Monday, December 31, 2012

And the year ends..

I would not like to reiterate what has been going on round the country, I really have nothing more to add to the sorrow, the devastation and anger that we all have brimming in our bodies right now. We've all faced such situations on daily basis in a very minor level on the streets, jeers and lewd comments and hardly have we protested. We try not to interfere scared of the consequences. Like I read someone say in the newspapers, when girls like us will be fearless enough to protest against these animals, that is when change will come. And I strongly believe so. 
The objectification of women is one of the main reasons behind the patriarchal mindset that permeates our nation. And the biggest culprit to this would be the media, Bollywood. Media which is so capable of analyzing every situation would do some good by occasionally channeling their investigation to what problems they have been creating. Only to keep their TRP's high and sending out advertisements to keep the business running, they don't even care if they are portraying women as sex objects while on the other hand there are making movies taking a stand against the practice.  Why this fake facade of always looking for the welfare of the people whereas all you care for is profit? If you are so concerned of women objectification, why not stop airing such ads?
And yes seeing the whole nation finally wake up to the call, really does garner some hope. When you see women punching officers right on their face, when you see women day in and out fighting their asses off, falling down yet dusting off their trousers and standing up, when you hear the fact that more men than women are on the streets shouting for justice, I know there will be a change. 
I've always wanted to study in Delhi someday, the city had fascinated me when I'd gone there long back. But I hardly think my family will feel it to be safe to send me off to the city. And I'm sure this is true for so many other girls in the country. How sad is it that a person's career choice has to be made by putting into account such things? Why can't I be safe in a state that is supposed to be the most secure in the country? Who has given the right to make us feel afraid all the time?
We all live in fear consciously or subconsciously. Whenever I go cycling down a dark alley, I am scared. Whenever two men on a bike cross me slowly staring at me like they've never seen a girl before, I am scared. I am frustrated with the restrictions on us and the constant fear. The fact that one evening two years back I had to push a man off his cycle once when he'd tried to harass me scares me every time I cycle down that area. I remember how I was completely frozen with fear and had cycled as fast, shaking within. 

Silence is not an option. This is our right, we study equally hard, we earn as much as men, we are meant to party, to wear whatever we feel like, drink as much as we want, and damn well to be there fearless on the streets at 1 am at night.

Hoping for a changed new year,

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Random Karaoke afternoons.

PS- Excuse the obnoxious last part, the losing the beat every frikkin time part. Okay, next time I'll make a better effort. Didn't feel like redoing, you know. :P Usually I'm better than this crap.
Bored to death,
Sam B.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Durga Pujo Lookbook.



Ashtami Raat


Sums up Pujo '12 for me.
Friends and family.
Adda and bhog.
Saris and kurtis.
Pandal hopping with the dad
And generous cans of COKE.
Still in the festive mood,

Friday, November 16, 2012

Lost Postcard

 I will be standing somewhere you don’t know
I will be looking out from behind the door
You might not see me, you might not care
But you will know, you never have to stare.

As hard I try to break free of you
As hard I pine to finish what we have
But then the music plays and you lay your arm
And I gently slide back into your wicked charm.

Through all this time I’ll talk to myself
Whisper words of encouragement, of not letting this go on
You my boy will sit in your princely attire
While I dread the word, and times bygone.

There will be empty glasses and left over food
And sleepless nights just to fool around
There will be reruns of the same crappy TV show
And poetry that flows without the usual bound.

I wish I was the kind that doesn’t give a shit
But I’m a far cry from those lucky ones I swear
I’ll still care for you even if I don’t want to
I’ll still stoop back to your secluded lair.

I hate you and your adoring face
I hate the fact that I am so weak in my skin
I hate how you make me feel unarmed and chained
I hate how you never let me win.

Still I’ll stand somewhere from a distance
I’ll try to utter words I’ve practiced so hard
You may bet I’ll fail for the umpteenth time
And will be hanging round like a lost postcard.

Picture Taker: Antara :) 
Riaaaaa, Big hug for the Harry Potter pictcha \m/
Hope you guys had a blast.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The perks of being a wallflower - Thoughts and review.

The perks of being a wallflower happened. :)

Like the book says, you kind of feel infinite after reading something this good. 3 hrs of sitting on the toilet seat and yes, I felt infinite. ( Sounds totally not what I mean, but I hope you get me. :P )
This might be my favorite book. It's so perfect, it's crazy.

