predilections

In order to be the recipient of epic love, or let's say in order to acquire a Pip or a Gatsby or a Heathcliff, a woman must necessarily be an Estella, a Daisy, or a Catherine. And even then those ended badly. Do you see why epic love is out of fashion?

are they really "people" who come and go talking of michelangelo?

FROM MY PAST RELATIONSHIPS I HAVE LEARNED: umm... That there are dogs, bitches, pussy cats, foxes, chameleons, snakes, the duck-billed-platypuses, or the plain old lions! Precisely that it's an animal kingdom!
So what the hell am I doing here?

love

girl meets boy after 7 years. girl used to be headoverheels in love with boy back in the days. boy too used to like her secretly. their unspoken passion never fled, even though many girls and boys have crisscrossed paths in these years. finally they make their first date after seven years.

girl's excited friend, in the hope for a juicy, elaborate, romantic gossip, asks girl: "So! tell me tell me! any intimate moments?!!!" *with batting eyelashes, arched eyebrows, pupils popping, and a wide grin*

girl merrily answers: "well i don't know what you can classify as intimate. but when he was drunk and passed out, I had to wake him up and he held his hand for me to pull up :)... And then later he picked up his cat, and gave it to me to hold in my arms. And kissed the cat..." (and a little coyly she adds) "I thought it was cute..."


see how little we expect from our men ;)
all you need to do to make us feel intimate is to get drunk and kiss the cat :)

po(st) mo(dern) conversations/ or A Play in Progress

13:57 me: hey

13:58 Beats: hello

how are you doing?

me: and u?

Beats: lol..

haha...still the same tina

13:59 yes i am fine..changed my job

me: nice

i mean is it?

Beats: of course not

me: u got fired?

Beats: i wish

no i switched

14:00 so more pay and better profile

but i still have to work so that sucks

me:yes i know

the work thing

unfair

14:01 Beats: very..i want a cottage by the river where i can just write

and then travel to the city to do rap concerts

lol..

me: i just want a river. to jump down.

Beats: you can use mine

14:02 me: so the music is still your demanding bitch, eh?

Beats:

yes it is

music is my life

me: name of a movie?

i think i should be in the movies really

come to think of it

14:03 Beats: well we did make one

charurmatha

me: u r an illiterate

Beats: that is probably true

me: yesyes mann mein koi doubt mat rakhna (do not doubt that)

Beats: rakha hi nahi (did not doubt at all)

14:04 kambakht zamaane ne rakhne hi nahi diya (this devilish world never let me doubt THAT)

me: so how goes with old friends and family?

14:05 Beats: friends- R, A and F they are good

family my mother is fine and my dad is dead

14:06 my brother is in college so you know how that goes

me: thts nice

college... which?

Beats: bhaggu

14:07 :(

me: wht kinda rubbish college is tht

wht hav u done to ur brother

Beats: bhawanipore

don't tell me you don't remember that center of academic excellence

me: all the spoiled brats go there. then again... u DID live in Saltlake ;)

14:08 Beats: see..connecting the dots now

me: yeah i guess

so u shud rap ur way to NY, no?

14:09Beats: naah

my music now is too much about Indian politics

me: o good good

shove it in their ass

14:10 Beats: i got booed off a stage in Mumbai for saying Bombay instead of Mumbai

would you believe that

of course i ran back on! ;)

me: hah

funny

hehe

u got booed

Beats: (an then was dragged back off)

me: so sweet

14:11 with news like these life seems so worth the while :D

Beats: you find me getting my ass handed to me by the audience funny eh?

well i guess i would too

it is rather hilarious now that i look at it more objectively

14:12

me: so i see u've been busy

which is nice

Beats: you mean the music?

14:13 yeah well i had little choice in the matter..music is all i've got..it's all any of us has actually at the end of the day...

me: yeah all of it. ur music. changing jobs. dying fathers.

14:14 Beats: haha now that sounds poetic

you make my life sound half interesting

me: and half romantic

Beats: true

14:15 me: so did your father actually die in the physiological way?

or is it just your anger talking?

14:16 Beats: no he actually died

he got hit by a metro train after he collapsed on the tracks

in park street metro station

me: hmm... thts... a bummer

sorry to hear that

Beatss: yeah thanks

14:17 me: so how u taking it?

