Leave the over-reacting to me.

I have been highly irregular in maintaining this blog for the last year. A lot has been happening and I, frankly, didn’t have the time or energy to document any of the happy (or melancholic) events that were occurring around me; to me.

I do not come here today t account for everything that’s gone by but I often sit and wonder whether I settle for things. As I retrospect, I wonder, with certainty, that I build things up in my head. My idea of a perfect life, of happiness, of love- it is all over rated- and I feel so because true happiness, love or even life has eluded my definitions of them being joyous, momentous or perfect respectively.

Life, well, it has been quite a bitch in some aspects and has been reasonable in the others. I ‘ve learn to quietly accept what it dishes out and do the best I can with it.
Happiness could be a more frequent visitor, but then again, who doesn’t wish so?
Love has turned out to be a whole different ball game. I always assumed that the kind of love I embrace would be the thing of fairy-tales. I have, since the time I grasped its concept, imagined that I would be in love with a storyteller, someone who would narrate tales of our epic romance to one and all. I’ve fallen in love with a man who is almost the opposite. It is love, but it is vastly different from the love I am used to or expected. It is almost like I am being forced to be mature (although he would beg to differ about the status of my maturiy) when I want to really just sit on the ledge of a wall and have ice cream with him.

Though his ideas of romance do match with mine in essence (we both love ice cream), there seems to be a bit of a tussle thereafter (I’d want to be on a ledge that’s on the 47th floor and he has acrophobia.) In the past year, I have come to adore him and that “fact” that he reciprocates the same is as comforting as a pair of woolen socks on a winter night. I have often been tempted to wonder what life would be without him. It would certainly have a lot less to look forward to. Every week is a countdown to the weekend which is when I get to meet him. he excitement builds up every Wednesday and the days get longer and longer till Friday night and then, Saturday arrives with a flurry and in no time, I’m on the bus to meet him.
That said, if this love is so different form the love I imagined he and I would share, then what is it? I have not any answer.

At the same time, I find myself at a loss for friends. This will come as a shock to all those who consider themselves to be my friend, and I am deeply apologetic for that, but my idea of friendship, much like my idea of romance, is rose-tinted. Friendship is that in which you know what is happening in my life and I, yours. And while I do have a few humans that fall into that definition around me, here in college, they don’t qualify as best friends, well, because they we haven’t yet passed the test of time. The two people I considered closest to me do not have the hours, means or energy to communicate with me and the ones who do have the three designated mandatories (I suppose) don’t know the words to say when I need words to be said.

I have so many conflicts within myself. I over think and I over analyse. I wish things were smoother and decisions were easier to make. I wish I knew if this what I deserve and, trust me, I know what anyone deserves is always far superior to what they think they should have. And, while I know this fact, I wish someone would just hand me the answers and let me know if my ideas of friendship, love and happiness in general need to be re-thought and re-designed. I don’t want a friendship that is born out of obligations- of time, history or habit. I don’t want anyone to think they are settling for me, and if they aren’t settling for me, is it not fair that I expect some sort of acknowledgement? Or is that, as well, a part of my rosy, utopia-filled approach to life? Having said everything, I hope that I make the people around me, friends and lover, feel wanted, respected, loved, admired and everything else that is good.
I have a lot of love to give but right now, very few people to give it to. This is not a cry for company or help. It is just a documentation of confusion over some of the things I thought were crystal clear to one as articulate as myself (look at me being not-so-modest). I never thought I would face troubles over the basic human relationships of life.

In every relationship, romantic or not, there is a settler and a reacher (courtesy: How I Met Your Mother)
In the relationships I have, I wonder if I’m the settler or if I’m the reacher.

PG makes you feel like a spec of dust.

Post graduate education is like a pimple you get on your butt. It takes a long time to show what it truly is and it pains at the wrong moments- more when you’re trying to relax. It literally doesn’t let you sit in peace. ever. While all the professors (and some seniors) make it their life’s mission to make your life as miserable as they can and you tend to tip towards becoming a borderline alcoholic with issues of frustration, there are just a few things which let you breathe.
Food is my primary reason. Food is actually my primary reason for anything, actually. Sad? Cheese. Happy? Cake, cheese (as separate courses, of course) Angry? Biriyani- which reminds me- the biriyani here in Pune tastes like foot hair when compared to Calcutta’s aloo-heaven-melt-your-mouth biriyani.

