Let's play today...

Let's play today.

Let's go out and play.

Call the drugged middle-aged man you had sex with.

Call your dead husband.

Call the whore he used to visit,once in a week.

We all shall play.


No rules,no limits.

We shall just play.

Play till the ultimate darkness starts hovering on us.

What the fuck? Even then we shall play.


We shall play with blood.

We shall play with shit.

We shall play dead and alive.

We all shall play alike.


Game had started long ago,we just joined late.

Others have advanced way ahead of us.

But who cares? We're not here to win.

We shall walk and mutilate ourselves on the way.

Eyes,ears,hands and legs.

We shall get lighter with every step.

And closer to Him.


We shall drink the nectar.

From His enormous breast.

Yes,He's the Mother and Father.

We were born because of His masturbation.


We shall fight and eat each other up.

We shall love each other too,in our own cynic way.

And whenever one of us dies,

we won't mourn him.

We shall set fire to his remains

and watch him burn with a primeval pleasure only fire can give.


We shan't clothe ourselves

with the glossiest silk.

We shall be naked and wild.

We shan't bother when our breasts give in to the forces of gravity.

We shan't bother when our dicks get all soggy.

We shall know ourselves in the truest way possible.

And condemn all those who think we're not civilized.


Hairy and smelly,wild and barbaric.

Our bodies will lie intertwined as we finish the journey.

We shall look into each others' eyes.

All the betrayal and polygamy shall be forgotten,not forgiven.

 The numb apathy is all that shall loom large.

.This is NOT what I was supposed to write tonight. I was so emotionally drained that I couldn't write! Thoughts were aplenty but I ran out of words. This is something I had written long back after reading someone(no,don't smell a love story in here). Thought would share. Goes with my mood perfectly. And sounds like a pretty good 'au revoir ' to all the fantastic bloggers who supported me throughout 'Memorable March'. Just a message to them that it's not over. Love.

I saw the widow...

Will you hate me if I say that the cliche 'time flies in no time' doesn't sound that cliched to me any more? I can still vividly remember the  heady cocktail of nervousness,excitement and challenge I had felt on 3rd March,2012 and boom! It all comes to an end today! I'm getting old,I SO am! *Sigh*
And now,time for my post-

I saw the widow.

She saw me.

I knew her.

She knew me.


We both used to date the same person.

Only she was older.

She went on to marry him.

That's why she's a widow today.

And I'm a free bird.


She clenched her teeth.

I showed her my fist.

Her teeth were green.

My nails were black.

Black with dirt and rotten shit.

Green with pickles of envy and generous helpings of 'paan'.


I tell you it's the fight we were heading towards.

But things changed.

Do you have those moments too?

When,in the midst of a fight,

you suddenly feel the urge to strangle the other person in a passionate embrace

and kiss like a thousand vermin licking together.

That's what we felt.

She and I.

I and she.

And we fell together on the grass.


She probably smelt sweet hatred and funny contempt in my jasmine oil.

I can't honestly say I missed the overpowering revenge in her armpit.

But what made us stick to each other like the tailless dogs making love on the street,

was the secret.

We WERE each other's secret.

Bidhawbar writuchawkrey amar awnayash jaatayaat,


purnima omabawshya amar bichhanaey shutey ashey


jawkhon oder mukh bawdlatey ichchey kawrey.


Akashey amay khuNjo na kawbi,


ami paataley shaap e der shawngey ghawr kawri.

And now, for the last time,allow me to introduce my gang. For the first time,one of my most favourite bloggers Sanghamitra decided to participate! YAY! It's never too late,right? Shiromi's hazy picture,in some ways was an extension of my own days only(though I didn't cry while reading it because,well,I'm a big girl). Sanjana,being the eternal optimist she is,surprisingly managed to stay away from my very contagious negativity. And Dark Angel was the show-stealer in the first week and she's the showstopper in the final week too! She chose to explore unchartered territories SO bravely and with VERY successful results,mind you! This girl is a born star! There's no stopping her!

Adios amigo...