Beats: as any estranged son would

with a pinch of salt and a lot of tequila

me: hmm

14:18 o well waddaya know... tequila is a goddamn good drink

Beats: and don't i know it

14:19 there is a reason it is the official estranged son mourning drink

they don't just pick any drink for that you know

it's an honor

long island iced tea was in the reckoning too but lost by a landslide

14:20 me: tht drink gives an immediate headache tho

at least tequila waits till the next day

Beats: yes

14:21 me: hows ur mom and bro taking it?

Beats: mom broke down..

but she is okay now

my brother was very sad and upset at first but he is getting over it

14:22 i am the only one who had no emotional response...big surprise eh?

me: then again u bust politicians ;)

14:23 Beats: not really..my rants in rhyme make no difference

but it's fun

me: anyway if u ever need to talk... about anything I guess... as long as it's nothing smart or intelligent or worldly or academic or intellectual or meaningful... u can gimme a missed call. and i shall call u back

14:24 Beats: that's very sweet

i am reading your blog

do you still write poems

14:25 i used to love your poetry's honesty

me: i guess i don't write

Beats: why not?

you had such a voice

14:26 me: ah well. the voice remained. the words left.

so anyway, u coming to US?

Beats:

not anytime soon

14:27 i am too old to relocate now

me: but u ain't too old to travel my friend

14:28

Beats: yes i know

maybe i'll come down in a couple of years

14:29 me: tht'll be nice. i hope i see u some day. life seems awfully long without the occasional conversations

Beats: i know what you mean

14:30 i really wished you start writing again

i would love to read something by you

14:31 me: re-read this conversation. it went awfully nice! my best work since sometime now ;)

Beats: haha

14:32 well i shall make do with ur blog

it's on my favorites now

me: it's a piece of trash

Beats: so?

me: my whole life is a selection of trash

dig in

14:33 Beats: i love trash..don't knock trash

we are the royalty of trash..so let me revel in my rottenness

14:34 me: wait lemme whip up some leftover for u...

similar symptoms.

My heart palpitates faster. Like really throbbing loudly. Blood rushing to my head and face. My legs, my fingers, begin to tremble. I feel nervous. Sweat crackling in every fiber of my being. At times even a teardrop escapes, silently travels down my cheek...

No, I am not having sex.
Just a really loud, exhausting, heart-wrenching, argument. A bitter fight, rather.

I have realized that having sex, and having a nervous breakdown are really quite the same when analyzed down to the basics. It involves the same physical manifestations. Both can be equally exhilarating or exhausting. Hence, if you are in no mood for one, just imagine you are having the other!

George Costanza's Words of Wisdom

"The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A death. What's that, a bonus?!?! I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get that out of the way. Then you go live in an old age home. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, then when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You drink alcohol, you party & you get ready for high school. You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities. You become a little baby, you go back, you spend your last 9 months floating with luxuries like central heating, spa, room service on tap, then you finish yourself off as an orgasm!! AMEN!!"


ROTFLMAO!!! Now that sounds promising!

3 sure signs of growing up... and I shall keep adding

1. Restraining your words!

2. Giving interviews.

3. Talking about politics!

how it has become

me: Nanny!!!

N: Tina!

me: what u doing up so late

N: Oh, bas bored

me: so how goes

N: aah. Well. It goes medium rare

me: hehe

i am actually getting really old. i get aches and pains on my body these days
N: hahaha. me too

me: sure signs of aging. ki obostha (what have we come to)

N: uff. ki hocche eshob (What the hell is happening!)

me: yeah man...this growing up thing is getting on my nerves :P we better just shake off, and get up... and start running like Forrest Gump