Suji 100%

Hearts flying with pink sparkles all over

The second thing is my weekly trip to Mumbai. Although it isn’t really a weekly affair (See what I did there? weekly ‘affair’? No? Okay.) because I end up going there only twice a month, sometimes even lesser but it is how I count my weeks. I look forward to the three and half hour journey on recliner seats which I don’t recline because it hurts my back. I curse when the bus halts for no reason but commission at Maganlal Chikki for ten whole minutes when we could’ve just reached that many minutes earlier. Then again, just because it stops, I eat chikki (refer to primary reason listed above). Once in mumbai I am ensured  the primary reason for happiness. I digressed. Okay, I should really stop talking about food lest ‘someone’ feels slightly overshadowed.
I count my days till I can finally hug someone and feel at home. He is a sight for my sore, tired, almost-panda-like eyes. To have someone who will love looking at you even when he knows you haven’t showered in two days just because. It is relieving to have someone who will be selfless in his love because I get enough of the rat-race- competition bullshit on the weekdays.


Shine 100%

The lifeline minus one

Staying in a girl’s hostel is like walking on recently erupted, really mucky volcanic lava. everyone is on edge, either because of the blood flowing from in between their legs or because of the blood flowing  in their throbbing heads because of medical / dental school. It is tricky business, maneuvering your way through the various frustrations in different departments, add to that unwashed and unironed clothes that pile up. If we were to calculate the number of clothes we all have accumulated over a week’s time all over the world, it would probably almost match up to the number of stars in the galaxy. Pretty close.

I must work upon writing about the same thing for longer bouts. We have hundred mark essay answers in our final exams where we have to drone on and on about one topic for ten to twelve pages. I should master the art of staying focussed which I clearly need work on because I digressed again.

PG is like a race where no one wants to hurt you but almost everyone (save for your friends) ends up destroying your day. It’s a course that makes you realise your true potential to achieve either of the two- total bitchiness or zen-like nirvana and not give any fucks at all. Love and food and love for food keep me alive. and shoes. Please send either or all my way. Dominos, even though I’m not a fan of mass-manufactured pizza, is welcome as well, with a pitcher of chilled beer, please.

Image result for biryani arsalan

Just a photograph of one of the things that matter in life.


It’s been a while.

It has been a long time since I have had the time or inspiration to write about anything- here or otherwise.  It has been busy and trust me when I say this, I am not used to being busy. I have no idea how the days fly by and it is a welcome change. Life back at home was stagnating, to put it crudely.

Post graduation- ohmygod is it hard or what? You’ve got to study, run around for your dissertation, prepare for conferences, keep up with your social life, eat food, breathe… get the drift?  I came to a land quite far off from home and I did not expect to find family here. But I did. I miss Mamma and I miss home, I miss my grandparents and friends who speak a similar tongue. Nothing would ever change that, but to have amazing people surround you eases the transition. I found three beautiful people who make me believe that maybe, just maybe, the sisterhood of travelling pants could be a reality.

I knew I would make friends, I am someone who does that easily, but to have people who are kind, caring, goofy and as good as family can get (when you’re away from home) is a relief. Here, I am not just pursuing another degree, but also trying to find who I can be and how I can grow as a person. Every day is a learning curve- from learning to sieve the bullshit from wisdom to understanding how different people are and how small things can make a huge difference. I’ve learnt to sleep with the lights on and learnt to ask if the music is okay- things I usually never bothered to ask- but it somehow comes from within because they do the same for me. As a side note, all of us have the same, and I mean the same choice in music (double yay). I’ve also learnt that I am usually always hungry, especially if someone else is cooking (nomnomnom)

From my room, I have an unobstructed view of this huge tree that has cotton pods hanging from its branches. Every now and then, a group of kids (I cannot believe I am calling UG students kids- I used to be one of them just a few months back!) gather around at midnight to lather each other with cake and I am reminded of all the birthdays I’ve been through and all the friends I’ve had. I often wonder, while watching them run around- trying to escape their friends who have cake in their hands, whether they have any idea how precious all of it is. The memories.

We do everything for only two reasons- to make happy memories or to build a happy future. Here’s to two years and eight more months of a life that better be worth the wait. Here’s to memories being made on the way to happiness. Here’s to friendship and more importantly, family.


A conversation starter.

