KhepiAri

Today I am in ill condition. It is on these terrible days when my mind goes berserk with ideas and thoughts. I want to write, I want to jump around, I want to read, I want to do anything and everything. The  Networking and Wiring connectivity in my brain gets amplified and I become hyper aware of my surroundings. In other words in my sickness I become possessed by the divine Muse! Sitting with warped body in sheets and drinking green tea with honey & holy basil every hour has turned me cranky and lack of a proper outlet makes me go crazy. Here is a one-shot panel on my Own Condition. I have an exam tomorrow on  Critic as an Artist  by Wilde, and I have no idea how will I fare in that paper. So before I crumble down for mark churning pressure and rot up like a ostrich in desert.Lets laugh at myself.       P.S-  Time for another cup of Green Tea, forgive me for typos I am bit delusional  thanking you to bear with me ...

At twilight I peep out from the balcony and realize I ran out of my supply of bread and cucumber for next day’s lunch. Many people love food shopping in this world, among them my father is a champion when it comes to buying fishes. His ‘Bongali’ blood binds him to fish, every day he will go to bazaar and return with more than six overflowing poly-bags of fresh food items. Sometimes its avalanche of green leafy vegetables at other times coin sized fishes destined to cut down ones throat or simply an assault of snake gourds. Today it’s about my regular rant, my life’s biggest problem is with the word food, eons ago when I was a moving pumpkin I would devour anything given to me. I would relish it with such a pure conscious that my fragile heart was warmed up by layers of fat. Now that I am on proper BMI scale I dislike eating. So here I am sitting out on the balcony watching the sky turn dark and I expect the poetic mind to give some sweet words for my twitter poetry, but pops ...

Q-Why am I writing this post? A- To cheer up my dearest best friend who has been a weeping enough to flood her house and I want to end the chapter for her. (Ideas below are not mine own nor are the photographs) Right now I feel guilty, my match making skills are a gift from divine and so is my break up skills. Once up on a time my one sentence critique on love made girls break up with their lovers. I have stopped giving those careless criticisms now. But I do keep dabbling with making couples; the tendency to become Cupid has always been high in me. In my zeal, I bought two of my close friends together and things have unfortunately turned out sour. My oracle vision had only focused on the good parts but, I never saw past the honeymoon period. I believe in the honeymoon period and nothing after that. Yes an escapist view, but crucial for survival. Sadly people around me see beyond the honeymoon period and see too much of reality- Job, house, car, marriage, kids and death...

A month or two back I was entrapped by the capitalist regime of discounts. In happiness and excitement I had bought six books of certain writer. I have had heard so much about her that when she was selling herself on amazon I was seduced in moments. With ten books and fame for unorthodox life style, she had intrigued me for years. Yet I had never read her. Then on that particular day she was giggling on my cart, riding to my place. Kamala Markandaya sits on my bed in glorious colours and different names. The amount of pages she had bound in those paperbacks is worth a glance. I pick up her debut novel Nectar in a Sieve and the words of the only man whom I follow blindly pooped in my head. He calls her an average writer filled with irritating pathos. He had similar warning about Doris Lessing as well, he had warned me she was depressing in a twisted way and boy he was right!   Grass is Singing left me so depressed that I refused to touch any new book for a wee...

yesterday's lunch, green tea and cucumber sandwich, the glossy edit happens thanks to Instagram I have started to carry lunch to my university, when I say lunch I do not mean an elaborate meal that many of my classmates cook for or feed themselves in canteen. Almost a year back I technically moved out of my hometown into university life and since then I have been practically suffering from a serious but worthless thought almost every day. What will I have for lunch? My mind says I wish a cup of green tea for lunch as well. I who once was a legendary foodie have given up my lust for food for almost seven years now. I eat to keep my energy intact. So every day when I am faced with ‘thee’ question of lunch my peace strings tune into cacophonic ballad. It’s not like the choice laid before me to eat are versatile and healthy! I have to choose between one big belly filling of Rice Meal (something I am incapable of finishing ever) Bread-Omelet (which is actually...

a view from my veranda:- before the rain brakes It’s raining; I can see the transparent drops drumming the banana leaf that knocks my window every night. Stooped by force the leaves are like women clad in green saree, their heads seeking a temporary refuge under the anchal.  The well opposite to my window has always been a thirsty one; today I can see it drinking the lusty rain and spilling out of his mouth- it’s overfed. Someone had remarked on my love for rain few years back, women have over-romanticized rain and Hindi films have a great part in creating this romantic image. The songs from the 50s, 60s 70s & 80s have done wonder in poetizing the phenomena called rain. He was right in his own way, may be rain is overrated, it sure is troublesome for the one who has no umbrella and is drenched till their undergarments. Its messy, it ruins our clothes, it creates puddles on roads and finally that continuous pitter-patter and paach-pecch may make one tone de...

Attempted Flash Fiction:- belongs to rightful owner, PC- Google There are days when I fall under spells; today was one freshly lit afternoon that had charmed me. I was seated on my coarse blue seat and looking out of the window. I was under two spells. My feet rested on the empty seat opposite to mine, my black slippers cowering under its vacant space in the shadows. The green outside was rushing past my vision and the sunlight was making it hard for my eyes to keep staring outside for long. It was one of those days when rain had wiped off the dirt from sky and the smell of wet earth was numbing all other senses except the olfactory glands. My fellow passenger on right was fast asleep; her toes curled in dreams, her knees pulled to her swollen chest and her face half hidden in white dupataa, blocking the sunlight. As the train kept gushing on her tracks, I saw her body getting swayed softly on the blue berth. The mauve kurta and jeans she was in highlighted her outlin...