And with that,one of the most satisfying experiences of my life comes to an end. Yes,this is the last 'Memorable March' pre-post. This is the last time I'll try to inspire you all and squeeze something out of your constipated ass. This is the last time I'll hide my dandruff under the moderator's hat.
                                                                                                  I'll keep it short and simple for the grand finale(in contrast to the very spirit of the words 'grand' and 'finale'). I despise gimmicks in any form. So,this week the inspiration is the most plain,even my writing will be at its simplest best. I don't want 'Memorable March' to pack a punch before taking the final bow,I want it to exit as silently as it came and get lost into the crowd of the dirty city. Remember the surprise I had told you all about(and specially the Bong bloggers and readers)? Well,it's time to reveal that. I've two inspirations this week! Yes,you guessed it right. One of them is in Bengali. I love English. Period. But maybe it's time to go back to my roots and resurrect the sleeping Bengali in me. So,here it is-

"Her teeth were green.
My nails were black."
               AND
"Bidhawbar writuchawkrey amar awnayash jaatayaat."

 And now it's time for the pictures!

The white pair is a new addition to my wardrobe. The shirt is a gift from my cousin and it fits me like a dream! The yellow pumps are old(and raped) though I've worn them only once before.
                                                                                                                     And another piece of news(I should probably call it even 'good'),I got into IISWBM(the oldest B school in India and the mentor institute of IIM-Calcutta for a long time). I'm not sure if it's a dream come true(I'm becoming unsure of everything with each passing day) but even if it's a nightmare,it's one of the less scary ones. So,cheers to that!
                                                                                                                                          And the rules,for the last time,

i) Use the inspiration(s) mentioned above in your post in any form. Just be inspired. ANYTHING will do.

ii)Mail your links to soumipaul07@gmail.com on or before 25th march,11:59 p.m.

Okay,people! Sorry for being late this week. My Internet connection is a real bitch. My apologies. Now,time for my post-

All that cheers and claps were an illusion,they sure were.

For all I can feel is a pinch on my sorry ass.

I closed my eyes and opened them again.

And there it was-my life clear as a crystal.

I've been hallucinating after all.


The show is over,people.

The curtains have come down.

The orchestra has gone home,back to their respective wives/mothers.

This is what the limelight does to me.

I've got used to so much light that without the stage and the audience,it's all pitch black.


Hold my hand,O God!

Take me along!

I won't complain if your hands are icy cold.

I won't complain if your breath burns my skin.

I'll suit myself.

I need no torch.

Darkness is my mistress.

Just a hand.

Just a hand to drag me along.

Just a hand to allow me no rest.

Just a hand to flog me back to discipline when I give in to even momentary fatigue.


Why do you have to drape yourself in that silly robe?

Why do you have to hide behind the hood?

Why do you have to be so vague?

I don't quite know what to expect when you unfasten that loose string,

a shapely torso or dreamy breasts.


Allow me in,O my angel!

I'll be good.

I'll have you at your cruelest best.

I'll breath fire.

I'll drink blood.

I won't think twice before chopping the heads off the bodies.

I won't waste time,slightly bothered by my conscience because

I know killing is fun and sacred.


That's the only way you get to love a person.

Smell him,feel him,tease him.

You get to position yourself the same way he might have once allowed his lovers to.

A knowledge each of them had believed to be their own.

And better,there's no pretence.

One can't act smart just before dying.


Just allow me in,O my saint!

Dark,naked,loose.

Evil,savage,mystic.

I'll make you proud throughout the journey.

And then,when we reach the end of the cave

and are about to see the sun,

I'll sacrifice myself,with wind and soil as my witnesses.

And we'll be united,for once and for all.

"Oh.
 My.
God.
My
wrinkles
are
yellow.
My 
warts
are
moonlight.
My 
fatigue
is
the sea.
Oh.
My.
God.
Don't abandon me."

And this week wasn't that good but a few bloggers said that they'd be writing within the week and mail me the links after they're done. I'll put them up as soon as I get the links. Till then,allow Dark Angel to woo you with her words for the first time in Memorable March! Don't forget Sudeshna's soulful sequel. And Shiromi claims her attempt was feeble. It's up to you to judge. And last but not the least,Sanjana made it before Saturday! YAY for her!

Memorable March steps into its third week. I can already hear the farewell cry.*Sigh*
                                                                                                                     On a brighter note,I've been planning a super cool surprise in the grand finale for my Bengali fellow bloggers! I've always been a proud Bangali but never really got to show it. This week's inspiration happened over a conversation with someone really inspirational,long back.
                                                                                                           So,the inspiration of the week is,

"Oh.
 My.
God.
My
wrinkles
are
yellow.
My
warts
are
moonlight.
My
fatigue
is
the sea.
Oh.
My.
God.
Don't abandon me."

