My Freedom…My way!

When I started to think of what to write about My freedom,

For me My FREEDOM is all those tiny happiness that I get and remember.

My freedom is resting on my mother’s lap, laughing endlessly at my sister’s stupid jokes..or the tiffs now and then.

Serious talk with my brother. Or eat like a glutton without a guilt. Crave for love even being loved every second.

My Freedom is a Big Haversack Bag, some trendy clothes in that, a nice chic sunglass,

with an ipod handy and some books that are friendly.

A DSLR, a handycam…and a purse filled with plastic cash. An impulse to tour my Mother Land.

My freedom I wish was a vaccination to eradicate sorrows,

Freedom to me is a chance to live today, like there’s no tomorrow

Bleaching effect!!

Somehow this season has been too tough and rough on me. There are no major gains and I see no significant changes in life either. I m so very disoriented can any anyone really help to get my sanity back in place. No amount of adulation and wisdom words effect me any more. I really want to work towards a peaceful soul followed by my mind. I don't want any circumstances that bleaches me out of my true identity because what will remain after that will be lifeless.

Vanilla Hair

Today is one of those days when you feel that you were actually in Swiss Alps enjoying some snow, a warm fire place and some luxurious food or at least our very own Kashmir or Darjeeling would also do. As the mercury of the city rising my endurance level is terribly falling. If at all my option of Swiss Alps doesn’t work I don’t mind a shift to some tropical place like Hawaii….man! Just the name is enough to caress my senses. It’s just the not the sunny boy that’s a bothering factor but the whole activity of surviving the day. The least proximity to Swiss Alps is double scoop of vanilla ice-cream or a freezing blow from the open door of the fridge. Unfortunately, the cream melts faster then seconds and if the fridge's door is open for too long it invites some scolding from mom. And now the most crucial point that actually employed me the idea of writing the blog is my HAIR. Why I don’t understand, does hair has their own brain? I know they think, manipulate and even make schemes. No amoun of expensive gel or shampoo can change their mood. In fact all this homely 'nuskey' irritates them more. Just today, I combed hair for like half an hour to make it look straight and manageable but as I said there’s one bunch of hair that is stubborn and they will break but become straight. I don’t know if there is a connection between feeling really hot and my hair, but deep inside my mind shouts and says yes, they do have connection. Somehow in summer, the hair becomes fluffy, just like a dogs hair after they take a forceful bath. Although, dogs when they have three to four shake and bang!! Their hair is on place which so doesn’t work with us (at all we try that, we end up looking crazy). No amount of pampering works with my hair. So, there is always a cycle of worries that tangle and detangling them means loosing little bit of piece that I have acquired by practice. Actually, I want the scientists to work their brain and invent a portable AC and also, appeal my boss to increase my salary so that I afford a portable hair dresser.

"Le..lo.le..Lo festival lelo!!"

When I started writing this blog I wanted to comment on the comercialisation aspect of our festivals. Nevertheless, it just made me realize that this generation is of all the least making an effort to commercialize festival which is already very marketable in nature. If we don’t market festivals then what do we market??? Wind. Today is a very auspicious day for me, today is Pahela Baisakh. Today is the first day of the Bengali calendar and so we Hindus get one more chance to make New Year resolution and if things were amiss we can positively catch unto it now. Our New Year coincides with other parts of India, consequently the capacity of spenders to fritter boost and therefore, it gives marketer the potential customer at a very huge number. Most of us now days love to celebrate and are ready to adapt all the changes with it. Celebration during festivals means buying new clothes, devour variety of food in their palate, gifting, parties,get together, you name it and people are ready to acclimatize. People are open to the idea of splurging, so if such is the platform, so why shouldn’t marketers employ their option to the fullest. I say this is most favorable to enjoy being in the other side of the market and impart some happiness to the consumers. Just as I wrap up this piece I feel our festivals should me marketed to the globe just like April Fools Day or Valentines Day to say the least.

Apna AC-wala Bus

Ye kya hua...kaisa hua...kab hua...jo hua...!!!Let me actually not think this time and just feel benevolent and say few good things about our Government. However, whatever I speak further doesn’t by all means, means that I have any love for this boorish politics so to say. Oh Ho! No gyaan dyaan, I just want to exchange some pleasurable moments. Do many of us feel that these AC buses are a boon in this scorching sunny day. Its just not the ride that is a bliss but the whole experience with it. Our otherwise cranky driver and equally cranky conductors are exchanging pleasantries. At times joking not only with each other but with their passengers too. You no more hear “Pudey challa”… or see red furious eyes which might turn to be a nightmare. No one pushing you on purpose or otherwise. Now, my daily prayer has one less prayer that was of a smooth travelling by bus. What’s the first thing you hear in the morning? What’s the first thing read in the morning? What’s the first thing you do in the morning? Is that what will shape your whole day. So from now apart from whatever happens when I step out of my house my mood does get uplift when I know that I have a bus ride waiting. Though, those few extra bucks do create a hole in the wallet, but then what the heck. And so to add nowadays my sweat glands have a break, my ironed shirt looks as if I wore it instantly from the iron board, my eye make-up doesn’t ruin my face and yea, most importantly I catch some lazy nap continued from last night. What follows me is that song from the radio…. “Hoton ko karkey Gol…siti bajakey bol….ALL IZ WELL! ”

Resolution of blogging more

Since life has truned a New Leaf.....this leaf will give me more inspiritation to write more blogs and read blogs as well....

Tear of “a women”

Who says tear has no color, I differ and say tear has colors, moods and of course a mind of its own. And it has names too “kushiee ke ansoo”, crocodile tears, glycerin -wala ansoo these being few of the names. Women especially have a strange relationship with their tears. These tears are stored and are a never depleting source and then it changes and matures with time. When a women was a kid tears were a playful cry, a scold or a deep unwanted secret that was only to be shared with her friend. As the women gracefully attend teen’s, tears become far more demanding, very frequent, stubborn, and rebellious and that is when tears are the very doldrums of their life. Women never knows when their friendly tear becomes their love life a string that needs no nudge, even a slight blow can destroy its true existence. Tear becomes their first love; it becomes teardrops of sweet nothing, a wild temper, friendly gossip of laughter, a sense of neglect or else separation. Tear can rip one’s emotional balance; rather it is the proof that the woman is ripped. Women tears are blamed to be an excuse to melt people heart, for the opposite gender claim that women has the best self defense named tear. Then why women’s tears are unheard when they are treated as inferior section of society, why no one understands the tear that comes while signing a divorce decree and while they are been forced upon. Women tears are rainbow colored when their tears are full of love, they have happy color when a loved one has achieved something, tears transform into a color of concern and sometimes it actually becomes bloody red. Some of the best tears were when the women was just a child, it had only one mood and one color. That tear was just of being cared and the color was see-through.