Why Doesn't My Brother Flush The Toilet?

Hello, dear reader.

Wassup, m****rf****r?

If you've been following the news, you'll know how pleasant the weather is, right now in Kolkata. And if you believed me, go BBC yourself.

Imagine this: it's 6 in the morning, and your bladder's ready to burst, and you grope your way towards the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and as soon as you open the door, you're hit with a blast of the strongest odour of pee that you've ever come across (though chances are, you live in India and you've had to use a public toilet at least once and well... you get the gist) and suddenly doing it in a bottle doesn't seem that bad an idea.

Hey I get it bro, you were sleepy and you couldn't find the flush lever, so you just did your thing, and you left (probably without even washing your hands), but think of the next person who uses it and suffers severe, irreversible damage to the olfactory receptors and dies. You will be solely responsible for a very, very smelly situation.

Plus, your girlfriend might think you're some kind of a Romeo-Superman incarnate, it still doesn't justify me having to suffer the sight of your yellow excreta every time you become 'forgetful'.

Every time you don't flush or just half-heartedly tug at the lever, I die, I die a little inside.

Maybe you do it because you like the smell. Or you do it because you really care about our planet Earth and want to save some water. Or maybe you don't flush because you just like being an effing pain in the ass.

Also, you may walk out the bathroom like the world's your bitch, but oh I was listening, I was listening for the full, hearty symphony of a full toilet flush and then the thoughtful spritzing of water to do away with the careless 'stray drops'.

But guess what? I didn't hear any.

Isn't it absolutely adorable having a sibling who's so thoughtful and considerate?

That isn't a rhetorical question. I'm asking YOU, because I really have no idea.

Love you, Dada? Hehe. For the sake of all things holy, I hope you never read this.

Love Thy Damned Neighbour's Voice

Now I'm sure many of you have dealt with weirdass neighbours at some point or the other, and I'm about to tell you a little bit about mine.

It just so happens that my neighbour's kitchen and my room are kind of close together, and we almost, almost share windows. And let's just say you wouldn't exactly have to strain your ears to catch what they're saying when they're in the kitchen.

Now both the schools that I've attended in my life have been really close by and I would just get up 15 minutes early to reach on time, but my neighbours' kids apparently needed to wake up nice and early and apparently their mother would have to do all the screaming that was required to get them out of bed in the KITCHEN, and no other place.

Example:

Neighbour: 'GET UP,YOU LAZY BASTARD! GET UP! YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL! GET UP AND GET READY, don't just LIE there!'

These words would penetrate the thick curtain of sleep and pierce my brain like shards of glass and  I would actually wake up, and would actually start getting ready, because I'd feel so guilty. 

Yes, she unintentionally rendered me a great service, something which even my alarm (set at two-minute intervals with inspirational messages like 'WAKE UP, FATTY!') had failed to do.

The husband is no less weird, and he'd often tell me when we met downstairs in the morning to 'hurry up' like he told his kids, and I'd smile nervously, tighten the satchel straps and quicken my steps.

So kids, what have we learnt today? 

Neighbours are nice. 

Even if they are complete fucking bonkers.

5 Reasons My Relatives Are Revolting

1.    They won’t remember my birthday, but they will remember the day results come out. And they will take an unhealthy amount of interest in every exam I take, and will wait eagerly to hear how I performed. The worse I do the better.

2.    They will always pinch my cheeks at weddings and tell me how ‘big’ I’ve grown. Apart from the pseudo-compliment which is actually a snide nod towards my not-so-waif-like-figure, do they honestly think I would still remain the diaper-clad, drooling baby they last saw me as?

3.    They will always, laughingly no less, tell me how difficult it would be to find a husband for me, since I’m ‘so’ tall. It’s all I can do to not point out that the average height of most people in Europe is similar to mine, and marriage to me is as repulsive an option as going out to jog in the morning. Very repulsive, in other words.

4.    They will turn up out of the blue at events and ask me ‘Do you remember me?’ displaying their molars to the fullest extent and look at me with expectant eyes, as if seriously expecting me to remember one of the clan I’d last seen at a distant cousin’s birthday party or something.

5.    They will bore everyone stupid about how rigorously they’re dieting and yet will insist on a third helping of everything. At least be considerate and leave some mishit doi for this ‘big’ girl.

      Now I know they're family and I love them, but sometimes they do get on my nerves a bit. But what's life without a few (unintentionally) funny uncles and aunties? Do let me know the things your relatives do that annoy you.

      See you next time, lovely people.  

TEN Bong Things You Should At Least Pretend To Know

Just the other night, I thought of writing a post about things which are quintessentially Bengali and lo and behold, the very next morning the Sunday edition of the paper had an A-Z list of words that are a part of Bengali vocabulary. My list does include a few of those (simply because they canNOT be omitted), but mostly consists of things I came up with on my own.

