Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Small polite car talks.

About the last super hypnotic post, well yes, I was in the middle of midterms and it's Pink Floyd, so pfft. Enough said.
I'm back on the face of the planet. My phone doesn't cry in the drawer no more, and I replied to almost every email that was sitting in my inbox binge eating on dust and complaining people.
My exams were okay, I shall say no more cause that always ends up jinxing my results (not that I'm getting any golden eggs this time anyway).. anyhoo. So the next ten days, I plan to do nothing except sleep (a lot of that), party, READ, and..wait for it.. PUJO. Enough said again!

The above picture seems pretty contrasting to what I did today, a day after my exams got over- I woke up at 3 in the morning. And sang at 5am for Mohaloya (Non-bongs, Go Google.) But it honestly wasn't as bad as I thought. As much as I was confident my voice would crack at the highest note, loud and clear on the mike, it didn't. It was pretty decent, I say!
And of course, Neha, Shekhar and Robin. Dawgs that they are. Showed up at five in the morning grinning like they were living the ultimate plan of their lives. But Mohaloya didn't seem as terrorizing as it usually does. It was rather not bad at all. I didn't even slip wearing the saree B-)
Hippie Photo :)

Oh and yesterday, ze ladies log and I went to CP. Where I shot portraits of random strangers while Guinz and Vantz tried their Southindian and Bihari Best to kill me via pissed off looks. (they were cute, if not anything). And Remya ditched. Again. And slept. The whole day. She shall get her answer for this soon. SHALL SHALL SHALL! (your style, bidtch. If you're reading.)

Anyway. Since pujo starts in a ay or two, I'll probably be too busy to update. So there's some fiction coming your way! Cause there's going to be a super sad, depressed and anti-life post after about a week-ish once Pujo ends. So I'm almost bribing you to bear with me :-)
And now, I shall go and read a book. Or maybe catch a bus and go somewhere. Or watch a movie. Or go for coffee alone. Yes, I think I'll do that :)
How liberating did the last two lines feel!

Ciao readers,
I'll be back before you know it!

-Aador,
Nil.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Has it ever happened to you?

Has it ever happened to you, that the sky outside is a clich├ęd purple along with the concrete jungle around blushing to a light crimson, while you're hovering in a parallel world of Pink Floyd playing to the Dark Side Of the Moon.
Has it ever happened to you, that despite the unanswered texts in your phone hiding a bunch of plans, you wish to ignore the entire civilization and keep quiet and be on your own. Just indulge in music, and photographs of faces that speak a language through the grains of each and every print.
Has it ever happened to you, that you give yourself company at laughing on the foul things we kids run around after, that scream and yell their importance but stand so hollow once they're caught between our inexperienced, unwise, imbecile,bony fingers.
Has it ever happened to you, that in a ten minute long track, you understand the basic problem revolving around your life and the basic answer of pluck it out and throw it away like a weightless  weed altogether, for it to never return again.
Has it ever happened to you, all of this, in a span of twenty minutes in a single evening.

I wasn't asking, the question was rhetorical.


















 


Please listen.
-Nil.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Try again, he smiled.

She pressed her fingers harder into the strings, and he squinted his eyes till they were almost shut with a frowning brow, his lips mouthing 'E minor' like a silent prayer.
His expression could be mistaken as an exemplary image of pain, had he not suddenly flown his eyes open with a funny grin the moment she hit the right chord.
She looked up, lips pursed into a smile, big, big round eyes looking up at him like a child who just learned trick of tying her shoe lace. They both started laughing, and he punched the air. She though, kept her index finger tightly pressed to the chord, too scared to move;
"What if the flow breaks?"

