A li'l talk

A depressing life.

A fake caller, an approaching sem without preparation, GD-PI blues and a lonely life. That's what it's all about.

Got rid of the thoughts of reliving the past friendship. Sad.

Oh and by the way, about the 7th sem, I know absolutely nothing about it. Miracles needed.

Dark times ahead. Hope I find the light.


20.58 PM : I HAVE FOUND THE PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE OF MY FIRST NOVEL 'FRIDAY'.


-Nov '10

A mysterious caller 2

I called the person back, who claimed herself to be Pallabi.

An old lady received the call.

"There's just me and my old father living here. Nobody else."

"Are you sure nobody called from here?"

"A gentleman is the owner of this phone. And no idea about any sms."

How can Pallabi sms me from there? How can any living person?




-Nov '10

How can anyone?

I looked at the Toyota Corolla waiting at the signal.

And then I looked inside.

They were a happy couple, guarded by dark window-glasses...may be talking about love.

And then I saw a person begging outside the corolla.

He has lost both of his hands, begging for money.

How can anyone dream about love when there are so many people in distress?


Nov '10

Unanswered

"Srijita calling..."

Two words and one image appeared in my mobile.

I astonished, left a deep sigh, threw the mobile on the bed and opened the window.

Forty days, in despair.

Last time I heard from her saying...

"I am sorry you feel this way about me but I can't reciprocate the same."

Tears rolled down my eyes.

why now?


Nov '10

A mysterious caller

One unknown number.

One missed call.

...and one new message.

"Hi, how are you? I miss you so much now-a-days. Got your number from one of my classmates. Pallabi."

"what? who are you again?"

"It's Pallabi. Don't you remember?"

How can she miss me now?

How can someone miss me who has died four years ago?



Nov '10

Crime

"I am afraid it is a murder." Officer said.

"I heard no sounds. We were sleeping."

He looked at me, and wanted a napkin.

"Sure." I gave him my own.

...and I regretted.

But it was too late.

The blood-stained napkin was the only proof of my wife's murder.



Nov '10

Suffering

I slapped myself so hard that blood came out of my ears.

After a couple of more I had to stop, because my nose and ears bled badly.

"This is where you belong." I muttered.


My tongue tasted salt. It was blood and tears.

I will have to wash them again.

Worthless

Most of the time I weep for someone, who is a no one.

My father calls me worthless, and mother - lazy.

Friends call me loser.

I have loved and lost and loved and lost.

I write stories and dream of one day to meet Ruskin Bond.


My dreams never got fulfilled.

...about chhatim flowers

I looked up and found thousands of chhatim flowers above my head.

I knelt down and picked up a couple of them.

They reminded me of her.


"I love chhatim flowers."

"...and I love you."


I had always believed that when people die, they turn into chhatim flowers.

And right then I was with her.

The waiting

The midnight train passes this station at 1.15 in the night.

...so I am waiting.

The graveyard at west produced sounds of barking of dogs all of a sudden.

And then it fell silent again.

The distant signal turned red now.

Time to face the truth...only to unite with her.

Stoned moments...

"Look at me" I said.

She felt shy, and started laughing.

"It's just a matter of a second." I held her shoulders.

She controlled her laugh, tied her lower lip with the upper and looked at me.


She laughed out again and then looked into my eyes.


Two moments were captured.




- Nov '10

Parting ways...

She looked at me, emotionless.

Her mascara-stained eyes were as usual dark, applying extra depth in her face and character.

It was a shame that I couldn't tell her that I was going away, anyway.

The crowd kept making their way around us hurriedly.

"Maybe I should just go..." She gave her last smile, with every thought of meeting me again, unknowingly parting for a lifetime.

Her cream colored 'Pongol' saree kept getting hazier and at last disappeared from my watery eyes.






Nov '10

A case of editing 2

Started editing once again.

Experimentation with gImP' and Picasa' for one hour gave me this... !!

Death was coming...

"Anyone speaks for him?" He shouted.

Silence. As I continued to shiver, down on my knees.

"No." A voice came in from behind. And then the rest joined.

I kept staring at the gun. The hall remained silent, dark and mysterious.

After he started the countdown, I closed my eyes.

Death was coming.




-Nov '10

Scattered notes 16

Started using IndiBlogger.

Downloading the whole Sherlock Holmes series.

Going to fill some of the B-school forms. Shortlisted 17 schools. Tough times ahead.


Life's tough.


Started learning how to write flash fiction, micro fiction and nano fiction... termed as droubble, drabble and dribble. I can easily quote the definitions of respective words from the Wikipedia but it would be quite boring... so sparing the reader from it.

Life is painful, dejected and lonely.