N: YES

lets all just run

this independence day

I think the date was August 15th of this year. My uncle, who is visiting Kolkata after 11 years, called us over for lunch at our ancestral home in Shibpur. The occasion was this: India won the world cup for cricket in 1983. Makes no sense? It will.
So 27 years back, an ardent cricket enthusiast, pledged to god that "hey god! since we all love food, and you must too, I will sacrifice a goat for you if India wins the world cup this time." (no no my uncle doesn't do animal husbandry. so technically it's not the uncle but the poor goat, who understands nothing of cricket, who will make the sacrificing bit, should India win.) We have a familiar term for this kind of "divine" bribing: manat. A Bengali word, also shared in Hindi, hence possibly has a Sranskrit origin.
Anyway, as much as ludicrously funny it had seemed to me by just the act of retrieving back on an ancient promise of a well-chosen-goat-for-lunch made to God for a game of cricket, what's funnier is my uncle's justification. He had very good intentions. Of course, not for the goat. But this is what he thought: his family was going through so many set backs, and had been disease stricken for the last many years that it only made sense that God was furious that the promised sacrifice was never made. And right after India won the world cup, my uncle forgot all about the promised goat, and instead went his merry way. and so did the goat. "there goes my lunch!" thought the mortified god.
"Like it's not enough that a bunch of bangalis had to have "mangshor jhol" (mutton curry) every frigging Sunday afternoon. How cunningly I evaded them so long. And now, all of a sudden here's this fella, who comes from United States! after decades has his heart fixed on my head!," were perhaps the goat's last thoughts before the executioner plunges the blade on its trembling neck. Thus, a poor unsuspecting goat had a new... rather old reason to die. Quite an irony I thought that all of this happened on India's independence day :) Alas a long way to go, yet.

acceptance

So, there remains possibly minimal chance that I should ever get to do something revolutionary, seminal, or remotely significant in the field of literature, such that I might ever have the faintest chance at a manifest destiny - to replay my imagination live in front of 500 people, at least, all those who had received the experimental Nobel/XXXX committee invitation: elegantly embroidered with silver, a white colored card, to attend the event where black tie or evening gown is compulsory dress code. Such a place, time and event, when intuitively you wouldn't consider your khakis or spaghetti tops.
But now that I am embarking the idea of going to Law school, over these carefully woven childish fancies are sprouting wings of flight. I am speckled at the horizon, over-brooding for a future that shall perhaps never come to pass but which I had lived so well, so many times, in a hope filled past.
I indulge myself here. I shall write down my perpetually revising speech, which I will only get to say it once in public: Now. To you.
So shake your booty, and be completely unsolemn and inappropriate. and do me a happy dance. you can wear a hat with a tinker bell, and a wobbly, motley costume. heehaw


"I would be lying if I said that this is unexpected and I am speechless. I have been practicing this speech in my toilet and living this moment since when I was perhaps 10 years old, dreaming what I will say on stage the day I accept the [Nobel/ Pulitzer/ Bookers/ Man Booker/ XXXX] prize. Only today, this moment seems a dream: yet another rehearsal in my toilet. And with all of you sitting here, this could easily be my most embarrassing moment. [laughter and giggle expected].
I cannot get away without thanking a few people.
My mom, I am sure this is her doing. It is because of her constant prayers and utmost confidence that only the best things can happen to me, even during times when nothing went right, that god finally had to give in.
My father, who has made everything possible in my life. Whatever, Whoever, and wherever I am today, it is because of him.
My brother, who has been the constant source of inspiration and motivation, even if he has looked very engaged with video games and x-box. But he had known always to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it most.
My aunt, who filled every gap, and every void, and made everyday a little more bearable and a little less cynical. I might have shaved my head had she not been around.
My friend Inam. If it was not for him, poetry would have been missing in my life.
And finally, my husband. The one I love best."

[Applause. A standing ovation wouldn't hurt :P ]



I had a sudden revelation. Perhaps the only reason why I dreamed about receiving this recognition was to be able to acknowledge the presence of some people in my life, who made the difference.

aah well, now I can happily leave the stage.

a haircut

I got myself a horrid haircut. And usually when I am this angry I tear out my hair to express overwhelming frustration. But not this time. Go figure!

This brings to mind a funny incident from the old days. My family used to be friends with this other family, wherein the lady of the house, M, was not always very ladylike. And I adored her for that. She had the power to become a foil of Batman, she could instill fear in your heart- instantly! If she wanted to have you pee in your pants, she would just go ahead and do the needful to bring about that effect. If she wanted to steal all your clothes, and leave you naked on the middle of a highway, and wanted to make you believe that what she did to you was actually a good thing and really a favor, then she would and could do that. She could effortlessly be the dragon queen, and might even manage to produce fire through her mouth had it not been physiologically impossible. So, given that you now know how she is, imagine that some unfortunate hairdresser gave her a bad haircut. What do you think shall be the consequences? O you have no idea! After taking a thorough look at herself, more precisely at her hair, in the salon-mirror, and curdling in rage within, she reacts. Looking squarely at the hairdresser, M snatches the giant scissor from the hairdresser's hands, and with her other hand she clumps up a fat bunch of the hairdresser's hair and THREATENS to chop it off! Making an obscene facial expression, with her sharp canines gnawing at the lightheaded hairdresser, M yells in rhetoric, "haan?!!! haan?!!!! haan??!!! kaat dun kya!!!!???" The only thing missing in this scene is the boisterous vibrations of MU HA HA HA, perhaps muted somewhere in the background of her head!

