KhepiAri

Colours and intriguing shape are one of the most effective marketing tools ever. Had I not seen the white purple bottle shaped like a saline pouch with my buddy I would have never tasted the content inside it. How many times have I fallen prey to looks? If I count both figuratively and literally the answer would be countless times both in materialist and personal choices. The first time I saw advertisement of instant soup years back, I had to buy it and it was a terrible experience. I happily copied the actions of Anime characters and placed the bowl on plates and sat with folded legs to sip my soup. And the soup tasted horrible. But when it comes down to my elder sibling, she is a recurring victim of marketing strategies. Every time she would order some cold drinks for us to drink, they would always come with hot spices. Sometimes chilli made cameo too. But what made me pick up the mysterious drink sitting inside the refrigerator with other colourful drinks far ...

Letters, I always had a fascination for letters. Written words caged in paper and sent on a mysterious journey. With its departure a constant worry takes birth will the receiver get the thought on his door posted. Free of time barrier and often late in earlier times. They have bewitched the world for time immemorial. In school they were taught as formal and informal letters. One that required decorum and manners was Formal. They are restricting and I am against them. They are a mass scale conspiracy to run the bureaucratic whip on humans. The only letters ever penned by the pre-selfie generations were to their imaginary friends in their English Work Book and tests. I had many imaginary friends all named Nina. She never liked my letters hence I never got more than four out of ten when ever I was asked to write a my letter to a friend.  The fascination with letters began years before when landline was new luxury in our home. On one of those hot days when I rolled on f...

Hamlet said ‘Words Words and Words’ I would say Discourse Discourse and Discourses. All of a sudden my life is a reaction that is created between two separating atoms. The Other that was never conscious in me has began to challenge my alter ego. My simple carefree life has become complex all with change of location. I was a female once, I became a feminist female years later, I became an out and proud queer person, I have no accent, I have no mother tongue, I have no location. Am I a cosmopolitan or am I the eternal other that brings chaos to world? I feel like Hamlet a fool on the stage of world theater. Few days back I called the most important man in my life barking out all my problems and trouble on to his ears. The conversation with him made me realise with each passing day, I am gaining moments of epiphanies. These epiphanies are true to their name, they neither make me happy nor sad. They simply produce another thought process in my mind.  A shared train jour...

Does the month of February feel inferior because she has twenty eight days? Does she feel insulted when every four year she gets an extra day under wings yapping Leap year! Leap year! The essential question that everyone asks in their childhood would be why dear February has only twenty eight days in her kitty. Some of us know the Roman Version where one from the Ceaser clan snatched days from her and added it to the month named after him. Some know the mythical version where February became self sacrificing to save another month from vanishing.  In childhood it was a short month that was too short before the impending month that brought exams. March its successor has his domain of fear, where he terrorises kids with Exam and adults with tax. In the end poor February becomes the sweet victim of post-new year nostalgia and pre-exam stress. Again being second also equivalent to being invisible, never the first always the second, it’s such a hurting position. In blink of...

Three days back on the path to grab seats in bus, my sister, brother-in-law and I, we saw a guy rush to a girl yelling at top of his voice. From the cacophony we could make out the girl’s cell phone was switched off and the guy was worried. So in his worried mind he began yelling and shouting at the girl who by now we know was his girlfriend. By the time we were sitting in the bus I was witnessing what the Bongs of this State call as 'Scene'. The guy in his red kurta embroidered with golden thread, white trousers, nerdy glasses and tall physique could win many heart had his mouth been shut. While the girl was is regular brown shirt, black jeans, mojari shoes and her curly hair made into a bun was worth a glance. This good looking couple were fighting and my family and I with rest of the passengers were watching a lovers’ quarrel minus the fluffy and romantic aspect of it. The genuine reaction of the ingrained female dignity in me wanted to slap the guy behalf o...

How would we describe a perfect day?  For some snuggling under the blanket sipping coffee with a book in hand is perfect day. For another walking with the loved one under rain is perfect. Well three years before I had given my unripe idea of perfect here. Do I still stick to it? More or less, yes. Though I feel Christmas all year the New Year is already old and festivities are over. Let’s come back to idea of perfect day, last year on second January I had a perfect day. My friends and sister by complex relation had a great day exploring a bird sanctuary with no birds in it. I have a collection of perfect days in my life. Some happen when I just sit in some rickety diner and help a pretty girl find direction. Other happened when I get in old lanes to find some hidden curio shop under mango trees. My year began with home cooked food and company of internet. Not perfect beginning for a perfectionist like me, than we all know the joke, each year will be same as other....

Once upon a time I was foodie. I loved food, I dreamt about food, I worshiped anything that was digestible.I loved munching day and night and proudly grew in width. With thirty six inch waist line and flabby body I was happy. I could practically eat anything and collect it into my body as souvenir. My closet had all large and baggy clothes to beautify me. All this changed when fat consciousness sipped in. I cut down food, went on well balanced diet, it took me five years to attain my hour glass figure of 34-28-34. Now I get fit into dresses I desire, if luck favors I can just enjoy the S marked dress on the mannequin. The first question that we bongs ask each other when meeting or talking over phone is about food. My mother would ask me if I have tummy filled, my father would ask the same. We love rating a place on its food quality. We simply are the descendants of Food God. Food makes us happy and smile. We love eating and make people eat, we can do an assassination wi...