I Achieved a Little

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Today Was a Good Day.”

I believe good days can only be measured against the bad days that precede them.

The last good day I remember, one very close to my heart came after a long period of trauma. I remember being sick for days, my gut being sad, and everything falling apart. I was depressed, and pretty much done for. Liver functionality took a dump when I tried to overdose on paracetamol. I felt so sick after the night I sat with a cup of bleach in front of me, I wondered if I should have woken up at all.

It was the worst of days…

None of my plans had worked, none of the things made sense at that point and seriously speaking? I felt like I did not have any friends.

Then, inexplicably it happened. As it often does…

Every writer has this moment of pure creation, of pure bliss. You see an idea and that encompasses you. Happened with me.

I spent day after day writing and writing, trying to build up the world.

Sadly, the novel failed.

But, the day I got that idea.

An evening spent in futility with a book in my hand whose pages I did not turn was turned into a night of work. The ideas rushed in like a flood and they drenched me full. I had to hold on, just to make sense of it all. It was not a huge idea, it was not something that I would be proud of but, it was enough, and by holding on, I tasted happiness

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You’re Different, and that’s VERY Cool

You know what I did today? I watched 10 episodes of a show, and then played a worthless game on my phone for about an hour.

You know what I did today? I swooned over how hot Heathcliff is, and how I would give everything in the world to know him personally.

The thing is, if I had said those things anywhere else, I would be a bonafide joke. I mean I am a couch potato really. Then, again I did my kickboxing and dance workout in the morning, went for a long walk, bought some groceries, read some papers; normal stuff. Deal is, I was different today. In fact, I am pretty sure, I am a bit different every day.

Some days I moon over boys, some days I cannot let go of the feeling of women, some days I just want to dance dance dance and forget about partners…
And I am different that way.

And you know what? I am totally fine with it.

Some days I am not, and it feels bad.

Thing is, the differences that we have to other people, to the public is what defines us. The stop you made to watch that single music video playing over at the television shop is probably a better definition of you than the entire walk to the way there. It changes from person to person. Some people are stuck with their bad choices and some people struggle after making the good ones. yet, it is the differences that push them through.

Differences are lovable.

Because when everything falls apart those still exist. The moment that you moved the chairs to dance still exist. And those are the moments people will fall in love it. Friends, lovers, spouses… They might not remember the anniversary dates, or your favourite colour. But, they will remember how your hair smelt or how you looked after being flustered to the core.

Differences make us, differences break us too.

Yes, people won’t find your kink adorable, they will make fun of you. Some would bully you.

But, that is what makes it cool. Because when differences with others matches with someone else. When the differences become similarities under the gaze of the ever powerful love, we find partners, we find romance, we find people. Sisters, friends, BFFs…

I am scared of my differences, yeah but, you know what? Without them, am not worth much anyway

Dasrath Manjhi : A Story that Deserves Telling

If you are from India, chances are that you have heard the tale of The Mountain Man a thousand times. You have been wow-ed by the feat he achieved and shared that post many a times. Today, as I sat down and watched the film made on his life, I felt a need to re-tell the story again. Maybe, my heart could not accept that some people would not know him. Perhaps, I did not want him to move on as just another trend of the internet.

This was a man, who lost his wife to a mountain and decided to move the mountain itself. This is not a story of making the Taj Mahal, something of grandeur, something so beautiful that the Earth bows before it. This is the story of madness, and of romance, and the gift is that of great utility to everyone.

And you know what? This is such a strange tale. If you hear about rural India it is either about rags to riches or about the deplorable conditions. Manjhi’s story illustrates both and neither. There is this madness in the story of his. The madness of a man who takes on the mountain. This is perhaps not as glamorous as climbing the Everest, but, bringing down a whole mountain, bringing down the nature, that’s something poetic.

I miss Bihar now, have been away for a month.

I would love to feel the air again. There is a stubbornness there, that runs deep into the soul. There is a stubbornness everywhere in my country.

I guess that’s how we survive against all…

Come on, let’s walk

Walking is one of those things that I keep to myself. Whether it be the longer aimless walks, or the shorter walks to reach a destination. I do not know when the passion started really. But, even before I could spell out my name completely in English, I was walking halfway across the city to sit in an ever growing playground with an uncle of mine. After that, it has never really gone away. I have been in love with walking, and walking has reciprocated it with so many little things I have found on the way.

