Never Stops

Bullying never stops does it?
Hypocrisy is the most sought after mask behind which people would hide and attack others. What’s the joy you ask? Probably a sense of achievement. Even when there’s no provocation from the attacked party, bullying just becomes a game.
When I was younger, I saw the heavier girl in class get bullied by two seniors. She was just sitting there. Minding her own business. They made an announcement about something to do with Marvel vs DC; which was wrong so the girl decided to correct them. What a huge mistake. The next move, constantly calling her names and passing judgement without even actually knowing her.
Imagine you’re just casually scrolling down your feed and your favourite comic strip has an error. Since you have the disease of not being able to cope with spelling mistakes and written errors stick out like a thumb; that one mistake did disappoint you a bit; but in today’s day; if you speak up about anything, those mightier than you will ridicule you. Because bullying never stops. People don’t know what the high road is. And I guess having an opinion, if not the same as everyone’s, is wrong and an excuse for bullying.
At this point, being grammatically correct can be cause for target.

Guess growing up isn’t all that different.


Love love love

How many of us
truly love 
How many of us
know the
The ones for the
books, the ones
for the screen,
the ones for the
playlist, the
ones for the 
minds, some for
the hearts, and
a few for the 

When you know
which love is
the love you
need, you’re 

Because by then
there’d be
another type!

My body, not yours

If a look makes you uncomfortable, speak up.
If a touch makes you squirm, speak up.
If words make your blood boil, scream out.
Nobody has the right to keep you quiet. Regardless of their “niceness” their “importance” or even their “charm”.
The best perceived are often those who hide their dark intentions flawlessly.

Learn to forget their place in your life, their good deeds towards you shouldn’t compensate for how they make you feel. Even once, if you have confronted them and they still try to pass it off as a joke with a nudge on your hand or waist, speak up! Be loud. Be clear. Be resolute about how it is not okay for anybody to side line your feelings.

How long will you keep shut? How long before you’re meant to “forgive and forget”? Regardless of the sex of those who make you feel even the teeniest of discomfort, you must speak up.
If a No doesn’t work, try a “yes please, continue your acts of harassment and ignore my repetitive requests to keep off. Because requests don’t work, may I take a knife and stab myself in the places you keep touching me? Maybe you’ll know what I prefer over your ignorance.”

My body is mine. Nobody else’s.
Nobody has any right over it.
Nobody can ever have a right over it.
This is my work, and I have made it however I like, and because it’s out in the open, it does not give you the right to poke at it.
Read the invisible but always strung board around my neck which says “do not touch”.



We’ve all written them or have gotten them on various occasions. Now I’m not talking about formal letters. Those many of us are still waiting for.
I’m talking about letters on birthdays, at hospital beds, even letters just expressing your feelings. Or the best kind, the ones which just talk about everything and keep you excited to get your hands on another pen scribble.

I recently found around a hundred letters while cleaning out my closet. Yes I’m a hoarder. And proud to be one. I’ve found tazos, birthday cards, chits from classroom dramas and even stickers/tattoos that would come with chewing gum.

Now some of these letters date back to 2006. And some to 2015.

As the day goes by, people change. We change within minutes. We change our minds, our hearts and even our entire personality. And here I am with letters. Letters which speak wonderfully about the type of person I was seen to be. Letters that praise my existence in their lives. Letters that remind me of promises. Their words bring the same warmth that stabbed me the first time I read it. Kindness can be hurtful too. Sometimes you fail to see yourself how you should be seen.
But what hurt more is that the writers have changed.

Where does that leave the person holding onto their praises? Do I believe them? If they have changed their hearts, have they changed their minds too?

I will hoard these tokens of assurance. I may never know what they’d write if they come across a blank page and a pen. What have their minds concluded about me all these years later? It’s frightening to think that maybe some of them won’t even have anything to write.

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.


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?