A little too long,eh? Nothing worth knowing comes in short dosage,I tell you. So,GET INSPIRED! If it's of any relief,you're allowed to use part(s) of the inspiration in your work if you think you won't be comfortable with the whole.

My life has been pretty drab for the past few days. Thought I'd more than make up for the lack of colour in my life with this outfit. Can it get any happier than that?

Reminding you the rules for the second last time,
 i) Any form of inspired work is allowed. Write something,take a picture,scan a favourite prose/poetry and upload the images,do an outfit post,sing a song,choreograph a Kathakali piece,enact a scene from your favourite movie,upload your favourite music video or go ahead and shoot a freakin' documentary(yes,that's as far as my imagination goes)and make my day!

ii)Mail your links to soumipaul07@gmail.com. In case your mail account treats you like Cindrella's step-mother,fret not. Post your link in the comment section and I'll put them up in the updated post along with my writing.
P.S.For the first time in my blogging career ever,I'm done writing before I'm supposed to post it! Yes,inspiration has happened and my writing is ready. It's been in my folder for a few days now. I was tempted and wanted to post it but I had to obey the rules. After all,I've set them myself and if I don't respect them,who else will?

Memorable March week two-scenting in every corner the chance of a rhyme

Time for Memorable March week two. If you read the pre-post,you should know by now how I was inspired.I'm so sorry for not being able to upload it sooner but I was a little busy. I was drunk last night and I had an interview today. But better late than never,right? So,here goes my post-

I squatted down on the pavement and gently let my hands fall.

 It was a long journey.

I'm still not sure if I've reached the end of it.

I was almost about to drift off to drowsiness when I heard them.

A lot of voices.


I looked up.

There they were.

"Spit,spit,spit",cheering me on.

I looked at them and bared my tobacco-stained teeth.

Armed with my newly-found confidence,

I drew my head back and SPAT.

The crowd came to a still,the windows in the neighbouring buildings opening...

I felt like the royal cock in the 'durbar'.

Entertaining people away,with funny habits I was born with.

They don't know I'll do it even if they don't throw coins at me.

They don't know I'll do it even if they don't egg me on.

They don't know I'll do it even if they don't lure me with bananas.

Because I don't know how to be otherwise.

That's when I saw her.


She seemed faintly familiar.

From an age I used to belong to,long ago.

I suppose I've not told you that I too,used to be a poet.

Only I had no words.

I was a worshipper of Silence.

I hated talking because that disrupted my chain of thoughts.

She was the one who had urged me to write.

She said that was the only way to be immortal.

And I obliged.

You see,I was afraid of death.


But,like I said,I had no words,only thoughts.

Thoughts I didn't know how to express.

So,like all other respectable Homo Sapiens Sapiens,I decided to steal.

Yes,steal words.

From the very pros.

So,I walked about the road,gingerly,if you might.

In search of inspirations.

And then,I followed the stench of beauty(or beauty of words,have it the way you please),

all the way to its grave.

There,I saw her praying with her hands folded,in front of a dead dog.

I watched her,like a killer watches his victim up in the heaven while burning away in hell.

She was at a higher plane,duh!

But realisation was pouring into me too.

I suddenly felt I could read her mind.

I suddenly saw the desperation of my success in her weak and salty tears.

And that's when I knew,I'm too placid to write.

My balls have been frozen to death even before I was to die.

And I saw that everything worth writing has been written already.

And they are safe in the archives,far from my prying eyes.

And that's when I gave up and started running.


Running from the world as I've known it.

Running till I felt my balls springing back to life.

Over the years,my running gave way to walking and then dragging my feet along.

And now,here I am.

In the midst of the chaos,all around me
"I love the stage and I love it like hell"...(to be continued)

And now my gang-Sudeshna had me drooling over her tranquil words,Sanjana went old school and tried to rhyme her words with that of Baudelaire(brave girl,I say),Shiromi tried to answer the question haunting her for years.
And Dark Angel was anything but dark if you know what I mean.

