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Monday, May 22, 2017

A Call To Introverts Worldwide : Guest Article by Nemesis Color

(And more often than not,it is all yellow! 😛)

Introversion…it’s NOT something to feel ‘sorry’ about.

I decided to write this for all my fellow introverts out there and for extrovert relatives, friends and peers who might be interested in understanding a few things about introversion.
There are many web sources on introversion and most psychologists are finally recognizing introversion for what it is…and no longer as a subtle type of ‘sickness’. 
However, most people out there still have introversion ingrained to their brains as a form of pathology.
‘’There’s something wrong with my daughter. She’s always too shy and closed off and she rarely hangs out with kids of her age’’.
‘’I’d invite Katie too but she rarely goes to parties and when she does she leaves too early’’.
‘’Why don’t you socialize more with your friends? You spend a bit too much time in your room’’. 
‘’How can you even sit at a café all alone? You’ll look like a weirdo you know’’. 
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Sunday, May 14, 2017

New! Historical Fiction for Young Adults @Sweek : An Elucidated Repercussion

It has been quite a while since I have written something in progression,or a series.In fact it has been a very long time since when I have had any satisfaction about writing anything at all.
It was only yesterday (or today!) around midnight when I noticed that there was this short story competition titled 'Tomorrow' going on at Sweek and out of nowhere,I had a picture in my mind ; and a name,too - Lana.
When I googled the origin and meaning of the name,it showed that the name possessed an uncertain meaning,might mean 'girl' or 'woman' and is of Gaelic Irish origin.Now,the thing is that I have had millions of deja vu experiences about Irish people,places across Ireland and a tremendous feeling of connection to the failure of the Irish Republicans.Not that I have talked very much about it on the web but have managed to confide to a few of my closest friends.Weirdly,when I said this to one of my first cousins a few days ago,she said she had "a feeling" for Ireland,too.
Strangely,I crave for Celtic folk and have craved for it even before I started realising the depths of our own Bengali folk music.It is almost certainly something really strange - something hard to express in words.

Coming back to the story,it is supposed to be on something linked to the term 'tomorrow' and by 'tomorrow',one could mean only as much of 'tomorrow' as 'yesterday' in it.
This is my first attempt to write in both of the genres mentioned above,even individually.I hope you guys at least like something out of it.To read further,please click on
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Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Kolkata Diaries : Day 27

It is precisely when night engulfs you that you're sad - sadder than ever. I've wanted to end my life more than once.The urge somehow has never been enough,or I have been too whimsical not to do anything whimsical to the self.Well,when I feel choked in the middle of the road (I have a respiratory problem) or at late night or sometimes in the shower,I feel like I would love to live,for once more it will dawn outside,one more time I will lend my vision a chance to take everything in and that's a pleasure,has always been.
Nonetheless,I am always scared when I walk the streets late at night - scared that the moment I loose conscious,I might just get raped and never get back to the place I usually stay in.I have seen the look on the faces of the people everywhere.They're hungry and they're past caring to what it takes to fulfill their appetite.I used to feel ickier when I was younger,now I'm pretty much used to that "hungry" look on most men I see on the road,and even women - often in short skirts,the other times clad in fancy sarees,roaming around malls and alleyways,they scare the shit out of me too.Suddenly,I realise it's darker than I think it is.It is precisely that the population is past caring ; the mob is seriously scary. They walk in the same direction,follow the same road and then they break it off at certain points when the rules are past their capability to stand things.Sometimes,though - only sometimes,I spot an artist who doesn't cross the road as well and the autorickshaw driver calls him an asshole and off he goes like a tattered kite.I notice the wind in his shirt sleeve,or how his shadow resembles poetry.

I wear an anklet on my right ankle.It doesn't ring,or maybe it does - I never pay enough attention to hear the sound.The anklet that enamoured my left ankle broke at a tug a few days ago and now it stays with him,that actually makes me glad sometimes.'The tie' shows ; and it's silver in colour.

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Monday, April 24, 2017

Kolkata Diaries : Day 25

I am pretty sure no one begins writing from day 25 but I will,since it was only minutes ago that I took the decision to begin writing this series.This series would be incomplete,including only traces and parts of my perceptions about everyday life in the city and other absurdist visions that come to me way too often for anyone to achieve control over them.
If I cannot guarantee what will be interesting for whom according to portrayal of perspectives in the last 300+ posts,I sure can guarantee that this series is going to be interesting for most people.I will be updating this really often from now on and this is my umpteenth attempt to bring out the personal in the shape of art.

