Marriage State Of Exams

Being a student means exams are interspersed in your life. Being a class 11 and 12 Science student means your life is interspersed in exams. ( I don’t want to sound prejudiced but I don’t have much idea regarding the working of Commerce and Humanities students, so I’m just limiting my options to Science)

At times I feel like I’m breathing drinking, eating and sleeping exams. I even parodied that ultra famous nursery rhyme to suit my mood, “Exams, exams go away. Little Sayo wants to play. Come back never again. Exams, exams go away.” However unlike the docile rain, the exams were too brutally stubborn to listen to my pleas, and at times I think it enjoys seeing me in prolonged misery…

After a while though, you get habituated to it’s nagging presence and you come to accept it as that friend in your group who clings on you like a leech ans sucks out your blood.

But something which I have never been able to accept is the fact that how come every relative of mine of marriageable age decides to tie the knot only when my exams are near, or worse, in the middle of them. Like why? What did I ever do to their schedules? and the most ridiculous fact is that they actually expect me to go and grace them with my presence for the entirety of the 4 day programmes. Ridiculous.

Now, to be breathtakingly honest, I love attending weddings. Not because I love the idea of two individuals tying the knot to be involved in a lifelong journey to Hell, breaking of which could lead to a lot of tears, paperwork and nasty consequences. I am a gamophobic, so basically I abhor the concept of marriage. No Sire, my sole interest of of visiting any wedding function is none other than the mouth watering options it provides:  FOOD! Yes, behold Divinity in the name of FOOD! It might make me sound like an extremely greedy or a starved human being but you just cant be tempted by my logic. Being an extremely picky eater, I find it easier to compile a list of food that an actually grace my mouth and the delicacies they arrange at weddings luckily own a place in my elite list of eatables. Yes, I go to weddings just for the sake of eating!

Now I would really love to go in an elaborated detailing of all the food items they pitch up for us to devour, but honestly thinking about them just for the sake of penning it in my blog is a very sorry option, considering them food being miles away from my mouth at the moment. And I have no intention of thinking about chicken kebabs, phuchka, paneer pakora, dahi vada, coffee, pasta, mocktails, fish fries,  naans, aloor dum, biryani, chicken/ mutton dish, bhetki macher paturi, hot hot gulab jamuns, makha sondesh, roshogollas, ice creams etc when my dinner is gonna be consisting of plain rotis. No, I’m not gonna think about all those mouth watering options. Absolutely not!

Now that I’ve been pretty much married to exams for the last 2 years, it’s kind of hard to think about attending any other sort of marriages with a peace of mind.  And how do these Priests who decides on the Oh-So-Holy dates for conducting the tying of the knot get hold of my exam timetable to pick out the On-So-Unholy dates out of it. Wow, even the priests are having a laugh at my expense.

Anyway, so I’ve kind of accepted this calamity of how intertwined my exams and weddings are to each other. When my best friend becomes a lawyer, I’ll tell her to contemplate to give these two lovebirds a divorce. She will be bound to agree considering how popular it will make her among the students force. Perhaps she will even be considered to be the Education Minister of the country. LOL.

Okay, so I bring my tragic tale worthy of Shakespearean proportion to an end. Perhaps you’ll relate to it and in an attempt to cheer me up give me a million dollars!

Ciao. See you not never!




I was extremely hesitant to write this, because I thought I wouldn’t do this justice, what with my writing style and extreme inability at sprouting descriptive things. But after living in this city for about 12 years, I thought, why not? it’s not like anyone is going to pay me or sue me over a bit of pleasure writing….

I thought about coming with some good title for my writing, but all failed to make much impression on me. So i decided to just ahead with KOLKATA.

So….. Kolkata. Kolkata. Kolkata. I always had a tad bit more love for the name Calcutta, as it is British and sounds extremely sophisticated, but Kolkata works for me fine. This city, or rather MY city has been greatly influenced by the British, the effect of which is quite apparent in it’s architectural structures.