Now it was his turn. He took the smaller guitar, suddenly finding himself frowning at the fact that she called it a Ukulele at first. She giggled looking at his face, she knew the culprit of that frown.
He started playing the next few chords, looking at the guitar as if talking to it. Asking for it to understand even the reverb to be heard at every chord. While she stared at his hands playing with the six strings like a child colors with crayons ; careless, effortless and carefree.
   She looked at his face with burning intensity, trying to pin point every emotion that crossed the flawed desert of his face, hoping to replicate not just the melody, but the cause behind it.
He looked up, and motioned her to play. She tried, hit the wrong chord and flinched. She tried again, failed again, tried some more, failed over and over again. She flinched. She didn't want to disgrace what he just played. She didn't want to usher away that soul that lived in those three strange, simple yet gorgeous chords. Her hands froze, her lips pursed ; the smile was gone.

He smiled and led her hands back on the guitar,
"The second try's always awful!", he said faking exasperation, looking straight into her eyes.
"Try again."

And that, was the first of many tries, of countless frowns, of sly grins and flinches, of ugly fingernails.

"Try again." ; he's nod.
And she would.  She would try again and again, and again...and as she played, he squinted his eyes, almost shut, frowned brows..and smile.
And slowly her eyes closed,too. She bent down to the guitar while she played, fumbled, played again.
And he'd listen with his face screwed up, hunting perfection with his eyes closed, bending toward the guitar.
And as her finger skin ragged more and more, the two of them sat close, heads bent towards each other, noses at a pin's distance, with eyes tightly shut ; outlining forced wrinkles on their youthful eyelids.. and both their foreheads had lines which echoed concentration, their minds unaware of everything and their heartbeats throbbing to the six string's tale.

...and as she hit a wrong chord, the illusion broke.
She flinched.

"Try again.", he smiled. 



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Awaiting feedbacks duuuh :-)
-Nil.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

The clouds are lifting from the ocean.

I'm obsessed with Japanese writers again. You must know, because I shall update you with trivial insignificant facts of life, since I haven't ranted at all this month. Blame my cursed mid terms for it (why did that remind me of a mid wife?)
Anyway. The month has been academically eventful. Though my report card won't show so, I know. By the end of seven hours of Political Science, I came to realize the next day was that what I wrote in the paper was utter, naked bullshit interspersed with murderous silly mistakes and I've realized it's cow poop when they say 'Women are good with dates' cause the theory doesn't seem to work with me. Out of nine chapters (the whole fat book), all I could gather was two dates I could be sure of. 1961 and '62. And they weren't even a part of the one markers so screw that shit.
Anyhoo. My life without Facebook still feels like a private Himalaya in Delhi. I sit online for half n hour a day. I check Blogger, skype some and sign out letting a fantastic play list of Goan and Euro trance play.

My econ tuition teacher loves me and considers me a bright bulb. And hence, I didn't exactly know how to react when he told me he had a 'feeling' that I wasn't going to do well in this midterm and he seemed considerably cheerful about it. Which is why I stick by my policy of not bothering to understand much of Scholarly people.

My cousin sister came over for the weekend, and we had our share of
going out shopping and not buying anything,hehh. (I got my nose pin changed to a ring, if that's an update?) And yeah that's her--->
Also,the following night she,my elder sister and I had a Sisters Night Out at this super fancy Sizzler joint. I'm positive I can't eat for the next three days, that's how full I am!


Other than that, life is pretty upsetting till the 26th. That's when my midterms get over, and my ladies and I run to Paharganj once again to lash out on the markets and Sam's Cafe.
Not to mention PUJO is on its way! My spirits have considerably dampened because of idiotic friends of mine who choose to ditch Delhi and decide to screw up big bong plans. (You're never going to hear the end of this, trust me dear boy.)
But hey my ladies plan to be around a lot during pujo, so hell I'm psyched about showing them around. They've never seen the "real thing" of it before. Also, I plan on spending a lot of time with family this time. OH OH OH and I'm also going for Bhashan this year! (for those of you who don't have a clue of what I'm saying,I shall explain when I'm online for longer okay?)
Anndd. Now the cherry on the cake- Raima, my sister's going to be here for Diwali. I was expecting Diwali to suck monkey balls this year like my last one, but hey thank god she's going to be here :) So that means another blissful week of insane fun.

