Swimming in a Pool

When I’m writing about Kolkata, it’s difficult. Because I’m writing in English but the dialogues, the lines, the words come to me in Bangla. It’s different when I write a story in an English setting (or maybe even base it in other parts of India). Then automatically the thoughts are in English. But, where Kolkata is concerned, it is as if I’m simply sieving and translating. Two worlds on different sides of the wall. And that feels wrong. Very very wrong. That is the point where I feel helpless. I know my bangla isn’t strong enough such that I can write a novel in it. And English is what I’m best at. Kolkata is also what I know the best. Hence, it fits to be the setting of my novel. But it is frustrating when after writing two or three pages, I’m staring at the screen, not knowing where the story is going. Because god help me, but how can I expect a Nimai Kaka to address his Memsahib in fluent English. It just sounds so very wrong. At this point I’m extremely close to giving up. And I have, before. On more than a dozen stories I think.

I hate swimming in this frustration pool.

What Is Wrong With Asking Questions?


When something pisses me off, I write. So, I write, what is wrong with asking questions?

Irony. People who are made fun of for asking questions, make fun of others for asking questions, who again make fun of others for asking questions.

Well, this is not ironic at all. In fact, it is intentional. When you are made fun of, the best defense is to join your bullies in making fun of others for similar reasons. I know that, because I have done that. Of course, I am ashamed.

Well, a long while ago I had seen some unsuitable “teachers” express astonishment at a question of a child who rightly knew less than them. “How can you not know that?”

Unsurprisingly, the child never publicly expressed her doubts again.

In the eleventh grade, one of the reasons I quit science was an ass of a teacher who made me feel…

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Day Three(3).

Merry Christmas!! ^_^


Hey everybody! 

Another eventful day? Hell yes.

It’s Christmas time after all. Holidays are here. Winter at it’s best. Happiness and love all around. What else do you need?

Christmas is a funny festival for Indians. I mean, you don’t have to spend a fortune on this day unlike other Indian festivals, namely, Diwali, Holi or Eid. You can be in your old sweater and jeans, bring home fruit cake and a small (artificial) Christmas tree to celebrate the spirit of joy. It’s a wonderful day. It also marks the beginning of next year, which for some people could prove to be a second chance/blessing in disguise. Take a look at this, which was posted in a Spurs community group. So much purity.



There are obviously many mysteries regarding the whole Santa Claus thing too. Years ago, I read a book of letters written to Santa Claus, and I remember that…

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Day One(1).

Pure thoughts. 🙂


Finally. A win. 

Spurs was going through a  rough period over the last few weeks. Very rough infact. 
5-0 loss at home to Liverpool. Manager sacked. New manager comes in. 2nd loss to West Ham at home this season. And today, a win.
A deserving win maybe? Who cares. I’ll take the three points happily.

It’s not easy supporting Spurs. Not at all. You get mini heart-attacks all throughout the season. I have learnt the way now though.
It’s been sweet four and a half years now. And, I don’t repent about my choice.

Wait. I didn’t choose Spurs. Spurs chose me. Haven’t they?
The same way as in the Harry Potter movie. Lol. 

The tougher part, though, is explaining people, in India why do I support this team. To be honest, I myself don’t have an answer.
Some one walks up to me, asks me my favourite football club…

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