I am growing old. This is an odd feeling. When I was four, I never thought I'd ever be ten. When I was ten, I thought 20 is the time when you are at the peak of your life, with a job, a house and maybe even children. I still think life is over at forty, though there is plenty of evidence, plenty, that suggests the contrary.

I am 22 now. Twenty Two. And guess what, I have a strand of grey hair growing on my brohmotaalu. It is not alone. There are others that accompany it. But there is something different about this one. The silent resolve with which it refuses to settle with the other strands neatly... The fact that it seems to have a mind of its own... It is stubborn, irreversible. It has planted itself in my scalp for good, I tell you. And now it will tell others of its kind what a comfortable place my head is. Then there will be others.

I don't mind grey hair, it looks quite sexy. I don't mind age, too. But surely, there is something uncomfortable about this whole process. It has been abrupt, this growing up. Today, in front of the mirror, when I was thinking about winged purple hippos in electric blue top hats that throw red heart shaped potty on my enemies' buildings in Age of Mythology, I think I grew up.

For the first time, the roots of a grey hair has grown into my brain.

I am growing old.

so much motherchaandni(1) in front and many more on back. so much duty that duty double(2)! no sasuraar. But o mi switty no more pitty(3). and all effing graduate! but what sadness on graduate such fate hallam tenny date po-ma-ma mate on beady(4) plate. cannot take.

but what nice sonnet of the mondal! with ophelia(5) in tow! oh so wow!

bestestest toppestest.

also speaking of toppestest, my Head(6) best and strongest. Happy times here one more time and now see our jolly selves strut across corry corry doory.

neuralgia tablet make me speed oh so nice it feel. but so much missing of bangla do i.

new eclairs by Cadbury taste better than old Eclairs by Cadbury. Many not spot difference so subtell it be. all non eaters(7).

i have many many thing more to say but cannot. because i believe in deferral(8).

NOTES:

1) There can be two kinds of 'Motherchaandni', frontal and backkal. We live in times of Solar Eclipse, which increases Lunar importance.

2)When you have to do two kinds of motherchaandni.

3)The sasuraar evokes fear, the switty evokes pitty. So there you have tradegy.

4)Plastic beads, yellow beads, blue beads, orange beads, crow beads...

5)Ophelia of Bardhaman fame who walked into Bintu Dey's pukur in white thaan singing lewd Bhojpuri songs.

6)Salt and Pepper.

7)Who will be deep fried in lard down down down below.

8) Refer to next note.

But I hate you so much, it is just not funny. Strangely enough, I do not feel sad now. Nor angry. Just a deep deep sense of disgust. It is true that I feel bad. Feeling bad is ok, I know that. But I feel abandoned. Sad. Alone. And all because of a few scraps and a phone call. This is a strange thing. But I swear so bad that I am never never going to return. No.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel that things would have been great if it had not turned out this bad. And if I had a loud/ obnoxious/ insane/ quirky or whatever family. Maybe. I did not will it this way. This wretched feeling of weakness strengthens me.

When I miss somethings, I turn to other things. And therefore, like always, I am going to convince myself that I am fine. Only that the trick gets cheaper everyday. And I am running out of distractions.

Puriya Dhanashree

"'Ghalib'-e-Khasta ke bagair kaun se kaam band hain ?  

 roiye zaar-zaar  kya, keejiye haay-haay  kyon ? "

Haqeeqat

Have you heard this song? Have you seen this movie? 

Oh, I so love! This is brilliant. 

The song, the song. :) 

Listen. 

everybody has a digital camera. everybody has a computer. everybody has picasa 3. so everybody will edit pictures wihtout knowing head or tail about things. picasa has turned photography into a sad little joke. I hate picasa. Photoshop is better. Yes, because it is more complicated and most people don't know how to use it. I am an elitist. an awful one who wants some things to be only for certain kind of people. ok? this is an argh moment. 

just now, I have seen stupid pictures, warmified, film grained, sepia-ed and hue changed. overdone. also, people go oohs and aahs over such pictures. aarrgghh. 

also, I want a holiday. everyone else has a holiday. I fuckin' don't. aaarrrggghhh. 

I need a good solid dvd ripper. One more external hard disk. I must keep a back-up of the geebees. But now, I think, I have TOO MUCH stuff. And with magpie tendencies, it is difficult to hit Shift+Del. aaaarrrrgggghhhh. 

I really want some good decent folks to get through to the department this time. please? I find this bunch sadder than ever. aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh. 

Facebook is the new Orkut. with random people sending friend requests. aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh. 

I never wanted to be a malcontent. 

so fuck. 

speak.

Tired of endless conversation, she took the left turn. What was there, eh? A big blue monster with three heads. The first head was red, the second green and the third orange. The monster was called G. The monster fed on Time. But when the monster threw up, there was a strange gooey green thing. The thing was nice. Still, it was not named. It was green, and gooey. It was the greenness of the goo which made it nice.

But she loved conversation. With Wisdom. And a little folly.

Ladies and Gentleman, if you have ever wanted to commit sooocaaide, remember that it is a constitutional offense. If you fail, that is. 

So, you better not.

And if you have too many things made up in your head, try to shampoo twice a week.

This does not mean a thing. But I never wanted to make meaning. Maybe I just want to say aboo times and syar may I please talk and excoos me. The point I am trying to make is, I need a little break. Or I am heading for a breakdown.