Bengalis are the Bengali speaking people of India, and mostly inhabit the state of West Bengal, though they are scattered all over the country, and the world. Here are 10 things that, when you come across, you should know are essentially Bengali:

1) Boroline: This little green tube filled with white cream apparently has a miracle cure for anything under the sun, from chapped lips to cracked hips. And every Bengali knows the jingle 'Shurobhito Antiseptic Cream Boroline!'... And I always, always lose the little black cap to my tube. Ugh.

2) Nicknames: If you're Bengali,you might have a sexy name like Nikhil or Priya, but then all comes undone when your mom calls you 'Babana' or 'Mumpi' in front of your friends, and you're left to pretend that you have suddenly lost the power of hearing.

3) Durga Puja: It's a festival, it's a carnival, it's a celebration, it's Valentine's Day(s) and it's a chance to say 'EFF OFF, Diet!'

4) Sweets (Mishti): You have to taste it to believe it. Just do it. Go on.

5) Phuchka: You have to taste it to believe it. The soft spicy potato filling in a crumbly fried potato... thing, oh it's heaven. 

6) Sunday bazaar: It's the therapy of all therapies, a kind of custom which has been handed down from one Bengali generation to another. The male of the household goes off to the local bazaar with 5-6 of these special bazaar bags and comes back an hour or so later dripping with sweat, bags bulging and wearing a triumphant smile on his face at having successfully bought the biggest carp of the season.

7) Which brings us to our love affair with fish. We need fish. We scream for fish. And if you're Bengali and you don't like fish, well then, you aren't Really Bengali.

8) New Market: It's the Bengali shoppers' paradise, the ultimate place of affordable and fashionable clothing, and one where bargaining is not only expected, but considered to be something of a fine art.

9) Gamcha: We are too cool for towels, for us, it's all about that long, thin piece of cotton, almost invariably a shade of red, green or orange, that soaks up water and with it, our personal turmoils. It's our friend, our only friend.

10) Feluda: Move over Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes, we got Feluda over here. Immortalised in Satyajit Ray's works as the 6 feet tall, strapping detective who believed in the power of the mind, he is the hero of all Bengali heroes. There can never be another like Felu Mitter.

 

Thanks for reading! Every culture has certain typical characteristics, and that makes the world such a wonderfully colourful place. See you around! 

Every time. Every single time.

So I walked into an outlet which promised 'Fabulous Traditional Wear at Unbelievable Rates!' in a shopping mall and gazed at the rows and rows of shimmering jackets, sequinned kurtis, glittering chudidars and glamorous saris on display. I had a wedding to attend in a few weeks, and all I possessed of suitable 'wedding wear' was an extremely old salwar which when I put on (oh yes, I tried it on!), tore all the way down the middle. I guess that's when I realized it was time to restock the wardrobe with a bit of classic Indian.

Always the most reluctant shopper, I walked in apprehensively and steeled myself for the 'Trauma of the Trial Room'. My mom had immediately made a beeline for the displays marked to be 'On Sale' and was already carefully scrutinizing some kind of flimsy silky material.

My eyes scanned the room till they found (aha!) the 'Free Size' area. It was in bold and gleaming atop a display of beautiful clothes, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this wouldn't be such a waste of time after all. I had just reached out to pick out a kurti when an over-enthusiastic assistant wearing a maniacal smile came bounding over. She was short and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and a card which read 'Hello, I am Shanti! How may I help you?' was pinned on top of her regulation pink and white shirt. I ignored her in the hope that she would go away, but she looked up at my 5-foot-10 frame and immediately began to pick out different styles from the rack, and promising with utmost sincerity, that All of these were my size, and All of them would Easily fit me. She offered another confidently professional smile and held the clothes out to me. Hesitantly , I picked out an indigo-blue and a pale green and strode to the trial room.

I cheat when I try out. I don't bother to undress fully. If they fit me over my clothes, they will fit me. But one look at the slinky things I'd carried and I realized they would tear at the slightest stress. So...

The first one fit...my arms. Just above my chest, it got stuck. I struggled wildly and was about to utter cries of help when the wretched thing came out. Still recovering my breath, I threw on the second with a vengeance. That one fit, oh yes it did, but I realized if I wore it for two more minutes I would die of suffocation, the first person ever, to die of a too-tight dress. The material stretched over my chest, already a little too flat for an 18-year-old, and made my breasts look non-existent.

I pulled it off with a spirit of one fighting a thrashing python. I looked at the disheveled reflection in the mirror and had a sudden urge to laugh.

Smoothing my hair and clutching the clothes that had tried to kill me I pushed the heavy brocade curtains back, only to find the assistant waiting on tenterhooks.

'Which one fit?' she asked eagerly.

'This one,' I said, pointing at the black turtleneck that I was wearing.