Day 25

It's terrible to walk down the streets now.In the midst of all that lights and shadows and graver tales that align your walk along the pavement,you will often hear a flower bloom,see a song cross the bylane and a poem will touch your curves and slowly rest beside you.But then you turn around and see the blatant consumerism creeping up your veins in all totality and you want to shed it off from you,like memories of assaults of the yesteryear but they won't just leave.They would cling to you as your own odour does and you would love to hold on to love,to the essence of a flight,to homecoming.

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Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Threatened by Shadows at Night,Exposed in the Light

I hope you all have been doing well in the most recent of times. Some of you might even be confused why has the blog been neglected for so long or the questions sent have not been answered.Unfortunately,I have been tremendously busy and really pressurised for quite a while now. Inititally,I had my Higher Secondary exams (the final board exams that you have to sit for in high school) and then,since I have changed my geographical habitat,and add to that a completely new set of protocols,circumstances,ways of dealing with each of these. 

The first thing is,I have been running my own expenses,which is a brilliant experience to begin with.But I am having to travel a good deal (from South to Northern Kolkata and back to Central and back to South again 😑). Then in a month and a half's time,I would have to move out to a hostel/mess,figuring out all the 'how-to's and 'what-to's all by myself. I have never been this mechanical in my life,to admit the truth.Nonetheless,I talk to my eight year old student about why not to listen to Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift and a little idea about commercialisation,commodification and the like.
(She even told me she thinks the meaning of 'education' is 'punishment' and I am not exaggerating a letter here.)

Image may contain: one or more people, sky, ocean, outdoor and water

(Photographed by Elliott Erwitt))

Then comes the distress of having to take the responsibility of a very childish man who never speaks to me about his own problems and is highly conscious about how I am performing in my academic life (I guess he has sent me more than 30 books till date,in terms of both soft and hard copies.) You must have heard it is extremely difficult to understand an ENFP (basically NTs and NFs) and there are so many facets to this particular problem,one will always lead to the other creating a completely disastrous extent of mess you will have to try everyday to solve somehow. Nonetheless,the bond we share is unspeakably strong,so there actually is real life proof that ENFP-INTP pairing works.

Thankfully,more than half of the extremely stressful time has already been over.
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Friday, April 14, 2017

Absurdist Fiction : The Meeting

I met her in the woods one day.She surfaced like a pain and an error,combined into co-planar serenity.She sat their,coiled like an old Banyan trunk and her hair framed her face like the aerial roots.The space between her bosom was a hollow light year's thirst and she turned around again and again,trying to grasp the history of the universe amidst the little circumcised space between her hairline and toenails.She was solace,she resembled eternity - yet,the wind shook her like the heart of a young sage on the path to the quest for truth.

I walked across her and noticed the timidness of lovers,paltry railroads and lustrous paddy fields,I even wrote a poem I think that I never could find again.She was absorbed in the pages of a slowly flowing dusk,an arena to behold - amidst the shoreline and the sandclock. I realised she was in search of a race or a gallow - I wanted to withstand the circumstances that would have arose hence but she took my breath away,and I swayed like a pendulum ; wishing to be engulfed and thrown around like a javelin at the same time.
I think I watched her look up then.She whispered something to the ears of the shallow evening and the drooping flowers.I was about to ask her of her whereabouts when she vanished in 
mid-air."What do you want?What else do you want now?",I asked helplessly.And she swirled across the breeze like a symphony
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Wednesday, April 12, 2017

A Poem Inspired By A Painting (Second Inclusion - 'Wheatfield With Crows' by Vincent Van Gogh)

It has been quite a number of days since I wrote the first post of this series.Things have been really bothersome lately and I have been working hard to get everything work at the same time.Here is a painting that caught my eye a few days back and I just could not get it off my head.So,here goes the second inclusion.Hope you enjoy going through the poem. 😊

Swiftness paraphrased 
In golden strands
Built across the line of error
Amidst indulgence 
Amidst visions
Claw thy bosom
Infringe thy soul 

Back inside
Further on the inner side
Of a man
A solitary reaper grows old.