She still has the chance to come back. Hit the road hard, when you still have the light.

Lonely moments continue...2

Listened to a Bengali song sung by Rashid Khan...from 'Tara' (2010).

"Megh jome ache mono-kone
Tumi elena bole bristi o pore ni
Bishad hase anmone

Ami bose vabi, jonaki r sathe
Tara jole majhraate
Smriti gulo haase, sorot er kaash e
Elomelo nishwas e

kara jano ase, proti majhraate
Ochena laage mukh gulo
Ghum venge uthhe, mrittu ke bujhe
Ei jibon thomkalo

Tumi elena bole bristi o poreni
Bishad hase anmone
Megh jome ache mono-kone..."


How can I convince myself that we are not going to meet forever?

Miss her a lot. Badly. Both as a friend and a person who liked her a lot.

Don't know why I come back time and again here and mourn about people who didn't care about me. Maybe someday I'll be famous and those people will know about my feelings and regret their decisions.

What a bad imagination by the way.

Times are tough. And for once again, I am alone.

Welcome home. This is where you belong. This loneliness. It's your only companion. And eventually, it will kill you inside.

The last words told by her remained symbolic, and ironic, in a way.

"Maybe I should just go..."

She came in just like that, in a way that amazed me, in a way bringing a whole different view of this world to me...and when she went away, that part of the world went away with her.

People will come, and go. And yet we remember a few persons whom we want to forget strongly...but maybe the love for them doesn't want us to make their memories perish from our lives.

I still love that little mole at your right cheek. And the person who carried it.

Scattered notes 15

Took some time out after a long time and visited Golpark library, one of the places I have always considered as having the potential to calm our minds.

Fascinated about Holmes, Specially the character. What is behind those calm but sharp and promising eyes? In order to discover the character…read about him, or his works, I said. And I found myself taking the SD4 at 5 PM sharp.

At first read a book named ‘Interviewing for journalists’ written by Sally Adams with the help of Wynford Hycks. In order to overcome the fear from the HR and the interviewer, go deep down into their consciences, I thought. Read that for about forty-five mins.

And then came ‘The adventures of Sherlock Holmes’. I said hello to the two previously known stories I watched at Fox history, one of which is ‘The man with twisted lips’. I started reading ‘A scandal in Bohemia’ in utter excitement. Didn’t find anything that can give a ray of hope to my pre-conceived notions.

Came back home through Southern Avenue. By now you have known what does that supposed to mean.

I almost forgot to mention…we have a new neighbour. They have started living at one side of the building the Punjabi family had left. They have acquired the place before Durga Puja…but a few things distracted my eyes, and so the delay of reporting…must be forgiven by true followers.

I wear three rings by the way…as I was thinking this evening sitting in the Golpark library that I almost forget to write about myself sometimes. It’s a big world, and there are things that attract or distract our eyes so often, we tend to forget small things that are there to mention.

I walk around the lake places and Southern Avenue every evening… describe myself as ‘wandering and unmindful’, write stories about love, liking, relationships, people, crime and mystery. My writings have been published in Times of India twice, once back in 2007 and another this year 2010. I was one of those 47 persons whom Bob Roy, the chief editor of TOI referred as the youngest talents in writing in India in 2007.

And I have been refused by two girls, once long ago, and another seventeen days before.

I am a simple person at heart, but love complicated feelings and behaviour when it comes to real. And I hate liars and people who keep double standard.

I cry at tunes people have never listened or heard about. I weep while listening to shehnai and violin. The theme music from ‘In July’ makes me weep every time I listen to it. I have recorded it in my mobile so that I can cry in my lonely times and think about people who never understood me.

I don’t believe in friendship between a boy and a girl and rely on the premise that a boy and a girl can’t have 'friendship'. If I talk to a girl with some intensity and excitement that will mean I am interested in her…and it’s not just in a friendly way. And I expect the same.


My parents sent me to a hostel when I was 10 years old. Since then I have become tough at heart. I talk to my father very rarely, because we have several issues which contrary. But I respect his way of bringing me up to make a strong person…which I know I’ll never be, with the amount of emotion I shed over a certain given happening. I sleep, eat, study and do everything in our living room, because we live in one bedroom flat. And I haven’t had a personal bedroom in my life. I dream of a big home for myself.

My favourite writer is Ruskin Bond and I dream of one day to meet him. I would love to take a few pictures with him some day.

I am a person who loves trees and bushes and mountains and valleys that reach the horizon.

I want to visit Varanasi one day.


And I want people to understand me. The way I am.



It’s not the same person who laughs with you or cries silently when he is alone.






-Nov '10

biTTen by kiTTen !!

Appeared in CAT '10, D-day. Mixed feelings.