My, myself and eye.

At 25 I see my school mates getting married. Engaged at the very least. I’m ten days away from stepping into that pool of official adulthood in my country. And here I am, sitting at my internship, typing out a note to strangers worldwide.

I don’t have a degree, a job, a relationship, or enough money to buy myself pity food.

I have achieved nothing, I haven’t even had the confidence of watching a movie alone.

So, I will come up with an excuse, because “I just don’t like working here” isn’t a polite reason. I will pack up later in the afternoon, go to the nearest movie hall, and watch Black Panther.

Why? Because I haven’t done that yet. And my very close friend told me that that’s a movie you need to avoid distractions. I have never been a distraction to anyone let alone myself.

So in the next 10 days, Before I turn into an adult. I would like to do things, that would better prepare myself to be stronger and far more independent than I’ve been told I am.

You can never be too strong. Too prepared. You will always have opportunities to grow. Even though the tasks won’t be as commendable as changing the World. But I’m starting with changing myself.

The World gets bigger and harsher day in and day out. Why waste experiences only because you do not want to be stared at.

Just pretend they’re staring at you not because you’re alone at a movie on a Tuesday. But because they find you commendable.

I know a lot of people have done this before me. And I’ve always been in awe of them. Your own company can be a blessing or a curse.

Here’s hoping I find out today.

My 10 days till 25 is going to be empowering if nothing else.

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Goodnight

Here I am again. Pouring my views about what I feel dreams are. Be warned, this isn’t science, or psychology, this had absolutely no research going in. So keep scrolling if you don’t want to waste your time. If you do, boy did you make a mistake.

Over the last couple of nights I’ve been up, counting the number of car lights sneaking in through the window, the honks that never stop, the dogs who seem to have joined the choir, and almost every  night around 2 a.m. they perform. But I did manage to dose off for an hour or hour and  half each night. And every time I did, I dreamed.

The first one was a collection of events that I had lived through and the twist, the reason because of which I remember that dream, is because it ended with all of the characters gathering around Princep Ghat, arranging for boats as one of us sang “Row Row Row Your Boat.” I woke up because I have a fear of drowning and also because my friend began to sound like a shrieking dog towards the end.

The next one was a destination wedding. The menu was a spread from my Alma Mater’s canteen. And the liquor was in the form of chocolates. Who was getting married you ask, Dee Dee and Mandark. Go figure.

I saved the best for last. This time there was a car, and once you rolled down the window, you could see the bird’s-eye-view of Kolkata in the evening. Beautifully lit up. And you could breathe just fine. As Eddie Vedder played on the radio, the car purred through the skies and my dog happily snuggled himself on the sofa, which was somehow the backseat.

So what have I realised about dreaming? You just really really miss certain things, people, moments, views, smells, tastes, feelings and dreams are just an extension of what you wish you could hold on to.

Nights are the best part of the being alive. Even when you are asleep you get to hold on to a bit of what you really want. Of course it’s sad because you might not get it or you dream can’t literally come true; but think of the times it can. At least one portion of it might. So get a good night’s sleep. Your mind needs it.

Pause, won’t you?

Excuse me, Time?
Do you have a moment?
Why have you decided to experiment on me? Why haven’t you let my only concern be whether Shylock was misunderstood or if including a character like HIM in a children’s cartoon was inappropriate or progressive?
Why have you changed the course to issues that I am not prepared for, and chances are that I won’t be, up till my late 40s.
Why am I expected to know how to juggle tragedies, unrequited expectations, sliced up scandals topped up with dressing that threatens my sanity?
Why am I expected to love, leave and lose all at the same time?
Time, my dear, Why don’t you retire back to tides and tales and not accuse us “capable” of handling the balance that even the greatest of the greats have shunned completely to become poets and painters.
Time, you’re a tick faster than the tock. Your seconds slip faster than sand. The day ends before I can frame a sentence in my defence.
Your ticking resembles that of a bomb. Pause, won’t you?

Do you have the time?

Have you ever reached a point in life no matter your age when you are willing to trade everything you have at that particular moment for something which many will call you “stupid” for?
Yes, another comma-less sentence, another outpour of emotions. Do you have the time for a story?