The Indian capital under the British empire until unceremoniously dumped in favour of Delhi, it is situated below the sea level and near the Tropic of Cancer, which leads to one thing : Bad, bad weather. Hot, humid, I have no idea how girls keep their long hair open when all I want to do is pile my existing bunch on the top of my head.. your clothes will develop an intense love for your skin here and taking a shower during  the afternoon is similar to forcefully enjoying a sauna. Poverty is stricken ( even though the beggars have more  money in their utensils than what I have in my purse) and telebhaja (fried food items) is supposedly a good source of getting your five-storey-ed building made. Politicians are fat headed, bribe stricken, involved in scams and there are a many more negatives that can be pointed out, but I’d rather not.

Because I have been digressing all these while, let me get back to my focal point.

My love for this city might border a bit on fanaticism. for a career driven person, Kolkata might have more downs than ups, but that is the fault of the politicians at helm, no the city.

The City Of Joy, India’s first metropolitan is a city where the old world charm fluidly flirts with the modernity. The city is extremely well connected, what with it’s vast transport options starting from the Metro, the trams, the buses, auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, taxis, Ola, Uber and other app appointed cab systems and the totos (latest addition). Also, the transport is extremely cheap. you can have  100 rupees with you and you can spend the entire day, keeping your stomach filled and travelling to work  and fro and might still have a few coins left. You don’t believe me? Well, come and pay a visit perhaps?

Like i said descriptive writing has never been my forte, and I don’t want to make it a bore fest with Soddy writing. So let me capture my emotional attachment with this city..

Like any metro ( heck, any city), you don’t have the time to catch your breath here. Life is extremely fast and is a race, after all. But the Bengali talent of PNPCing shouldn’t be underestimated. EVER. The old buildings, the street corners, the lake sides, the parks catch my fancy more than the malls and all. The old parts of the city can induce nostalgia into anyone and we Bongs are renowned for our nostalgia. However as much as Bengali-ana I sprout, Kolkata is the perfect example of all Indian cultures existing in harmony. And no one can deny that. Racism is negligible (if it exists at all) and intermingling is the easiest.

I think what everyone will agree upon is that Kolkata has HEART.. It might have fallen behind a lot in terms of development compared to the other Indian cities, but none can match up with the Spirit that exists here. My vocab and sentence-constructing skills perhaps hinders me in presenting it, but come to Kolkata, you’l fall in love. Try to see beyond the imperfections, and you’ll unearth a city which welcomes you with open arms, perhaps even smother you in it’s embrace.

Like I said before, I am writing based on emotional aspects, so I’m not even starting blabbering about the splendour of the Howrah Bridge, the Ganges, the Eden Gardens, the Victoria Memorial and the countless other places, because I can’t stop, as I would’t want to stop describing the grandeur.

So, Kolkata to me is like the place i want to catch my breath in. It has this irresistible tug which captures your heart and  even though you’re long left and gone, you can’t stop thinking about it. The person who has been quoted in the picture did an extremely good job in capturing the essence of the city, something which I couldn’t have done in a million years…

So, let me bid adieu now. Pay me a visit in my city and perhaps i’ll treat you to Roshogollas and pantuas and mishti doi and illish maach (terms and conditions applied).

See you not never!



Painting my nails black

Orange can never be the new black. That’s a fact! The best thing about this achromatic colour is that everyone looks good in it, whatever be your age, size and skin colour.

How do we get Black? It is the result of absence or complete absorption of light. It was one of the first colours used in rock paintings. It is also related to power, authority and law.

I digress. Black to me has never been a fashion statement. It is a life statement. Black to me is the colour of rebellion, the fact that I’m breaking out, i’m not bonded by chains, I have a mind and power of my own and I’m in full control of it. Even though black is perhaps the most used nail polish colour of nowadays, using which will not make me unique in any way, I love the sense of freedom it provides to me. My mum never likes the fact that I wear too much black, and perhaps that’s why I wear it even more. With black, you don’t need to follow a trend, you become the trend.

Black has long been associated as an evil colour. The colour of mourning, related to witchcraft and what not. Perhaps that’s what makes it so distinctive. Black has also been the colour of fertility and life.