There’s just this inane quality in the way light reaches us. I’ve been thinking a lot about light these days. Both light, and lightness. The two seem so…inter-related, yet they could mean different things altogether.
Light. There is a definite confusion over what light is. When we were younger, we used to ask this riddle, ‘which is heavier, a tonne of cotton or a tonne of rocks’. In essence, what determines lightness? Can we really fly without an aeroplane? Is it possible? We could grow wings one day, you and I, and fly. I just need to find that formula I lost while on my way to adulthood. I feel happy. The last few months have seen ups and downs, sure, but I was happy more or less. Make that, the last year. The heart is a wild thing, that is why our ribs are called cages, I presume. I might like other people, that’s human nature but there’s a loyalty that even a pigeon feels toward the master. You’ll come back and I’ll return. It is this unending loop of infinite turns. I write well, don’t fall into the trap of words. You express yourself, or try to, as well as you can. But you get caught up in looking non-vulnerable. Men! I digressed…

In this book I read, life has been broken down into so many beautiful ways. It has no story, but yet, it manages to make one think. You should read it too, if you have the patience. I had to repeatedly go back to reading it, re-reading at times. It was difficult to grasp in the beginning but once over, it was exhilarating.
Yes, I am going to the capital, the place where you once lived, while the one person I really want to meet is not there. Such mean tricks. I want to go away from home and just spend a year writing and drinking coffee and getting high on tequila. I wish I was rich enough to be spoilt. If wishes were horses, I’d ride them like they ride those horses on Game of Thrones, cross the poison water, and meet you.

Oh, you’re online now.
It was nice to be able to write without expecting a reply. Rambling to a screen that replies to your thoughts, was at one point considered impossible. The magic mirror, they would say.




And, that’s how the cookie crumbled.

‘Coffee this evening?’

Hazy lights, fast cars and the drizzle. That’s all she remembered, that’s all that she cared about, that’s all she should care about. So then, why did her mind keep fleeting back to those hands? She had held them with so much fervour, she had felt so much in those fifteen seconds, she had squeezed them so tightly; like there was no today and like there was no one else as important as him, in that particular moment, that moment where time lost its worth.

Maya knew something had changed. She could recall the songs that played on the radio. She could feel his hair brush across her face. She could smell him; a mixture of alcohol and perspiration. She wanted to know every detail. She needed to every detail.

‘Listen, what if it is all a mistake?’, she asked her sister.
‘Nothing is ever wrong, when you remember how he smelt!’ Sanaya was busy filing her nails, without paying much attention to the apparently vague description Maya had offered.

Maya sank back into her bed and under the blanket. It was cold. Was it cold that night too? She didn’t remember shivering, at least not because of the chill. She shuddered. Who was he? What had he done to her? Was she right in feeling happy or was it a misplaced emotion?

She stared at her cell phone. He had texted over an hour ago, it still remained unopened. The last time she checked, he had sent a virtual kiss. Why?

‘Maya, man just have fun with him. He’s giving you a golden opportunity’ Sanaya retorted suddenly, taking Maya by utter surprise. The phone fell down, switched off. Maya hurried to take it off the ground and switched it on. She opened the message.
Meet me today?
Maya’s fingers trembled. She couldn’t.

She felt her heart reach her mouth. This is not fine. This is not fun. I don’t have fun. How can a relationship be fun when he’s already in a semi-relationship with someone who wasn’t her?

She rushed to the washroom. Cried. Washed her face and returned. Sanaya saw it happen but did not react. Maya silently thanked her for not asking what happened.
‘What is his name?’
‘Let it be.’ Maya didn’t want to take his name, for fear of making it real.
‘Wow. His parents sure loved The Beatles’
‘Shut up!’

Maya laughed and lightened up. She replied to his text message saying she would meet him that evening. In her head, she decided to say everything to him clearly, to his face; that she is the emo kind of girl, the kind of girl who falls for her benifit-buddy, the kind who fucks up friendships cause she falls in love too easily, the kind who needs love.
Sanaya begged her sister to grow up.

He never made it to the evening coffee, she slept through the night. He texted her a few more kisses.

The next week went by with random conversations. She never mentioned to him, what she had planned to. He kept playing the kiss card. She kept falling for him a little more, with each kiss. She went back to that night again..
Glazed eyes, the high of weed, the spilled alcohol, the broken glass and stripped off clothes. She remembered pushing him away, she remembered going closer. She remembered the feel of his hand against her body. She remembered getting up and leaving. And him following. And then, the drive. The shortest drive from one lane to the other. The most beautiful drive with the prettiest lights. 
Maya pinched herself, she went out into the drizzle and stood there till she was wet and till she could feel the shiver again. She looked at her phone. Had he messaged? She kept checking. She kept waiting.