At this point, I’m pretty happy with everything. No, it isn’t perfect, nothing ever is. But, this is one of my good moments. Yet. If given a chance, I would get into the Tardis, head back to 2011, on my bed, all cried out, in my school uniform; because my brother made me cancel my plans. My stupidity hasn’t changed. I still cry for the most insignificant of things. But what hurts, hurts. So after I am done crying my eyes out, my brother, placed a one month old Labrador on my stomach.
The seconds within which the reasons behind my tears changed, is what I would trade this very moment for.

Life is sad. Majority of the times, it won’t let you dictate how it plans to unfold. Yes, you’re expected to make the best of it; challenged unfairly to test your limits, you’re expected to emerge victorious. You’re supposed to bask in the glow of learning flashed at you.
You’re allowed to breakdown at the crack of dawn. You’re allowed to vent at 1:35a.m. You’re encouraged to break what can be broken, tear what can be torn, scream at those who selflessly understand – you’re supposed to let it out.

Tears change their reasons when you let them. It’s not easy, many don’t understand. But a Tardis will remind you that things change for the better. Eventually.

Little Ego

Shush, keep it down.
You might wake up Ego.
Look at that baby asleep, all wrapped up in its blanket of delusions.
Shush little baby, don’t you cry,
You’re your own Superhero that flies by, 
You protect your master from the “wrong”,
You’ve protected your master for so long.

Shush baby Ego, you’ve done a great job. You’ve kept away the “selfish”, “untrue”, “the root of all that’s maddening.” It’s been a long long journey child, time to sleep. And in your dreams, may the “demons” finally get the sense to leave you be.

Oh what a sight Ego, look at you sleeping like a baby; surrounded by your smokescreen of the perfect reality.

Chair

It’s 13:34 p.m and the chair sitting across from me is empty.

I would sell my soul to the lowest bidder if they can fill up that place with one of the following:

Somebody who would sit there and place an order for some KFC with extra Thousand Islands dip.

Someone who would start downloading coke studio performances while streaming Beyonce.

Somebody who would scroll through shopping apps to find the best dress for Friday night.

Somebody who would incessantly edit their Instagram posts so that it’s of the same colour palette.

Somebody who would have to keep leaving that chair to attend calls.

Somebody who would sit and google recipes for the night’s dinner.

Somebody constantly on the phone killing Titans or Zombies or Birds or something.

Somebody memorizing YouTube videos.

Maybe if all of these everyday characters can be brought here, across the table from me, I would put a pretty red bow on my soul for the devil and let him have it.

Just fill up that chair before I leave for the day.

Ten

I sat at that same old wooden bench that overlooks our street, here at home. A decade ago this street was the podium for thoughts such as, “ask the carpool to go back,” “oh, the cute boy actually looked at me and smiled,” “huh, five more puppies, after the seven she gave a year ago, busy stray” “why does no one fix up the house opposite ours?” “Is that a frog?” “Dr. Bannerjee must have been a heart throb when he was younger.”

Thoughts which would later amount to nothing more than a post on social media. But, the point of this is, today, when I sat on that bench, out in my balcony; I realised I didn’t look as much as a used to.

I don’t bribe the Devil for a rainy day so the carpool cancels. The cute boy stole my heart, loved it for a while, and left it for another passerby to know. The stray still lives. The frog is replaced by rats that run around at night. I haven’t seen Dr. Bannerjee yet. But the one thing that remained untouched is the house under construction. No one moved in. Nothing changed, not even the creepers garnishing its brick walls.

This time I noticed a few other things. Almost all the neighbour’s  cars have upgraded, I couldn’t recognise any of the strays that strut about, there are not enough pets on our street, and the people I used to know, where are they?  Where are the cute boys who would walk by the house like clock work with their footballs and their roaring chats? The kids who would go to play tennis in the park around the corner? The old lady who would beat the sun to “borrow” flowers from every other garden?

Home isn’t supposed to be out of syllabus, you’re supposed to know the characters, the  plot, the costumes. Ten years ago, even though I was never a part of the whole brotherhood of this community, well, every house has their introverts; observing the world unfold around me was a calming choice.

Where did my favourite characters run off?