KhepiAri

Every year the goddess with ten hands comes to visit the tribe called Bongalies. A tribe spread all over the world, loves eating sweets, fish, rice, and words. The goddess comes as daughter leaves as the mother brings a lot of emotions and excitement in the B genes. With her comes the headache of shopping and pandal hopping. None of which yours truly enjoys. Not only the goddess visits her family, she brings her children, her pet, and her children’s pet. My house is quite the human representation of that divine family. Our mother is as ferocious as the goddess, willing to kill and bite and rip for her children, flowers and pets’ sake. She has two daughters one who loves, let’s say anything related to material possession. Another who believes in burying herself in fiction to avoid public interaction. Again, my mom’s elder daughter has a handsome and short-tempered son-in-law who fills the vacancy of goddess’ war faring son. My mother doesn’t have a lion, but a Persian ...

[Another Bloagathon! This is for Women's Web  Finding Mr. Right Stories competition in tie up with the Woo App ] Love has been a constant in this blogger’s life, I have always been in love with the idea of love. Fueled by Mills and Boons initially, I always wanted a Tall, Dark, Handsome lover, well I was fifteen when I read my first Mills and Boon, the shift to Tall, Fair, Handsome Vampire happened quickly at sixteen, and I wanted a blood sucking creature for my husband. While Elizabeth Bennet said yes to Darcy, I sighed and imagined myself in her gowns and laces! Oh, how much I love those silly novels by lady novelist and how much I waste my monthly allowance on them!  The Twilight hangover had made a racist out of me and I would hanker after any cute fair guy with decent height! It was always the lips of the guys that caught my eyes first. By the time, I reached enlightened eighteen my eyes searched for Jang Keun Suk alike, Suk is the perfect blend of husk...

For almost six months City of Joy has become by my new address, the addressee finds the city overwhelming and loud, populated and confused, filled with rude yellow cab drivers and helpful blue bus conductors. It is both logical and magical, basically an irritating place but none the less very homogenizing in approach. One can find a street named after every other historical figure, except Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin we have Ho Chi Min to Lenin at one random nook. Navigating through this city is hard yet funny, going to my darling college is a journey of its kind. Fortunately, we have the metro which is efficient unlike this lazy city. Travelling through metro has bought to my sight hilarious scenes from everyday life, from a pervert being publicly shamed to an old man getting off at wrong station, in five months four eyes of the addressee has seen a lot. Often the addressee has been part of tragically comic scenarios herself where wrong exits have made too many cameos. In th...

(This blog post is written for the Blogathon competition hosted by Women's Web in collaboration with the Maya App, copy the link-> http://www.womensweb.in/2016/10/periodpride-blogathon/ or click on the hashtag #PeriodPride ) In whispers and giggles it had entered our ears 'a girl had bled', a bleeding girl is lonely, but a herd of bleeding girls is celebration. A girls first blush is celebrated in Assam as Tuloni Biya, she is kept inside the house for three days, on the fourth evening she is decked up as bride and a great feast is organised, it’s a coming of  age ceremony, a celebration of blooming into a woman, a tradition both praised and frowned upon. Growing up in Assam had made me attend many Tuloni Biyas, though my own close friends failed to invite me in their own celebrations [traitors]. Being a Bengali I never got my own feast, Bongs are on the hushier side of washing the bloody undies in public. This ritual is celebrated by the whole community; i...

First time I saw a mannequin is a memory lost in the Ocean. My major encounter with one happened when I was around seven. I was visiting my paternal home during summer vacation, on one particular horrible summer day my family had decided to go shopping. That was where I met a doll that was my size and wearing a metallic brown skirt, I fell in love with that skirt at first sight. Poor doll was also wearing a bottle green sleeveless tee, the greedy me desired that too. Shopkeepers found me exact copy-paste of the brown skirt, but when it came to the tee, they didn’t have another in stock. They bought me white full sleeved white shirt with red flowers, a yellow collared shirt, a pink frilly blouse, but I wanted that bottle green tee. Meanwhile my sister, mom and dad had selected their clothes; I was still stuck on the green tee. My love for green has been dominant trait since childhood; those were first strikes of my green-insanity. I made the shopkeepers bent to my demand, ra...

February tickles in and the new year spirit leaves us with the gloomy bloom. It’s the month of love or in other words the most profitable month for the card makers, soft toy sellers and restaurants. Love either overflows or dries a human heart for first fifteen days of this small month. I who am in love with the idea of love finds imaginary wings growing out from my toes in this month. For years now my friends and I we have been gifting each other chocolates on valentine’s day. We can blame this flaw of ours easily on the Japanese and Korean rom-coms we grew up watching. My once walking mate and now my partner in quest of  self love, turns into over-feminized creatures in this month with me.  Valentine’s day is a big event in the life of loveless. By loveless I simply mean the love that comes from a lover. My family is strictly forbidden to enter my non-existent love life and express their suffocating love to me to counter my loveless comment. I love wearing red on...

Every time I walk inside Kolkata’s New Market, I feel like Alice in wonderland. There are bags, shoes, junk jewelries, food and most importantly an exhibition of funky under garments. Here are these men standing out with their blushes, bluntness and brutish looks, selling brassieres, camisoles, boy-shots, stockings of unimaginable colours, materials and patterns. With every visit, I stalk them, I have this acute desire to grab those cute creations and cuddle them to my heart's content. But till this date I have been too shy, lazy and in-doubt about buying those inexpensive cups of desire and I blame it on the elitist shopaholic gene that dominates me. My father had induced in me the idea of expensive clothes being best for our body and my mother and sister too believe in the same faith. A year back on one such shopping spree, when I was dazzled by the weapons of mass destruction upturned, hanging and giggling at twilight, my sister pulled me insid...

(Warning- Its not a blogpost, but multiple thought process crashing together, at best its a post about my elder sister, so we are naming it Sister Complex. And there must be typos, I am too blind to find them.) If one is born India, one may never celebrate Chirstmas, Eid, Durga Puja, Pongal or New  Year nor celebrate it all , but we Indians of present time at least once in our life have been entrapped by the magic of Cinema. We don’t like to use highbrow words like film or celluloid. We are newly acquainted to the phrase ‘Let’s have a movie night.’ Cinema is our word, it sounds very ‘desi’ and wholesome. Our generation is more elite hence we go to film festivals, movie nights and Film Theaters. But the generation twenty years elder to us would stick to Cinema Halls and multiplexes are an overwhelming existence. A week back I ended up in Cinema Hall because of my twisted fate. As my reader buddies have learned over last four years, the Fates and me, we have never bee...