A quiet dinner.

She threw the jean with the belt hung on it, entered the kitchen and anticipated for last night's beacon to have vanished. The damp, unhappy fridge effected her mood drastically to her surprise. The husband wasn't home, and she was going to eat dinner alone. Again.
She tied her shirt up into a naught over her waist that had now gained a few layers of fat, after marriage. The husband called them his exclusive love handles. It didn't sound half as ridiculous when he said it as it did in her head, now.
She scooped some jelly and quickly gulped it down, as if guilty about her eyes watching..
Women, women ; She could almost imagine the husband snickering. She rolled her eyes at the solitary house who'd been her companion for the past month, while the husband had a secret affair with his Office desk, his files, and the tender submission. She sighed.

She put on the old Steely Dan record and started swinging to 'Home at last' while soaking some beans into the red bowl. She noticed a crack, and immediately a flash of irritation crossed her. Just how many times had she asked him to not enter the kitchen. Almost all the utensils had a crack here, a chipped end there. His careless approach to everything annoyed her, but three years of marriage had taught her the hidden vow of compromise, to let things pass and come in terms with the fact that she wasn't living alone anymore, that she couldn't have the wall hanging on the north wall because his Elvis poster had always nested there, that the curtains could not be the color of cherry, and that the shoes had to be kept outside the house, even though there was a cupboard inside which was now a home for the empty beer bottles which came from the weekend parties with their friends.
Yes, she did learn that she wasn't boss anymore,and that they had a mutual contract now.

She picked up the book the husband was currently reading. She was surprised to see it was one of her Sidney Sheldons. She smiled. It was the same book she couldn't stop talking about for weeks after her read. The same book he had sworn to not read so as to not contract the annoying disease of verbal book worm diarrhea, he had said!
The book mark was a coffee cup stain on the 87th page.
Yes, marriage had also taught her imperfection. Sweet, very sweet imperfection.

She bit her tongue as she remembered she hadn't checked her messages, she hopped to the brown coffee table and punched the red button and the messages started playing one by one...and as the track 'Peg' started playing, she sat on the dinner table, poured herself a glass of wine and chewed on her salad and waited for the husband to come back, loosen the blue tie and wink at her rushing to the shower... and while she imagined all the minute details of her daily life, the last message, dated three weeks ago, on the answering machine said ;

"Maya.. I'm so sorry.... about Rishi's sudden.. death. We want you to know that he was a good man, a lovely man. And of course a fantastic husband. We're all there for you, darling. Just a call away, you must know..."


She stood up and walked to the phone quietly, unplugged the answering machine, and went back to her dinner.


**************************************************************

Awaiting feedbacks as always!
Love,
Nil. 

Polaroids.

Hello! It's been a strange month, with times of absolute unadulterated happiness as well as sudden and thickly interspersed space outs. My subsequent rants have obviously made that fact quite clear.. But I promise this one's the last! From the next post onwards, there's going to be fiction. Cause even I'm going to bury my nose deep into books and then my lovely sister will make her way to Delhi.. So I'm going to be terribly busy and you shall all get a break from the perpetual rants of erratic mood swings.

I just got back from a Raghu Rai Photography exhibition.. a close friend happened to read about it in the newspapers and so we decided to go have a look. I'm still awestruck at how the human mind creates such terrific concepts which leave one's mouth wide open after realizing the gravity of the thoughts behind each and every photograph. Ragu Rai..of course, is one of the best. But there were a bunch of other collections by various photographers who aren't very celebrated, and each and every photograph blew my mind off. At times, black and whites can be so overwhelming, and they almost make your mind travel to a distant memory that you never knew you retained inside you anymore. And the best part is, they're all feelings and people you see and feel every day. But the way each and every thought and expression had been emoted so profoundly into print was laudable. Inspiring and overwhelming..
I got some interesting photographs, too. Of the exhibition and people around.. Here are a few :-)

So yeah. That was my update for the day, and that's going to be it for a while now. The next half of the month, I shall be busy spacing out from social networking, the phone shall find its cozy place in the drawer and I shall find best friends in multiple hours of NCERT textbooks and joy in Pahargunj and karaoke nights with my darling sister and our friends :-)
Basically, I shall rely only on interaction in person. Which is so much better and lesser hassle. Don't ask me why, though!

So tata world,
I shall be back by the end of the month. Till then, enjoy the fictions coming up. And take care!
Thumbs Up,
Nil.

Conversations.