But yeah. Before all the fun starts, I still have about another week of books and mid terms to write. Sigh. So anyhoo. I shall take your leave now. And I love you readers for the amazing positive feedbacks y'all have been giving me on my fictions last month. Honestly, you guys make me want to write.
Now ciao! Hope you lot had a fantastic weekend.

-Hoping for some more rainy skies please,
Nil.

P.S- Tomorrow's my English midterm. I realize now I underestimated the course a bit too much, and maybe attending a class or two would have done me some good. Shit.
 

Friday, September 16, 2011

Summer went away, and we just weren't the same.

Summer changes me. Every time. Every summer break that does me the favor of sixty days to myself, to the scotching sun, to the sunburnt back of my neck, to white tee shirts and flannel pants, to friends, and to sitting at home with nothing but a good book and a glass of juice to my liability.
This routine happens, every year and yet, every summer I'm introduced to some magic. To some one. To some place. To myself.

Summer is when I abandon every element of hesitance. It's when I go right ahead and do the biggest mistakes of my life. Mistakes which kiss me and slap me every now and then, and laugh with me when I see myself grow from that particular sunny day when the sun was at its best. When I was walking on the streets wearing flats which seemed to have burnt holes, when the metallic rods of buses seem to burn into my skin, when I fall in love, when I fall out of love, and when I take another plunge into another insanity.
Yes. Summer is insanity.

By the end of the summer, there's one person, one place and one side of me that is stuck to my head. That is surfacing realizations of the same facts in different characters. And  those three epiphanies stay with me until next summer rolls in. And I'm introduced to another person, another place, and another side of me. Yes, summer changes me every time.

I feel happy in summers. Perhaps everything I'm writing right now sounds like a kindergartener writing an essay on what summer means to him, repeating words, nouns,verbs.. But this post is just an honest confession and something simple I wanted to write since 2008...and it's all true. And perhaps, it couldn't be more true for it sounds like a child's words. Cause every summer I realize what a child I am. I fall from stairs, I burn myself while trying to toast bread for the first time for someone special, I make an inseparable friend, I cry for my dog's cuteness, I... I just do things to feel happy. To make people happy. And to just.... live.
So yeah. I am a child. A big, crazy and wild one at that!

But with every passing summer I leave a side of that child behind... It happened last year, happened this year, and is inevitable next year.
But that's what's so amazing. Summer. Dragon flies. And realizing yourself. And your differences from a reflection that now seems younger, with a toothier grin, looking eagerly at someone at the other side of the mirror who looks a little older, mature....and well, just different.

It's true. Summer went away and we just weren't the same.



-Nil.

Monday, September 12, 2011

The hush hush Street.

 The hush hush Street.

Like snippets of my imagination, a hurricane of possibilities rove through my mind when I saw the man standing there, under the yellow street lamp smoking his pipe. His body language was unsure, his eyes were hollow holes with only the jaws of his face illuminated. His coat was old, strands of wool discharged into awkward angles of obtuse. His posture kept shifting, trying to hold a confident edge but failed miserably to find a comfortable stand..
"Hmm..Nervous..But would he?" ; I heard my mind calculate the possibilities.. I decided against him. I remembered Boss complaining about my insularity, the other day. And suddenly, I found myself in an agitation to prove him wrong, like a child I felt my brows frowning and my knees felt weak.

I lit my smoke, the tiny flame caught the man's attention in the dim surrounding. I leaned next to the bar door and let the light of the fluctuating tube light above outlining the bar's name fall on me. On my cut sleeved red dress, on the careless chunks of jewellery accentuating my collar bone, on the red high heels that transformed me the minute I kicked them on.
I let the man see me. 

He took half a step, adjusting his hat. And then retreated back, and walked away briskly.
"Hmm.. he wouldn't. Too much of a pet cat.."; I smiled.

I blew the smoke up into the air, letting the chill in the air soothe my face, and calm my relieved nerves. I drew in and drew out my right leg on the concrete below. I was surprised at how gorgeous they looked. I heard Ruby's words somewhere in my ear; "Practice makes a woman perfect hun.. A man will always be just as imperfect as the first try." ; and somewhere I saw her wink too.