So,here comes week two. I can't believe 'Memorable March' is already a week old!*Sheds a few motherly tears*
So,first things first,I've been blessed enough to have a conversation or two with someone really inspiring,to say the least! You all should take a minute out and thank him here because he's the one responsible for this week's inspiration. He gave me the link of a collection of Charles Baudelaire's work(that's where the inspiration is from). Pardon my ignorance when I say that I've not read him before. I'm a lot more well-read than most of the people I know but in actuality,I've not read much yet. So,I promised myself not to indulge into any kind of online activities(apart from posting the Memorable March links since a few fellow bloggers depend on the postings on Facebook and Twitter only and they won't get to know the inspiration if I don't post it over there) until I'm done reading it all. It's a little elaborate for two reasons-
i)My speed of reading poetry is much slower than that of reading proses.
ii)It's just so beautiful that I can't have enough of it! I read,and re-read...dreamy-eyed and then very reluctantly,move on to the next.

I've never felt worse for not knowing French! I'm not much of a translation fan. I feel much of the essence and rustic charm and originality of the language get lost in translation. But when translations can be THIS intriguing,I wonder what reading the real work might feel like. There,I added to the list of '100 things to do before I die' and the newest entry is 'learn French' and it comes at no. three,right after i)learning at least the basics of all the dance forms in the world and ii)making a difference in one's life(preferrably a girl child).
Okay,now comes inspiration of the week-

"Scenting in every corner the chance of a rhyme"

Beautiful,isn't it?

And now,there goes my last picture in a nose pin(I switched to nose ring a day ago and it was painful,again). The skirt is the twin of the skirt I shared last week  The blazer,the sling and the jootis you've seen before,haven't you?

And the rules again,in case you forgot-

i) Get inspired in any way possible. Everything is allowed. Everything,literally! It's not that you've to write only.
ii) Mail me the links to soumipaul07@gmail.com. I might be a little late this week. So,don't be surprised if you can't find the updated post along with my version of inspired work before Monday evening. Sorry if I let you down.

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!

Skirt tales and getting pregnant...

Ye hoo,what is up,people? I've been super busy the past week but all is well now. March started on a high note. Internals are over(and I fucked only two papers out of four,can you imagine?),I broke my 'no smoking' resolution again and it's time to deliver my baby(well,not literally,I'm fat anyway)! Well,technically it's a baby our very own Kanika conceived but given the super busy Graphic designer she is,has been kind enough to transfer it to me after carrying it all throughout the February!
                                                                        So,here I am,pregnant with the most over-hyped baby Blog-o-sphere has ever seen but I'm lazy and thought would feed it only once a week,a sharp contrast to the loving mom Kanika who took time out of her busy schedule to feed her EVERY FREAKIN' DAY! Babies adjust quickly and I'm hoping the baby won't consider me the worst mom ever down the years.So,ladies and gentleman,hold your breath coz' it's time to officially launch 'Memorable March'!*Drum-rolls please*
                                                                                                                           And here goes the first inspiration of the week-
                                 "True blue or too blue"
I was under huge pressure. I had to live up to Kanika's sheer perfection,I had to make it 'cheerful' under Ruhani's special request. I tried my best,thinking about it in stead of Advanced Java,E-commerce,Industrial Management and Ethics in the midst of my exams but it really is up to you all to judge.
                                                                                                                               Just in case you forgot the rules,
i)DO ANYTHING! Just be inspired. Write something,click a picture,do a photo-shoot,do an outfit post,sing a song and upload the audio,choreograph a dance piece and upload the video,enact a scene and upload the clip...do WHATEVER UNDER THE SUN it is that you wish.

ii)Mail me your blog link by 4th March,Sunday,11:59 p.m. to soumipaul07@gmail.com. I'll update your links along with my thoughts.

iii)Happy blogging,no pressure! It's not a competition. You don't have to outshine anyone. I love you all equally,no matter how profound or shallow you're.
                                                                          On a parting note,I think you deserve to see my new skirt which,according to a friend,looks like a bedspread. I love it nonetheless. It's so old school,colourful,ethnic,feel-good and comfortable that I won't trade it for the world. The white shirt was an obvious choice. I'm trying the double watch trend for the first time after seeing all my favourite fashion bloggers carry it with elan. The Kolhapuri is vintage and an absolute love! Pardon the background,I was not at my eccentric best.
                             

On a parting note,something I felt like saying to my super inspiring Verbals teacher but got tongue-tied as usual,
"I would've given you the last slab of my chocolate-molten and saliva-strained,to acknowledge my gratitude if it weren't for the sudden awkwardness between us,I hope your new students treat you equally well because you're a king and you deserve no less."

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.