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 ...

‘Confidence’ is a word that has been distributed in different proportions and flavours in my family. My mother suffers from positive confidence in future, no matter how bad the day it will be a better tomorrow. My grandmother suffers from confidence in misfortune, no matter what the day tragedy can strike any moment. My grandfather suffers from confidence in extreme realism, today might be a decent day but be prepared for rainy days predicted by weatherman from a week now. My father suffers from the negative confidence of self, only he and absolutely he can provide continuous discouragement to others and then suddenly take a U-turn to show his support. My brother-in-law suffers from confidence in efficiency, none but only he is the chosen one to do a task. Last but not the least, I have an elder sister who suffers from a combination of all the confidences mentioned above with the prefix OVER! Like Sansa Stark (My Least favourite Character on Game of Thrones). “I am a...

“The Word Within a Word, Unable to speak a Word” is the evocation that flared on the screen as the much-anticipated film opened, Sisak one of the most talked and scrutinized LGBTQIA film of this year in India finally made its debut in City of Joy. Like any festival or event, Calcutta absorbs its differences without a wink and celebrates them without any reservation. Sisak- which means silent sobbing, did make many sob around the world for last couple of months. The trailer of Sisak was all it took for people to get intrigued, a silent short film on the love between two humans, who happen to be men. After reading multiple articles and interview about the film and director, curious I was. A handful of tweets were negative about the conceptualization; few LGBT institutions were cross about the casting and rainbow sheeps’ complained that the characterization was catering to the non-queer and diminishing the voices of effeminate men and non-masculine queer males. One can’t mak...

Among the ancient building and under the strict love of air conditioner, I made friends, philosophers, and guide. Three years back I had a premonition that one day I will have my adda. My place of being, and unbecoming, my group of happy floops and stern protectors. But my adda never came into being. I unbecame and got adopted by a curly haired who had an equally scattered brain and tangled moods and a guy who had a beard that grew thicker with his deep reasoning. Three can never make an adda, and hence my adda remained unformed. Guides I have had many, I have my personal philosopher who is irreplaceable, my friends are the fabrics of my existence but a college adda of the rotten crowd I never had. Yet in a year I met different individuals who are older and younger, some way over-qualified, some way too immature. Few of them assured with life at twenty-two others regretting the marriage they entered twenty-five years back. In a happy flow, ...

Half an hour ago as I said bye to my bearded friend, and settled inside my cab, my friend from college called up. Shouting and Panting, "How Could They Do This, How Could They Do This" and I went "Who did What?". "House Of Cards Duh?" came the reply. "Don't you dare!" I barked. In general I can handle spoilers, trivia and news regarding television shows, my bearded buddy had recited the plot line of Mad Men's Season Finale and I was hardly bothered, but House of Cards has a special affinity. "See that's what this show does! It makes friends our enemies" to this I roll my eyes, I wished she could see it. "No, you are not an enemy, but I would appreciate if you keep your excitement bolted." I reply. Last time my reading was spoiled when internet went bonkers about Delphini being the love child of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange. "But how do I contain it, its so disturbing...

Book Review: Kindred Spirits by Rainbow Rowell Quote: OK. So. If I go to a football party at my brother's house, I don't know anything about football, and I'm the nerd. And if go dancing with my friend who likes to dance, well, I don't dance, and I don't like loud music, so I'm the nerd. But now, even if I go see a comic-book movie, the whole world is there— so I'm still the nerd. I would have thought a Star Wars line would be safe. We have all heard of fandoms, fanatics, and fans. The one who recalls every scene of the series they die for, who know everything related to the series, trivia or non-cannon they have read fictions and fanfictions, downloaded every OST to Background Score. This short story is about one such nerd, Elena, who has been devotee of the religion called Star Wars. And fans can go to any extent to prove their loyalty. So with a sleeping bag, baby wipes and one phone battery, Elena is queuing for the next Star War ...

Three months back Jerry Pinto was reciting on how we humans clutter and crystallize with each other based on our prejudices. Even the most educated and liberated mind have a queer screw which never bends on an idea. Our prejudices are the secret screenshots our friends enjoy. Sometimes in the company or on the online platform, we let our mind roll and like a Djinn in the bottle, our prejudices make an unwanted statement. Four days ago, as I sat inside my pre-heated blue bus and waited for the driver to unroll the shirt down his hair nipples and pot belly and press the clutch with his slippers, some pretty girls took the front seats beside the driver and chatted away in their own tongue, a tone similar to my ears but meaning scarce to my ears.  The bus driver out of the sense of shame roll downed his shirt and smiled at the girls, exposed hairy chest are not everyone's wild fantasy. Two women dressed in sarees, sitting before me observed the friendly driver talking...