(your 'gal').
We bonded over asking for extra oregano.
We bonded over finishing the black,insipid syrup in one quick sip after we were done with our golas.
We bonded,we sure did.

We bonded over hangovers.
We bonded over ecstasy.
We bonded over hating directions(we loved to get lost,didn't we?).
We bonded,we sure did.

We had nothing,to begin with.
We were as different as chalk and cheese.
No birds sang when we looked into each others' eyes.
It never rained when I wore a sari.
Things were never meant to be.
Only we were adamant.
Adamant to tame the world,
adamant to rule the rules,
adamant to say it all,
without saving something for future.

We loved like fire.
We loved like ice.
We lived in the moment.
When it was over,
it never mattered
whether we were burnt or frozen.
All that mattered was the fact that
we were NOT alive.
And we didn't regret it.

 P.S.This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day nine by Kanika.It's gonna be my best February ever,I'm sure!

I was meant to share this picture long back but somehow,other things came up at the last moment.It's NOT an outfit post.Just wanted you all to take a look at my brand new dhoti pant.It was a birthday gift from a friend of mine.I'm still not over the too cute for words elephant prints.The neon green watch never fails to cheer me up and the osho is a life-saver,literally! My side ponytail isn't visible properly.Again,no brownie points for my photographer.*Wink*

Fantabulous Feb-day eight(title stolen from Kanika)

She wasn't strong.Days of starving hadn't thinned her waistline though.Besides,she wasn't up for a fight.So,she gently let her hands drop when he demanded.

A bunch of old letters-tattered,yellowed but carefully folded...smelling of teen love and nostalgia...Reminded him of the days he used to steal money from her mom's purse just so they could share an orange stick.Reminded him of the days he used to save a cigarette for sharing it with her...their lips taking turns to touch the damp joint,feeling each other more intimately than ever...
                                                                                                She was standing right in front of him,age had taken the last charm out of her face and turned her into one of those helplessly bent old ladies.She waited with patience unless she heard him say,"I don't know what you're talking about."
                                                                                                              The watchman showed her the door,politely but firmly.She collected her rags,wiped her nose and went away,without drawing a heavy breath.The floor didn't even trace her footsteps.maybe her feet weren't as dirty as he had hoped.Five minutes after she was gone,it was as if she never existed.
                                                                       Did she miss a drop of tear?She couldn't be sure.He always wore glasses.But the extra three seconds he took to say those words had only reaffirmed her belief.That's all she had come for.
                         The letters remained there till the next morning when the maid threw them away.
P.S.this post is inspired from the pictures Kanika posted on her blog Sensitive Chaos for Fantabulous February-day eight.Do check her blog later for her updated version.I'm LOVING this concept and I'll try my best to post every day.Please join us.

Image courtesy- Kanika of 'Sensitive Chaos'

Yes,we'll all turn into that pretty smoke,
curling our way out of the bottle.
never really smoking,
but making a lot of smoke anyway.

Or we might be underwater.
Sick of blue s and green s,
sick of beauty in its purest form,
of life as raw as my steak.

No matter where we are,we WILL fit in.
As if we always belonged here,
without really belonging anywhere.
Funny,isn't it?
No more saying,
"wrong place,wrong time,wrong vagina!"
In TRUE Hank Moody style!

P.S.this post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day seven,Kanika's brainchild,if you remember.I joined rather late and I might not be that regular but I'll try.NOTHING has kept on my toes like this one!