This is an idiom people from West Bengal use a lot. Bengalis are a self-critical and pessimistic lot. Even a few days back, when I was in College St, Coffee House, the intellectual heart of Kolkata, I heard the same thing. Funny thing is that 25 years back, when I used to frequent its steps on a daily basis, I used to hear the same phrase. āĻ¸ā§ āĻ°āĻžāĻŽāĻ āĻ¨ā§āĻ āĻ¸ā§āĻ āĻ āĻ¯ā§āĻ§ā§āĻ¯āĻž āĻ āĻ¨ā§āĻ.
Today, as I write this column on this Friday evening, I a feeling a lot like that āĻ¸ā§ āĻ°āĻžāĻŽāĻ āĻ¨ā§āĻ āĻ¸ā§āĻ āĻ āĻ¯ā§āĻ§ā§āĻ¯āĻž āĻ āĻ¨ā§āĻ. Generally I am a positive guy and very unlike my fellow Bengalis back home or abroad. But I guess the saying here is, you can take Bengali away from Bengal, but you canât take Bengal away from a Bengali. They typically say that for India, I took the liberty of changing a couple of words. The point is, whatever the reason is, this digital column is barely alive. This is just a reflection of the activity of the community, so you can imagine the health of the community from this column.
That said, personally I have been rather busy. The recent war in Ukraine which is now more than a year long, has changed the commodity markets for good. The direct impact for me is a substantial amount of business travel. That is great in the beginning after the lull of covid, but it gets old rather quickly. Thankfully in a couple of weeks there will be spring break, and I will be taking some time off.
I often wonder if I should try and push the activity level. Do I provide a certain incentive to get people more active like before. Then I wonder, why this time it will be different? So I wonât. This is the 97th column that I have written in this space. I think it would be a folly not to write three more after this one. Then the current editor might stop typing all together. I think that will be a good time to stop.
@riz611 You may be related to someone by blood, fastened by the different light and dark shades of red, but that doesnât really make them your family.
As I tread ahead in life, I slowly understand that the people who are blood related, the few people who I considered to be a part of my family, were never truly what they seemed to be. Good intentions, a bit of faith and understanding is all I ask for, but even all that is a bit too much to ask for these days.
Fortunately, thereâs no shortage of trust and support in my own home. At least my parents and siblings are understanding enough. Thereâs also my wife, whoâs always ready to surf the waves with me; whether it be the abrupt tsunami of ups and downs, or the calm and warm ripples by the shoreline.
Itâs quite normal to not like someone, you may not like their appearance, or their approach towards life, so you choose not to support them, which is fine. But to have ill intentions, to pull someone down, to talk dirty behind their backs, and then to instantly put an innocent face on, when in front of them; people with such shape-shifting abilities really do exist. Or do they just have a big collection of masks?
When it comes to acting all nice and innocent, these people are quite a natural bunch. Theyâll butter you up, while they quite effortlessly prep their wicked tactics and tricks in the back of their heads.
Some of them are clueless too, they also wonder why some of us distance ourselves, creating an invisible barrier between us and them. Thing is, the word always gets around, because we simply donât know when and where we should be keeping our mouths shut. And some of us can just tell, because weâve had our fair share of experiences with different types of people, itâs now somewhat easy to read peopleâs true intentions.
Thus, never blindly rely on blood. Instead, rely on the people who have been battle tested the same as you, the people who have and will fight alongside you, no matter what. Sweet words are always nice to hear, but the effort and intention is what really counts and holds true value.
@notacinephile
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-- by 
You're a bad man. A man whoâs done terrible things. At least, I know you think that. Just like sometimes I do about myself.
Hernandez to Norman Nordstrom in Donât Breathe 2
Never have I ever been moved by a silly movie so profoundly. Itâs not the plot actually but this particular dialogue between two characters at some point in the movie has something powerful enough to move a mountain only if you are eager to embrace it wholeheartedly.
Reflecting on the deeds, questionable deeds to be honest, is more like offering a bowl of hot soup to the soulâ it takes time to cool down and taste the first sip but when itâs cold enough, you get to enjoy every drop of it.