Months passed by. Maya forgot about the night. She took it as an adventure. She was happy that it had happened and glad that it was over. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her, she wasn’t as hot as his fiancé and she wasnt as beautiful as his ex girlfriend. She didn’t even like the same songs, surely they couldn’t be a good match!
But she still waited, without expecting much. She was used to it, by now. The ones she liked never liked her the way she wanted them too. The ones who liked her were never good enough.

Months passed. She got one more virtual kiss. Her heart fluttered. An unknown number. Who is this? Who else, Maya, who else?
A tear rolled down her cheek. Was it a joke? Isn’t he supposed to be married? No he wasn’t. So? She can’t go through it again. Meet me. Okay, she decided.

He made it to the coffee shop this time, with tulips in hand, and lilies. He wasnt sure which she liked. She walked in, hassled, because of the mud and monsoon. He loved the rains. She looked at him, he held her glance. She moved closer. They kissed. This time, she felt it. She felt all of it and everything came rushing back; the night, the touch, the moves, the taste and it was wonderful. It was beautiful and yummy! He had touched her hair that night, he had felt her cheeks.

What happened, no fiancé? Could he not go through with it? She never asked him because she knew she did not want to know the answers. She was happy to be in his arms, she was happy he hadn’t left her. Sanaya was wrong, that kiss was not just fun.

He looked at her and told her just one thing, and the world as she knew it, changed.
‘That was for all the virtual ones I sent to you. Thanks for being such a sport! I never knew girls could keep their emotions away from kisses! Here, see the ring I’m gonna give to her tomorrow.’

That coffee they had together? It was bitter.

Fake this shit!

It has been a while since I last posted here. Have been busy. No, make that- very busy. third year of college started this October and I have finally entered The Clinics. I was super kicked about reaching this particular year, given that I am halfway through undergrad college and that means I am 50% through the ordeal called Barddhaman. and I was pleasantly surprised! I reached Burdwan on 1st and headed to college and waited for 30 minutes to greet my professor (what with all the ‘first impressions’ thing going on so strong these days) and I was informed about the Intra-college Sports tournament that was being organised.
My dad was in the Indian Army and I’ve had a fairly okay exposure to sports. By that, I mean i can move better than most girls and I mean that in the most innocent way possible. So, I signed up for Badminton (given that the other sports were Football and Carrom, neither of which I was sure of playing, I can shoot alright in Football but that’s about it). And I cleared the quarters and then reached the semis. Knocked out and I lost to the final winner so no pride lost.

Anyway, as Clinics duty proceeded in the day, the sports tournament moved forward after college. And I shouted A LOT while cheering for my batch. The usual ‘jeetega bhai jeetega’ and ‘ come ooooonnn!’, blah, and I cheered for the opponents as well O:)
I even wore track pants to college. Oh, and my work in the clinic was basically in the Prosthodontic Dept. and I made removable partial dentures for two patients. One has already been (successfully) delivered and the other is due on Wednesday. There is this fake sense of know-it-all while you are around patients…i say fake, because obviously I don not know it all, I am merely in third year. But you get to actually BE doctor after all the years of playing with plastic stethoscope and toy ambulances and this halo of importance and reverence surrounds you and you just, feel, important.

All the bitterness that was there last year, given the political influence on my baby college, I felt happy that we were all bonding and more importantly talking! Talking too is fake- it gives everyone a fake importance. ‘Oh, we talk’ ‘Oh, he spoke to me’. Just because we talk, it doesn’t mean we’re close. It just allows all of us to carry on with our lives without others feeling left out. People feel they’re close to you because you talk. WOAH! Huge epiphany! We’re all wonderful actors. No really, take a second and sit back. Think about all the times you have pretended to be something/someone you are not IN A DAY. And it is perfectly normal to pretend. We’re taught to perform in a particular manner from the day we learn to understand emotions and that is exactly what all of us do. We all act. we all pretend. We all put up with a farce.

So, how are we making the ones we love know what we really feel. To come to think of it, we need to be real sometimes! Shouldn’t we be able to be ‘who we are’ before the ones we care about at least? As for me, I don’t pretend before the ones I like/love. Strangely, I become even more blatant and point-blank and then I end up hurting them. Shaa.