Eulogy

Early in the morning, I received a text message from ma. Runu mashi passed away. Beloved person to all who knew her. Dada and I had first known her primarily as "Tapash kaku's wife," some twenty years back. [X's wife, a&b's mom, Y's daughter- The ever changing and subservient role of women, no matter how great she might be in her own right! Anyway, some other day on THAT subject.]

My entire childhood, until very recently, is strewn with the memory of me harassing my parents to take me to their home. Of course, back then it meant cascading down with laughter from the fountainhead of Reshmi didi's chest of witty anecdotes. Reshmi and Rupsha being her daughters, and not too far apart in age from us- dada and me. And etched in this indelible slate of my mind is Runu mashi's angelic smile. As if nothing in this world ever went wrong.

And then there was a time when our much beloved Tapas kaku, baba's best friend since his school days, was suffering from clinical depression for almost 5 years. The man who was the copier of humor, stopped talking, entirely, and remained silent (in the most unmetaphorical way you can imagine) for everyday of the first few years of those 5 years. Runu mashi, like an angel of mercy, cured him. We witnessed it all. Life, gradually, resurrected back in Tapash kaku. Gently, tenderly, softly, she nursed him with love, back to life as he knew it. I bow down to her unwavering patience. She was the quintessential wife; the living epitome of a woman who wouldn't forsake her husband, who would take care of him each day, in sickness or health. And she never made a show about it. Never complained how hard it is. Never once appeared to be frustrated, tired, or even scared. Perhaps, nothing simmered within her, or perhaps something always did, but who would have known? She loved in her quiet way.


While I think of her, I think of other women including me, who as wives have so many complains about their husbands, of the things they didn't do, the things that make us mad about our husbands, all the many ways they hurt us or humor us. But I cannot recall any such day when Runu mashi might have said anything, which even remotely expressed disappointment.

We have all, our disappointments, our broken hearts, our defeated expectations, our bitter tears. She had her's too, I am sure. But the difference lies in the dignity with which she graced across life, never having to do without a smile. And always somehow reassuring others in her quiet conviction that nothing in the world ever went wrong. Nothing. And perhaps, indeed, we can always afford a smile. So, even though today my heart breaks into a million pieces at the news of her death, yet, here is a smile for you Runu mashi: To you, who gave them away in plenty.

:)

for you

i want to bury myself in laundry clothes... smelling you..




it is good to be drunk. and forgetful. and not remember how things really were...

the Yoricks

Every time I have a conversation, I feel strained, vague, and distant. Approaching vanishing point.

[You must have noticed that this blog no more caters to the promise of laughter. It is much defeated. You are no more in my mind. I am.]

And sometimes I just leap out of myself and watch me master the inconsequential profiteering of idle time. I never monopolize a conversation. I hardly listen anyway. You would never know. I can repeat what you say, I am sure. And I will throw in flattery betwixt these recollectory words. You would never notice what went amiss. When you shall retrieve, you will think of me, and think of you, have a small smile to your lips, and pat your shoulder a little for having had emerged as victorious this last moment. with me. And in the meanwhile, secretly, you are preparing for your next moment. A secret unto you. We don't realize but we are always prepared for our next moment. whatever, however, wherever it be. Magic.

Life is a series of performances. Each moment you willingly, unselfishly, unconsciously, dedicate to the other. You give your best performance each time.


We are always quite, playing the Shakespearean fool. Where be our gibes?

V.W.

what a shame it is to finally start looking and feeling like Virginia Woolf, to have two suicide attempts in your resume, the same psychological conditions in your repertoire, to become half-lesbian, and THEN to leave writing... and literature.