We all have some dark sides, that we donât (read canât) share with others. Not because they reveal the hideous self of us but because we donât want to remember them as they are too ugly to be recalled even by ourselves.
Itâs okay.
I believe not wanting to share such secrets is absolutely fine.
But we; the inner self canât hide from those unfortunate events that are imprisoned at the remotest part of our soul for years, even decades. They are there for some noble causes. The creator has purposefully kept them alive in our mind for some good reasons. He wants us to recall them at our leisure so we can guide ourselves to the right path.
Thatâs it, my friend.
Reflect on what wrong you have done today, the day before, or even at some point in your life. Recall those ugly moments buried deep inside you, and ask yourself why and when you tuned out of your sense of righteousness. Have you corrected yourself yetâ ask yourself, feed the soul with the right bowl of soup it deserves.
Keep digging my friend, someday you will find reasons to give your life the fresh start you are planning for many nights.
-- by 
My body is a house,
that has shuttered through many storms, but the foundation still gleams standing in her lived paint, the kind of house that lies at the end of the street where the forgotten toys lie in the waiting grass, searching for the sun that shines through the creaking floorboards, where wildflowers grow through
My body is a house,
the kind that listens under a full beaming moon, in her walls that echo many seasons lived, and still yet to come, the faint hint of childhood chalk and all of the days we lived in the sun, if you listen hard enough, she tells stories, just by standing
My body is a house,
follow the butterflies up the walls, the scars where Rome threatened to fall but try to stop the sun from shining, even through the most broken of glass forgiveness grew from the soil, wrapping from the once grieving porch where brisk lemonade was salt in the wound, and only made her mouth sore until forgiveness grew, where she had never known it before
My body is a house,
the kind with wings, if you dance through the hallways, you'll understand the war she fought to sing, you'll understand why the shadows now compliment the light, how she took a house of ruins and was reborn from the inside.
-- by 
Words have, yet again, ceased from my fingertips.
Itâs not an uncommon sight for me, as I go through this up-and-down level of writing activity at least three times every month, but Iâll be lying if I said that by this point Iâm used to it, because I certainly am not.
Iâve reached that moment in life where the tide has finally started to pull, and with it, the shifts of change have also started their call. Itâs definitely not the time for me to sit and enjoy the view in front of me, not with the work I have laid out in front of me that I need to be doing to keep the house I wanted to build on the shore of my mind, and my future. Yes, it is undoubtedly an unnecessary symbolistic phrase I used right there, but thatâs the peak of how artistic I can get at this point, so Iâll take it.
Long story short, things are kicking into gear for me this year, and Iâve yet to catch up with it all. Too many things have piled up on my to-do list, and Iâm scrambling back and forth to get it all in order. I thought of getting a part-time job for myself for a couple of months now, and with opportunities of that coming into light, I know I need to run if I want to catch it.
Now, the problem is that with all the hecticity of everything; from family to university, ( My last frikkinâ semester to be exact) I am finding myself slipping from the things I rather enjoy doing. From writing to even picking up my guitar, things are not looking up in the hobbies department for me. Yet, I still try my best to move with it, whenever I can. For some weird reason, Iâve found that I am rather into video editing of all things, and so now I try and fiddle with that in my pastimes. I even got into some courses to follow, with not a single care or idea of what I might do with the skill once I master it.
I sometimes hate this stupid learning tendency of mine, that literally runs towards anything they find shiny and new to look it up from every angle, then discard it once all the knowledge has been sucked dry from it. I learn, yet I do not apply; itâs a cycle that has been going on with me for ages. To do better, I know this needs to be changed, even if slightly. Iâm in no condition to fulfil all my whims without a care for the future. Yet, I still end up doing it all the time.
So, yeah. Iâm moping at the moment. I started this piece thinking Iâd write about how human minds sometimes take away the simplest pleasures without a warning, and how it might be just a reflection of our outer state that compels it to do so. Yet, I ended up word-vomiting my agonyâĻ
I am learning every day..but when will I ever truly learn?!