Presently, my house has about sixteen people scurrying up and down the house carrying plates of fruits, vermilion, sweets, vegetables, mirrors, holy threads and an agglomeration of pretty red and yellow things. The ground floor has a flirtatious aroma of mouth watering aaloo puri, while the elders laugh loudly making the tiny kids flee around the house from one place to another.
And no, there's no wedding in the house. This is just how my darling Bong family celebrates Lakshmi Puja. And this is exactly why, I absolutely love all these sixteen people who're taking turns in yelling my name out with not-so-polite tones for me to ditch this bunch of cyber garbage and go and participate.

My eldest uncle has been priding over the alpana (some thing you make with rice paste) I helped to make. He's been rewarding me with tiny toffees while my mother has been stuffing coconut sweets into my mouth for no apparent reason. My father is patting (punching) me on the back and bellowing with unnecessary happiness about how nice the red hideous kurta looks on me, and my tiny niece is having the time of my life sneezing and laughing at the same time on the apparently witty ways my elder brothers seem to have adapted to make the world realize how hilarious they are. (Talk to the hand,I said.)

And everybody is just randomly screaming and jumping around from place to place, stuffing on sweets and lovingly cursing the weather. The house feels breathing (sneezing) and alive.

Which is why, when you're in a terrible blue and unsure about the world under your feet, all you need is a darling of a crazy Bengali family laughing even when jokes aren't cracked, and pulling on your cheeks like you're the newborn of the house even though you're seventeen.

Rolling my eyes with a wiiiide grin,
Nil :-)

Over, the madness.

And it's over, the five day long madness.
The getting up in the morning to wear a crisp cotton saree, or showing around the pandals to my non bong friends like a matter of pride, the ceremonies at home, the sound of Dhak playing making your heart flutter, staying out way into the night with cheerful companions,the dhunochi aaroti dance, food- oh the food! And just... the festival in itself. The five days that you feel alive, the most. 
I know I mentioned the anticipated depression, but it ain't there really. I'm quite overwhelmed as always, and happiness is enjoying the quiet lazy epiphanies by sadness.

Durga Pujo this year was of another kind. Absolutely magnificent in most aspects and a little nostalgic in few.. the rituals were all the same. The pandals, most of the people, the feeling of belonging under one very colorful umbrella of happiness, and perpetual excitement of every minute.. yes, it was all the same. But also absolutely different in a whole new level.

Pujo started with Panchami when Rob and I fought pretty much the Odds of all the screwed network connections of Vodafone (hehh! Quite a night that one!).. Shashti, my ladies came over. That was altogether a trip of a different kind. Seven saree-clad beauties marching the roads with loud laughter, sipping on chuski, and a whole lot of fun.. Saptami was my day out with the other craziness oriented loves. Neha, Sheks,Chika, Rohan,Apu, Rukmani, Shuvro and okay basically a whole bunch of insane people! That was the ditch-Cr.Park-Day. We went and checked out the pandals outside Cr.park and they were such beauties I tell ya. Not to mention, the night ended with a drive to India gate wearing Devil horns and glow in the dark shades :-P   Ashtami, there was the main puja at my place.. Shiv came over, showed her around, bumped into Kanz and gang. Following which was the night that I felt alive the most- the Ashtami arati at K-block, where I did the dhunochi.. The rush, the intoxicating feeling of dancing in front of the idols proceeding to a trance is the one feeling that would stay and refuses to go away.
And Navami. The cherry on the cake.
The huge Bhattacharjee family rented a bus and off we were to rule the Puja pandals of New Delhi! And heh, um, then. For the keeps- the Navami night party at Cheeka's. THAT, I won't forget. Ever. No, not ever! No further details on that,err.
And finally, Bhashan..... The Visarjan saw us bongs go wild on the streets dancing to the beats of Dhak.. what a visarjan.. damn.

Ashtami Dhuno Aaroti..

So yeah. It's ended. The madness is over, and it's time to get back to the thick stick of Everyday. But as cliched, however very honest- and thus begins a year long wait. A wait that's always so worth it. It's been a kickass Pujo. Something I rather didn't expect.. I wish I had more to say, for this post. I anticipated a lengthy post  describing every minute detail of the odyssey.. but I think this is as much as I'd want to share, the rest is to stay with me only. For that's how amazing this pujo was, and I'd rather leave it to that. It's beauty within me.
 This Pujo was the onset to a whole new vision, a vision I ignored, to now realize that it was actually bliss.

Shubho bijoya everyone, and god bless :-)
Nil.