Surfacing!

What? It's past the middle of the year already? Wow. Time does fly when you're watching TV 24/7.

HELLLOOOO! I have been slightly busy these past few weeks, and a lot of things have happened, some good, some not so good and some downright stinky.

I received my board results and I scored:

English: 86/100 (I don't know why or how. I did expect a little more.)

Physics: 95/100

Chemistry: 95/100

Biology: 95/100

Mathematics: 95/100

Also, I turned 19 on the 30th of May, and I didn't receive any sudden flash of wisdom or some great enlightenment. I continue to remain fat and stupid. All aspiring 19-year-olds out there, don't get your hopes up.

I DID however, receive a superb phone courtesy my parents, and frankly, I'm in love with it. It's not an iPhone, but to me, it IS better. *proud mom moment*

Many of my other entrance exam results were disappointing, though a few were not. I did get through St. Xavier's college with Integrated MSc in Biotechnology, although I'm waiting for some more results to be declared. 

If you're feeling sad or depressed and on edge, and about to throw in the towel, I just want to tell you to hang on. It will get better, I promise. I have faced the darkness, and yet here I am typing this, am I not?

Hang on.We'll get through this. We'll emerge as stronger people.

Until next time!

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! 

I GOT BLUE HIGHLIGHTS... Wait, NO.

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I'm still going to keep typing, because well, I am awesome. And incredibly stupid.

Hello again! Thanks for clicking on that link, and thanks for reading this and uh, I'm going to start right now...

Ever since I turned 18 I've had this longing to do something wacky and different, and what better than to get blue highlights for my hair? So, today after days of salon-hopping and appointment-making and making frantic calls that always ended with me saying 'Yes, yes, blue. No, not blonde. Blue. Yes,' I walked into the salon from (ANOTHER) exam and slumped on the seat.

Long story short, my hair was vigorously shampooed, conditioned, strands of hair to be streaked singled out, bleached and dyed, during which time my mother, bless her, managed to have two fairly satisfying naps and I informed all my girlfriends about the wonderful new transformation I was to undergo, and sneakily observed all the different customers trickling in, all patting their hair and asking the hairdresser what will 'suit' them the most.

At one point, this incredibly adorable four-year-old boy walked in with his nanny and he looked absolutely terrified when he was made to sit down on The Chair. And what followed took me back to the days when my father would haul my brother and me to the local 'men's saloon' every other Sunday to give us the classiest haircut possible: The Bowl. And because of that and my seeming lack of secondary sexual characters, I'd more than once been called a guy, to the point a bus conductor yelled out 'Hey bro, look out!' as the bus skirted past me. Thanks a lot, dad. Thanks a lot.

Anyway, as my cheerful little Nepalese hairdresser pulled away the white towel with a flourish, there was a definite feeling of anticlimax. WHERE IN THE BLUE HECK WAS THE BLUE?

So it transpired, my hair was so effing black, the blue was barely visible. Unless of course, you viewed specific portions of my hair under some zillion-watt stadium lights. She was so disappointed, she took 50% off the colouring cost and promised to have the coolest red colour ready when the bleached hair began to show. At the end it was my mom who was consoling her that it was alright, and I didn't mind, and I'd definitely come back. I have to admit, I was feeling the blues too. Okay sorry, bad pun.

I really wish I had some cool pictures to put up, but noone wants to see stupid black hair, do they?

This is exactly what my hair... DOESN'T look like.

Thanks for reading, again! More next time, you lovely people.

A Heritage Site I Never Knew Existed!

In October 2012, my family and I toured Europe with a bunch of people we bonded really well with, and since then these four families and mine have formed a little travel group, and we meet up for quick getaways in places around the city, and needlessly to say, I have a Whole lot of fun. 

Last weekend, we booked a bus and in little over two hours we found ourselves in the stunning, ancient palatial 'Itachuna Rajbari' that had been built by a Maratha warrior of the Kundan clan. As I walked through the grand entrance, my DSLR at the ready, the sheer size of the place took my breath away. It had an air that was steeped in history and the demeanour of a formidable grandfather who had once served in the army. That was a random thought. Here, have a look:

This one was from the top of the stairs at the other end (which you can see here) of the yard:

There's really nothing more to say, but loads to see. 

 I took all of these while roaming around the place, but many doors were locked, and many windows shut tight...

I think they probably had gas lamps back in the time of the Rajbari, but I guess bulbs make more sense now.

 I found these creepy-looking bald dolls shoved to one corner of a verandah... cannot really imagine a royal child finding these adorable.

 This is a beautiful mirror, don't you think?

The Rajbari all decked up in the evening:

All in all, it was a grand trip... and believe me, the best part was spooking ourselves at night by roaming the dark corridors, all huddled together and giggling nervously. We didn't see any ghosts, but that doesn't mean they weren't there, does it? 

Until next time, you lovelies.