ANNNNYWAY. There was also a DJ night in college following the Sports tournament which left all of us super-fit doctors with neck cramps and shoulder pain. I couldn’t move out of bed without an Ooooh-aaaah for four days in a row and I enjoyed every bit of that night and those ten days. It is good to be back with college ‘for real’ and even with all the aforementioned pretentious behaviour, I am happy. It is great to have stories to tell and jokes to share twenty years down the line. I hope this stays the way it is, or it may become better. 🙂

-stay loved. stay as true as possible!

Thank YOU!

I usually update my blog via the phone and the WordPress app on android is WAY better than that on Symbian. I decided to check my Stats today and was mighty surprised!
I thank you, truly. I got likes on my Facebook page from people I do not know, and that is surely a positive step. the word is spreading. More the people, higher is the interaction and better will be my posts.

Thats the way the cookie crumbles!

Thanks you Romania, for viewing my page more than my home country! That is something really unusual for me, given that my blog does tend to centre around country-specific issues at times. And the rest of the times, they are girl blabbers and philosophy lectures. I am guessing you all like it, cuz in the last 3 weeks I have got a thousand hits (and I am not kidding). Thousand maybe a small number for all the pro-bloggers out there, but for me it is H-U-G-E 😀

And Philippines? I know where that came from. Thanks Katrina. (:

This blog has not only help get through a break up and a patch up, it has connected me to some beautiful people and I have made some very thick friends. it fetched me my job with Lucideus Tech and even got my mother into reading what i write regularly. It acted as a conversation starter with my father and got me praises from the world over. Thank you. From the core of my heart.

Keep sending me the love. I surely do love you.

-stay tangled


Dr. Phil

Have you ever broken any china? Noticed how it shatters into smithereens just a micro-second after it hits the concrete floor?
Have you ever tried to fix that broken china? I have. With feviquick and superglue. And i felt like a toddler trying to solve a really hard puzzle. And when i finally managed to glue all the tiny parts together, i felt proud of the achievement and the fine deception of cracks that i managed. Wont you feel proud of yourself?

Now look at it this way- it is easier to glue the larger pieces together right? The smaller the chip, the harder it gets to find the right spot. When will a glass sheet or white-clay in this matter, break into really large pieces? Probably when it itself is pretty large.

It is common sense. A large thing will end up breaking into relatively larger parts than a small thing. Large things are easier to fix. Large things are also more difficult to break.

So. Make your heart a large one. Be big hearted. Give. Laugh loudly. Take. Snort. Sleep well. Eat cheese. Make your heart so big, that small events fail to puncture it. Make it so large that it assimilates all the sadness and then burps it out. And even if it does manage to wound itself and break once ina while, it will be easier to find the pieces and put them back together. A big heart heals quicker. A big heart hurts lesser.
Love people. Love yourself. Then, all the happiness will be yours in a heart beat 🙂

Look at the pretty things in life. Look at the butterflies (are they still there or have they become extinct?). Smell the flowers. Sleep under a starry sky. I know that these are all cliches but they are cliches for a reason…they work. Be crazy. But be big. Be magnanimous. Be all of this so that you are safe and so that you dont get hurt. Always think about yourself first. This isn’t being selfish. This is merely called ‘taking care’.

So. Found any butterflies? I love those creatures.



I live in a small town right now, courtesy college. Okay, big town but town, nonetheless. I think twice before wearing jeans and wandering there. Why should I? Why can I not wear Jeans or three-quarters comfortably in a town where guys roam around semi-naked wrapping their privates in flimsy gamchhas?
I am not even asking to wear shorts. Oh no. That would surely equal r-a-p-e.


It could just be me. Or you. Or her. Or any of us. I try to act cool and joke about it. I try to pretend like it won’t happen with me but the truth is, that it might as well have already happened. A single girl being raped equals a rape of all of the female fraternity. No, this is not done and no matter how many times it is emphasized on the social networking sites, this matter will not end if facts do not enter the thick skulls of men.

Yes, I generalized. I said men as a whole because men treat women in the collective sense of the term. Of course all men aren’t the same and I myself know hundred males who behave like humans. Bu the hundred and first male is always there, just waiting to break the trust. Someone is always there. Always. Lurking.


I live in the fear of being given this punishment by some adrenaline pumped guy just because ‘he felt like it’. I feel scared of saying ‘no’ to a guys proposal because he might just do something which I would fail to prevent. Or erase. Or forget.