I guess it had something to do with the fact that I grew up in a small patch of a village perched on the roads of an ever growing metropolis. My family has never consisted of a bunch of village dwellers. There was always a love of the land, a love of the common things in them; that I have seldom seen in a city dweller. Growing there, though, I always admired the cycle, I have never been fond of cars or bikes. Bikes scare me, and cars…
Cars are suffocating.
Cars and buses are really suffocating to me. Unless it is quite empty and free, I get all stuffed up and afraid of everything near and far. The anxiety makes me feel strange.
I guess, that is another point in favor of walking.

However, this is not even the reason I walk. When the road doesn’t want to end, when you meet a new place suddenly, and your legs cannot carry you further, there is something that breaks within yourself. Walking in a way is a way to my own enlightenment. It is the only moment I am content with myself, the only time I am truly confident about everything I have done.
Plus, the city I live in looks beautiful when I walk through the roads…

So, lets walk, shall we?

Dearest country, we probably won’t ever fit like gloves

I woke up to a drunk nation and I felt like going to sleep again; today is a holiday after all. Most of my friends are celebrating that. They would drink and get high and say goodbye to the nation’s birthday. That is their party. Mine? My story pans out differently.

I won’t be drinking today. I will probably write some stuff and wallow in them. I will watch a few movies that are inconsequential in the larger valley of life. However, it is independence and I need to write before I get too lethargic to even continue.

So? Amidst all the chimes of patriotic songs that will blast through the city? Will I truly be free?

God, that is such a tough question to answer…

I am not free in some cases and incredibly free in others. I have the freedom to go ahead and enjoy things without segregation. No one would throw me out of a restaurant because of my clothes. I do not think that any one would dare to say that they would not offer me services because of my clothes or my caste. But, then again I am a brahmin and perhaps this is a privilege and not something that is there for everyone in this place.
I can watch the stars freely though, and I can walk the streets of this place without care. No one at my college punishes me for being a certain way. There is an aroma at this place which i love.
I can scream out my disapproval and hopefully, i would not be jailed for the same. The fist is tight but, it isn’t yet, iron.

Then again, I cannot be happy all the time.
I am not free to come out. I am not free to kiss a lover in the streets under the starlights. In some cities if I walk into a hotel, I will be brought out and punished for “public obscenity”. They are going to take away the food, the little things we have survived on slowly.

In some ways we are way more independent than we have ever been.

And I hope the tricolour flies higher and higher every night.

But, some days I hope it looks down to find the child who is so unsure and hoists them up too.

For, I believe truly that India can be greater than anyone else…

Happy Independence Day lovelies…

If only love happened spontaneously

I installed my first gay dating app a few days ago and I became really scared. I couldn’t really handle all the pressure that came with it but, I knew I had to do it somehow or the other. You see I have been out to my friends and I know a few bisexual people over the internet but, I want to meet up with people and know them closely and maybe, fall in love. However, as I found out, a dating app isn’t really one that helps with friendship.

I am awkward with anything sexual and that kind of makes me so vulnerable when it comes to these apps. i know people are looking for hook-ups and I don’t judge them, but, I really want to know people you know and NOT have sex.

Yes, i am being a bit of a prude, and that’s scary and surprising at the same time but, it’s weird anyway. I want to dance as the evening breaks over our heads. i want to see him walk out of the sunset and to fall in love with him, completely before I move on to making out. Maybe, because it is hard for me to let go without my defenses being exhausted already.

When you spent most of your teenage years alone, your adult self makes such a big wall around themselves that it is hard to breach. Sure, I enjoy thinking about sex, and some days I wish to be with a girl I like, and other days I would love to spend decadent days and nights with this guy I once met. However, mostly am just scared. Scared of meeting people, of knowing that they think that I am annoying or not worth the extra effort.

Plus, I have never been a looker anyway.

Yet, I hope to fall in love, and maybe that is a crime…

Who knows?

Also, help needed. If any of you know a way to interact with gay or bi men and women in Kolkata I would appreciate it. Thank you…

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Bedtime Stories.”

I grew up on Bengali fiction as a kid, and to be honest my favourite book is “Chander Pahar”, or “Mountain of the Moon” by Bibhutibhusan Bandhopadhay and yes, it did influence me as I grew up. A story of adventure with vivid descriptions of nature, I blame the book for whatever love of nature I do have. It also influenced my walking practices. Somehow, I have always equated walking with a form of adventure, walking through the streets as a form of knowing the place, and falling in love with it.
Also, Shankar remains curiously fresh even after all these years. An inquizitive mind and an impeccable manner is what makes him so dear to me even now.