Distanced in the aviation
Fragmented on the cloud-fall
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Wednesday, March 29, 2017

India’s Far Right on The Rise As Militant Hinduism Grips The Nation : My First Contribution To The London Economic

From that very moment when NDA came into power in the general election of 2014,the alarm had been set off for the alerted to lend a ear as soon as had been possible.
The article,being my first contribution to The London Economic tries to sum up the unimaginable atrocities the fundamentalists in India have committed in a matter of just a few years.

We are highly interested to know your views regarding the issue and the article.
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Saturday, March 25, 2017

A Poem Inspired By A Painting (First Inclusion - 'Interior With Goldfish' by Henri Matisse)

This week,we will be doing something unique since it has been quite a while since we have been able to do anything about delivering new content.A new poem in free verse will be written every week based on one very famous painting.

Mirrored minds
Swing in transcendence 
The other half of a corner
Of distance and desolation
Passes distinctly
In the intermediation 
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Wednesday, January 25, 2017

The Death of an Author,The Birth of a Writer

The following article is in no way associated with and should not to be confused with the 1967 essay 'The Death of the Author' (French: La mort de l'auteurthe) written by the French literary critic and theorist Roland Barthes.

Throughout the course of the several attempts my subconscious mind has made till date in order to exempt out of the show anything that resembles the concept of an authoritarian entity,I think the last plank has been analysing the etymology of words (and that too not very consciously,either).Ever since the concept struck my mind,I had a feeling that the word 'author' must have been born out of the term 'authority' but in reality,if you just plunge a little deeper into the concept of sociological philology,you can genuinely identify the resemblance between the chronological flow of events.
Writing began with the urge borne out of the human psychology to preserve something precious or to enlist what was to be executed in the form of action in the later days.Later,it transformed itself into the very tool of defying the authoritarian bodies the history books so serenely glorify and have done so in favour of striving human suffering as the lubricant in the wheel of a so called civilization.Today,the press has nearly coincided with the idea of another establishment that simply takes part in carefully blurring the line between the real happenings and a story that convinces people well enough for them to mechanically and methodically follow a certain schedule,have a certain abstinence from anything that links to the term 'movement' and is antonymous in nature to 'stagnancy' and keeps them paying taxes and voting in order to enroll their kids into schools,pay taxes and vote yet again. 

In a very similar manner has literature been manipulated and the intensity of this very manipulation has not been degrading in the recent days.Now,the question is if propaganda is literature or if literature is being propagandised.To a certain extent,both are true.Propaganda is enclosed in history books and history is written by the hunters who will never glorify the tale of the lions or that of the forests or that of earth.Literature that is actively propagandised to distract us should indeed be the centre of attraction at the moment.Unless you realise the dividing lines between parade grounds and broken kites,between mellowed roads and authoritarian balance,between dying birds and season's trends - there is no use of writing,there is no reason to explain,there is no cause that remains to purpose anything anymore.The key to everything at this point of time,in the middle of this confused bunch of beings that consider themselves to be living,believe it or not ; living is so important.And in order to live,which always has been much more than survival,we must learn to ungraze,to unlearn,to unfollow and create again.Unfollowing is not the last step,an anti-thesis without a hint of a solution is as useless as the US President is to the world.So,coming back to etymology,the term 'author' comes from French words 'auctor', 'acteor'  meaning "author, originator, creator, instigator" which in turn directly originate from Latin word 'auctor' meaning "enlarger, founder, master, leader," literally "one who causes to grow".
Later,the word began to be used in the sense of a writer, one who sets forth written statements' or "source of authoritative information or opinion", now archaic but the sense behind authority.

From around the time of the unfolding of the World Wide Web to the world in the most practical sense worth speaking of,the American English dialects have been taking over the trends by storm.It must have been from around that time that we began replacing the term 'writer' by the term 'author'.A writer definitely is an author at some point because it is from her that the idea of the material bound by text originates from but the material once bound by text subsequently does not remain 'bound' anymore.It is spread wildly in the form of further ideas,further concepts,further propagation among one to the other.In this sense,writing is a form of divinity,writing is an enormous power that can be used as much as it can be misused.
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