Not just that…a guy does not have to go all the way to make a girl feel ‘touched’ and I do not mean touched emotionally. Groping a girl or ogling at her will not make her like you any more (or less). Take her permission. Ask her. Respect her. That’s the way to go.

This is not a gender power-play. You cannot ‘assume’ that you can make us do what you want. You cannot mis-treat women because you are men.You cannot simply, rape us.


The more I say it, the more stupid I feel. Why am I writing this? Will those men read this? I have seen how guys discuss women and by guys I mean men from well-educated backgrounds and families. It is simply disgusting and it makes me want to vomit, the fact that I know such guys. This mentality is the seed for all the vengeance that they harbor. They keep count of the number of girls that they have ‘done’ and they assess a girls qualities by the size of her breasts. What are we- dolls that you will play with? I witnessed a boy go up to a girl and ask her why she wears clothes that cover everything. Imagine his audacity. The answer my friend (sadly), is you. Men like you make our parents teach us to dress well. And by ‘well’ they don’t mean what makes us comfortable; they mean what makes you less animalistic. Why should it be this way? Why can your parents not teach you to look at us with respect?
Why can’t you listen to your folks when they tell you to ‘ask’ a girl out? Why can you not let us believe that we are safe…that the roads as much ours as they are yours after the sun sets? Why do we have to quicken our steps in a ‘bad neighbourhood’? Why does there have to be a bad neighbourhood?


If a girl bends in front of you to pick up a piece of paper, she was not provoking you. No, she does not want to entice you. All she wanted to do was to pick up that piece of paper…she did not want you to mind-rape her. She surely did not want you and your friends to gang rape her in the alley near her hostel. No, she did not want to be killed.


I am not safe, and neither are you. And this fact will not change. Accept it.
But don’t stop questioning it.
WHY can it NEVER be safe?


(all images and posters are from GotStared.At. search them on facebook and follow them. spread the word. that might just help)

Kya India Badhega?

We all shout out loud and walk in the morchas to support development and what not. We support the advancement of women, fight for the rights of homosexuals, watch Satyameva Jayate and feel indebted to a country that has given us literally everything we have and has made us everhthing we are. Yet, we criticise it and look at the flaws with magnifying glasses.
It is correctly said, criticism is the strongest test of democracy. We go on about how Calcutta has no ‘life’ and how Delhi is the ‘it’ city. We compare Mumbai to the world and always want to run from the place that we owe everything to. No dont get me wrong, i too am a part of this rat race..

But what is development? A few days back when i was following the Euro2012, i had an argument with someone online. The argument was fine..he was laughing at me cuz Germany lost. Epic sadness.. But what ticked me off more was that he had incorrect grammar. I am no Shakespear but i know what to say when, most of the time.
Not just him, even my school is famous for the ‘maam he said to me’ and other such vocal typos. We, despite being from the most elite school of Calcutta, (yes i am taking creative liberty) do not know simple English. And i said WE which does include me. Then on the other side we have the winner of Horlicks WizKids..not once but twice..from our school. Ironic?

Yesterday when i was walking towards my room i saw a man. Nothing major in seeing a man..only that he took Metrosexual to another level.
Why? He was carrying a shocking pink bag with ‘Barbie’ written on it through and through. Barbie? Seriously? And he travels with me in the bus and i see him carrying that bag every weekend now.
I know that i should not compare the growth of Calcutta to that of barddhaman but then why should just one city of a state show ‘apparent’ growth?
I still cannot get over his bag. Not yet.

And as i have mentioned before, i fail to decipher the incessant need to mate and copulate. Everyone has to have a girlfriend and then sit under trees or bushes or any other flat surface availabe to them which is slightly covered and snog. Snog Snog snoggggg.

Ever visited Victoria at dawn? Now multiply that by 50 and that is Krishna Sayar Park in my current town. And if people find it okay to make out in a heritage site like Victoria then i have nothing more to say in their favour or against. To ask them to get a room would be an understated request..

If development is what we are aiming for then why are we mistaking it for Money? Shouldnt money be a means to get development and not the definition of it?

Think about it. Incorrect languages (no, even our Hindi or Bengali is not completely correct) and mistaken sexuality..insatiable dating and a serious lack of space. Developed?

Grammar is hot.
Pink is hot too..but sadly people interpret it otherwise.
And please, Get. A. Room.



I took this from my phone so big shout-out to the phone 😀