Though there was never a Leonard.

work

I didn't get admissions to a doctoral program this year. And amazingly I wasn't exactly sad. I was disappointed, yes. The only time I cried was when I didn't get accepted in Cornell. That's because Cornell was my last hope, my ticket to get the hell out of NY. I can't tell you how important it is/was that it happened. NY with all its colors, all the vibrancy, all the Empire State of minds couldn't fool me. Wish it could. Anyway, so every grad school I applied to for a PhD program this Fall, rejected me. And all of them regretted. "We regret to inform..." Don't regret. Just take me. But of course, they let me go. Kind of like a sad end to a love story.
Anyway, so I am applying to some places for a job in case I might fish one out from this market. I need a job to keep me company for just a year, after which I shall repeat the whole process of applying to a grad school. So a contract job for a year, that's what I need. No strings attached. A par-time lover? The fuckbuddy of jobs.
The other day I came across a copy writing job. I officially have never worked as a copywriter before. But I have a very strong intuition that I will master it. I have had done some freelance work twice before. Not much to include in a resume or a cover letter. But enough to feel safe and protected by. I can handle it, I tell myself. So, I was applying for a job completely out of my league- a Senior Copywriter, which offered quite a fat lump of compensation. I thought to myself, why not take a shot at it. Just for the humor. I mean no harm sending a resume and cover letter. And in my cover letter, I decided to be super cocky and aggressive. It was a misdirected attempt to stand out in the crowd. Holler a lot! Just grab the attention, and trap them into offering you an interview. And after that be fascinating if not convincing. Or else, be a delightful confusion. Of course, all this applies only if you know nothing about what the job demands. Since, I had no copies to impress them by, I decided to be the cockiest, inexperienced, unemployed copy writer out there. Anyway, I haven't heard from the company yet. In the meanwhile I called up my professional copy writer friend back in India, and did what I can only think as a crash-call to know "everything about copy writing but was afraid to ask".
Hope no prospective boss of mine ever reads this post. That's the upside to having an unpopular blog :)

everybody says I am fine

At the doctor's office. Everytime I visit my PCP the first thing she asks is "Hello Tina, how are you?" And I am all for courtesy. No problem. I mechanically answer: "I am fine. How about yourself?" And she gives a fleeting smile, and a brief "Fine", then asks "So, what seems to be the problem today?" As IF that is a whole other question! And both of us magically forget within a nano-second that I was oh-so-fine why just a nano-second ago!
Now all of a sudden, this last visit, which by the way was yesterday, it occurred to me that the first impression I made to the doc until today has ALWAYS been a lie! Of course. Don't you see it? I mean How much Fine can I be when I am evidently at a Doctor's office? I mean what the hell am I doing at a Doctor's office if I am really Fine? That just piles on Health-Insurance-guilt of some sort on my already hunched-back conscience. (and now that it's Obama's presidency, everybody is either aware or bewared about the Health-Insurance scenario. even that dog on the street knows. if the Alsatian is having unprotected sex with the Dalmatian, he better be aware that the puppies to come might just as well have mummy's spots. and no amount of "out, out damned spot" can ever have them removed. and of course no spot-lightening medicinal cream for dogs yet. ) I mean, of course I am not fine! why don't I just say it? What is this compelling need to say "I am fine" ? or is it all about being positive, and perpetually smiling, and sort of maintaining the corporate code wherever we are, and whatever might our professions be! everything has become an acceptable lie, and nobody is expecting the entire truth. Perhaps, not even the doctor at some level: something like, it's ok to complain about the chest pains or heart burns, and even the stomach ache with the constant diarrhoea or constipation... but draw the line right there woman! I don't need to know, and you don't need to give me graphic descriptions of the color, size and shape of the stool neither the silent farting all night, with or without the smell. That's just too much information. save some for later? Don't just say whatever comes to your head. I mean who does really want to hear something like "o my life is a gaping hole, and the sun spots seem smaller and more promising instead; but who could bear the heat or else I'd go live there! and since I can't tell you all this and make myself look like a pathetic loser or a constipated whiner, let's just say... "I am fine."' Fashionable. Expected. Succinct. Corporate. Time-saver.
Anyway, so yesterday. for the first time, when the doctor asked me "Hello! How are you tina?" I replied "Not so fine actually." nothing emotional about it. just an honest answer to a doctor. I realized it's safe at the doc's office to come up with replies like that and not seem cranky. She wouldn't be probing my heart. just probing my body.