Waking up to dream and nightmare,at the same time!

Here comes a feeling you thought you had forgotten.
Uneasy,clumsy.
Drifting into sleep and back to half-consciousness.
A face,a smile,a pair of curious yet non-judgmental eyes.
Never accuses me,never hates me,never demands an explanation.
That's why it's killing me.


This lump in my throat,hard to describe,
hard to swallow,
hard to vomit.
Just big enough to register its presence.
Maybe in its nascent stage now,
but I've a funny feeling that it'll grow bigger
and engulf my whole world some day.
Like a black shadow of some dark past,
carefully hidden but never really destroyed.


Guilt maybe?
Ah,that sounds mainstream,finally!
I'm feeling GUILTY.

This post is inspired from Fantabulous February-day eleven by Kanika on her blog Sensitive Chaos.I'm LOVING Fantabulous February! Join us and make it a success(not to suggest that it isn't a success already,:P).

On a somewhat different note,I've a good news to share with you all.Terence sir is finally bringing his ABCD(Any Body Can Dance) workshop level-I to Kolkata! I've been waiting for this workshop for a long,long time now! In fact,it was one of the most important reasons behind applying to B schools in Mumbai. I couldn't have woken up to a better news! Looks like 'Fantabulous February' is going to extend itself into 'Memorable March'.I felt a little bad when I couldn't go to DID auditions this time.My campus placements were going on back then.It's not about being selected,you know.It's about meeting so many like-minded people,it's about being a part of that infectious energy and contributing to it somehow. After that tragedy,this workshop provides me with a perfect opportunity to relive those dreams of mine.The workshop is basically on Indian contemporary and bolly hop.Bolly hop,I'm not so interested in.I've never really been a hip hop person but I can't wait for the Indian Contemporary classes!There's just the wee bit of doubt though.My semester is supposed to start in April.The workshop will be over by 8th April.So,if it clashes with my semester,...:-(
                     But I'd rather be optimistic

If you're in Kolkata too and would like to be a part of this workshop,call 89610 03425/03426/03427 or send a mail to danceworkshop2012@gmail.com.Registration venues- Shri Shikshayatan School and City Centre 1,Saltlake.
                         I was so happy that I decided to share these old pictures with you! These were taken at the Kolkata book fair.I had planned to do a post on the book fair and use these pictures over there but like I complained on Facebook and Twitter,I find Kolkata book fair losing its charm slowly but steadily ever since it shifted to Milan Mela from Maidan.These days,it looks like a family outing and DOES NOT inspire me at all! I love books anyway.So,I'll keep going there as long as I'm in Kolkata but it's just not worth blogging about.
                                                          The blouse was a b'day gift from my cousins.I love the happy blue! Couldn't think of a better colour than red to wear it with.I threw the yellow shrug on to maximise the effect.I'm still not over colour blocking,you see! And added the tan bag and nude pumps to balance the colours.
                                                                                                                                                   Hope everyone is having a great weekend.XOXO.

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!

The signs have been gathering,for long.
The signs of the shell being broken,
bit by bit,
methodically,
painstakingly...
I didn't quite realize till the brightness of the morning sun almost blinded my too black eyes.
My grandfather used to say,"you've got the cow's eyes-serene,peaceful...
you take everything in but seldom give anything away."
I thought that was supposed to be a compliment and chose to stick to it during my dark days.
I was fashionably dull.
Everything was perfect till the sun took charge.
It forced me to react,to shield my eyes,
in pain,in irritation,in shock.

The signs have been gathering,for long.
The signs have been gathering dust.
I thought I was too smart to listen to them.
I was educated,intelligent,well-read.
Nothing was 'meant to be'.
It was just a myth.
So,I didn't give a rat's ass when he went away without saying 'good bye'.
I couldn't care less when nothing,absolutely nothing would work out.
I kept fighting till I realized it was a lost battle,from the very beginning.
Yes,the signs have been gathering.
I just chose to ignore them.

Still not convinced?
 What proof do you need?
No,I'm not asking you.
I often find myself asking the question.
The answer is far from articulate.
Just a heavy sigh.
A sigh full of garlic breath,
a sigh emboldened with age-old 'told ya' glances,
a sign burdened with suppressed sobs...
Just a sigh.
But hard to miss.

P.S.This post is inspired from the teaser Kanika of Sensitive Chaos gave us.She has started this fantabulous February thing on her blog where she posts a thought and we're supposed to write about it and mail her the links.This girl's one hell of a writer! Please check her blog out.It's CRIMINAL OFFENCE to read my posts before reading hers!

To sir,with love-part III

Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
Would you make a run for me,sir?
Would you sweep me off my feet?
Or we will always make love in that shabby little room,
too busy to get down to the real business.
No time for 'love'.

Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
Did your hands reach down to your groin
when you saw me undressing?

Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
I wonder if you felt anything when you stroked my thigh.
Or was that just good ol' foreplay?
Always gets me warmed up,right?

Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
Did you feel my heart beating while 'feeling me up'?
Did you hear my lips shivering while kissing them to death?
Or was it 'part of the plan'?

Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
Did you see my vulnerability when I spread my legs?
Did you feel my tears when I succumbed to your embrace?
Maybe you were too busy pressing your erection against me.
You were never comfortable with 'feelings',I should've known.

Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
Would you care to listen to me talking after we're done?
Would you like to know if I read?
Would you like to know if I prefer beer or red wine?
Would you like to know why I had my very first cigarette?
Would you like to know why I'm so obsessed with pain?
Would you care to read if I wrote you a poem?

 Am I worth a squeeze,sir?
Am I worth a squeeze?
Would you look at my eyes and say that you had a good time?
Would you care to help me with the tea bag?
Would you thank me after the foot massage?

I detest anything pretty,sir.
Because it reminds me of my past.
Because it reminds me of the happy go lucky teenager with a gap-toothed smile.
Because it reminds me of what I used to be,
before I messed it all up.
Ugly,cynic,messy,
with tobacco stains and beer belly,
fighting hangovers with self abuse,
refusing to wax her legs for months
just because she didn't want them to look 'pretty'.
That's me,sir.
Do you still want to see me?

You never courted me,sir.
Is it too late to (try to) detoxify our highly dysfunctional 'friendship'?
Is it too late to go for a long walk,hand in hand?
Is it too late to look at the horizon and just feel the silence?
Is it too late to fight over phuchka bills and then laugh our ass off?
If we still have some hope,you know where to find me.