A couple passed  by. The man's eyes immediately shifted to my legs, the hips, and then above. And then quickly looked at his wife with an apologetic smile, who didn't notice his seconds of fantasy. The wife smiled back. But they walked swiftly and took a turn in the next block. Getting rid of this street as soon as they could. The man looked back, before the curve.
"Of course he'll come back to this street very soon." my mind spoke.

I lit the next cigarette. A Mercedes Benz swooshed by, and stopped abruptly in front of the bar three doors away. The expensive one. A lean man in an expensive ensemble stepped out with a white package under his armpit. He put on a white fedora, and walked in quickly.
"Did expensive really matter?" , my mind asked.
 An hour later, I spotted the man. This time, the fedora was gone, the outline of his hair was ruffled,  and his walk a little unstable, trying to keep a quick pace. The irritable foot tapping didn't stop until the Benz came to pick him up, and the car went away. I saw the man pull up the window.

I lit my third cigarette. And waited for some more faces, few more shadows to lurk around this forbidden and yet celebrated street of the city. I exhaled in the warmth of the smoke, the only companion who'd hover around,follow the faces in ghostly shapes and vanish into thin air just like the shadows of this hush hush street.. who'd hover around until one of them would actually come where I stood, slide his arms into my waist and let me escort him into the door behind me.
I waited and let the brothel in my mind speak, judge and laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Awaiting feedbacks as usual..
Love,
Nil.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Snippets.

Blissful without Facebook. Never thought I'd say that.
While I was on my break from Pol Science : 

I love.
The BEATLES Coffee Table book.




My first Valentine's Day Rose. 2009. (From my old diary)
















My birthday, 2009. Woke up to find a huugge bouquet of roses.
















What Remya and I do in Pol Science.













Economics class :)
























Happiness.

















 -A slightly different,
Nil.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Murders are beautiful.

No they're not. But illusions of pretty things I tell you, they fool us.
So there's a photo I clicked at Vanta's today. Bunch of ants were feeding on the remnants of a beautiful moth. And the dreadfulness of it was numbed by how beautiful it managed to look, the synchronized procession of the ants, and the wings of the moth still looking just as gorgeous while lifeless.

Illusions of pretty things I tell you, they fool us.


-Nil.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Just like last morning.

The mind wakes up to a surreal morning, angry remnants of desired conclusions bustling in a hurry over the caffeine of last night's sleep. The yellow morning should have been pleasant, but the pupil only adjusts and readjusts itself to see clearly despite the painfully throbbing window panes of the mind's eye. Lips half opened, close into a pursed defense when the dizziness increases, palms shoot up to comfort the face with familiar lines and own skin, but the series of dreams left the mind agitated, the body at unease, and the hair uncombed and thoughts just as riddled as the knots that would be later tugged on with the green comb.
The anxious shoulders work up the courage to move, the body shifts places and travels to the colder region of the bed, to get rid of the warmth of the place where the body slept for eleven hours and the place that felt like a recently exhausted engine of an old angry truck. Focus zeroes down to the small tattoo of the dragonfly on the ankle, and slowly the five senses regain and recollect the origin of the body. The sixth sense hushes down the constant nervous yelps booming in the speakers somewhere far away, within the soul perhaps?
The day compliments itself with the whistles of the iron boy, skipping and hopping to the neighborhood households to carry away crushed white shirts and bring them back crisp by the evening for another day of 9-5 slave hours for the guy next door with brown polished boots and the corporate car.
The cat purred in its sleep beside..The world was slowly making sense.
Water!, the tongue rebels. As the Adam's apple is bathed with the cold noble liquid, courtesies the refrigerator, the body subsides to the calm, the quiet, and understands again, just like last morning, who it was, what it does, and where it belongs. 


Courtesy- NILADRI BHATTACHARJEE.
-Nil.