No colour can ever have the same impact as black has. Because black is black is black is black (as idiotic it sounds) and orange can never be the new black, no matter how much the Tv producers claim!

An ode to the grieved

I want to love you, but I can’t.

The world has seen to that.

Don’t want to lurk in shadows.

Don’t want to be kept a secret.  

So, preferred to tell you never.

want to love you, but I can’t.  

Society can’t accept us together. 

It would rather bury the seed.

Than let the flower blossom.

So, preferred to stop the feelings.

I want to love you, but I can’t.

People would glare us to death. 

Put the gun on my head.  

And pull the trigger through my heart.

So, preferred to bury my heart.

I want to love you, but I can’t.

Because it’s absolutely abnormal. 

Can’t see you as an outcast.

Can’t let my future perish.

So, preferred to just let it die.

I want to love you, but I can’t.

Because I am a girl, and so are you.

Mentalities are rigid, and so are laws.

They’d rather see me in jail, than hold your hand.

So. no. I can’t love you. Ever

Of Milk Of Curd

It was a warm midsummer’s night. The sky was like a dream. The moon was full, giving of a glittery silvery light. Accompanying him were the brilliant stars, twinkling. The whole arrangement was like that of an orchestra with the moon doing a majestic job as the conductor and the stars following suit. It was a beautiful choreography. Confident and graceful, lithe and eloquent. The vast and endless sky has always been a subject of great wonder and mystery to me, just like the vast, yet confined oceans and seas. Looking at these Nature’s magic, I actually feel, what with all my narcissism regarding my self proclaimed greatness and importance, I’m such an insignificant little creature. In this endless sea of stars, planets and other celestial bodies, I’m nothing but a grain of sand.

Sorry, I digress. I never meant to get all romantic about the brilliant magnificence of the astronomical wonders, I was just here to mock the Hindi ‘Savaiehs’ I had to endure in Class 10.

Pro-claimer: If any Hindi enthusiast gets offended with my virtual lack of respect for these greatly proclaimed poets of some centuries ago, I can’t help it. I had to tolerate them for a whole year. I want to have some fun.

So Savaiehs were like the Dohas written by Kabir. There were differences which I couldn’t be bothered to remember. I’ve forgotten who wrote the piece we studied and I’m too busy to go and ask some juniors about it.Anyway, so this dude was apparently from an extremely impoverished background and got to drink milk and it’s products once in a blue moon, er, full moon in this case. What was his crime which makes him subjected to my poor jokes? His comparison of the moon, stars and the sky with food items. Try to understand my dilemma. You are attending a class which you have no interest in, and you’re kind of yawning and extremely hungry and then there’s this poet who’s bringing up food items with his similes. Not cool. But you also can’t help but not pay full concentration since your best friend has threatened to not show her Hindi answers for you to copy. Dilemma, much. So I happened to pay so much attention that not only did I get good marks in Hindi that year (reasons not be expanded here!) but I actually remember it well enough to do a mockumentary on it.

Again, what was this guy’s fault? Yes, his similes. He was looking at the sky, with eyes full of wonder. and got extremely awestruck. The silvery glittery moonlight which I mentioned before inspired him to think that the sky was like a ‘sea of milk’. Sea of Milk. The sky. Milky Way. Indeed. But this is not where it all ends. He extended his already fully ignited imagination on steroids further and started seeing this huge palace in the night sky whose floors were made of curd. Interesting. Extremely interesting, you might say. Now that I’m sharing a piece of my mind in English, it doesn’t seem so bad. You’l be like ‘Honey, it’s perfectly natural for a poet to make these comparisons. this is what makes them great. And it is also their source of livelihood!’ You can’t be more right.

Just like I couldn’t stop the apple from falling on Newton’s head, I can’t stop this poet from stop gazing at the night sky, be enchanted and write about it. But me being me, nothing stops me from whining about my boring problems regarding matters which plagued my life two years ago. So here I am, jobless, wasting the ink of my pen and pages previously, now space in WordPress to speak out about the injustice of a totally justified thing, ‘Comparison Of Celestial Bodies With Food Items!’

Ciao. See you not never!