Mainly it's about this boy, Charlie who's going to high school and is going through a hard time having lost his friend Michael who committed suicide. So he starts writing letters to us readers telling us about his experience through high school. The book as such does not have a 'plot', it's very elusive in the beginning. It's weird how I thought Charlie was a girl until like the 3rd or 4th letter. :| (very weird). So Charlie goes through a lot of new experiences through high school which I cannot relate to as such because our life here is a lot different. So, it was all a little overwhelming at the beginning.
This made it for a very interesting and intriguing read, I think. Very fast paced.

The story stresses upon a lot of things like drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sex, family issues, homosexuality. Throughout the story Charlie is a shy, naive, innocent boy. Emotionally distraught most of the time. He is a wallflower which means that he kind of blends into the background and observes people. He is somewhat a crybaby and has a hard time pleasing himself. He's someone who works hard to please people and cherishes friendships. He comes across as a nervous kid and has many things going wrong with him which he doesn't get to know until the end.
Though he goes through like a blast of things through his first year, he remains genuine and doesn't turn cynical or jaded though all of it. Mainly the book is so realistic, there's no usual 'hero' or a 'villain'. It's all so real. The people. Their experiences. And just growing up as characters. Coming of age, I suppose.
I like the characters of Sam and Patrick. They kind of help Charlie get exposed to all that goes on for an American high-school kid I think. The thing is that the characters kind of became family for me and his friends became my friends because they were characterized so beautifully, like I said before, the book is so real. It makes you feel so good to be involved in his life, to read his personal dairy. The whole group of friends are somewhat like the indie kids of the 90's. So there's a lot of references of Nirvana, the Smiths, pop culture basically of that era.
I especially liked his English teacher 'Bill' who gave him books to read. Made me wish I had someone like that, to give me books and later would listen to me rant about them.
So basically the book is somewhat like a classic. You should read it. I feel it could have been a book in our high school curriculum if not for some graphic scenes and swearing that goes on. The whole book leads to a climax and I think the last 20 pages is where everything kind of starts to make sense. It makes you want to live life right now, to 'participate'. It's basically the book that you wish you had written because it's pure genius. It's a book that I will keep in my shelf and read it again and again not caring if it gets wrinkled or the pages get yellowed. Well, if you haven't read this book, I don't care if you have like an advanced copy of The Casual freaking Vacancy, read THIS.
And about the movie, I just saw the trailer and well I kind of kept on seeing it. No shame. The characters look a lot like I imagined. I'm looking forward to some scenes in specific.
Anyway, bye for now.
Be kind to one another, why did I even write that down? I'm so emotional right now.

Quoting from the book,
“So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.”


PS: Thank you Antara, for the book. :)

Friday, November 2, 2012

Season 3 DONE :D

Christina is my favorite intern.
McDreamy is super hot.
I'll miss Addison. :(
Meredith is such a pain in the ass at times.
So is Callie.
Izzie is so annoying how she falls in love that easily.
Man-whore FTW  \m/.
And damn people have complicated sad lives, other than maybe the 'cure with love' resident.
AND DO NOT WATCH episodes 22 and 23 Season 3. ( Boriinggg)
Grey and Derek are almost over.
Burke left.
Drama much?

Friday, September 28, 2012

Sing to me

I remember making this blog firstly, because I felt like writing and more importantly for keeping an account of what all that I've been doing throughout the years.

So, this is something I'd like to remember; the fact that Shankha got a bronze at the International Olympiad in Informatics, 2012, in Italy. And not the fact that he's going around the country riding gondolas in Venice, drinking Whiskey and being all adventurous, not that part no! Anyway when I first got to know about the whole thing, it really did NOT sink in, I mean the magnitude of the success, but now I MEAN the only guy from India to get a medal, a MEDAL, is like fucking crazy. And the best part is if you meet him, you'll have no clue that THIS GUY IS A PRODIGY. I mean he has no air of showing off the fact that he might be the smartest kid of his generation. Just saying. That's something to learn from him. I wish I was the same, but well! :| Anyway, so he'll be off to some awesome college, might go to MIT, so yeah THIS is something I'd like to remember. Congratulations to you once again mate, you make me proud in more ways than that you can think of. :)

Other than that, there is this other person that I'd like to write about. I think I really haven't written much about her here. But considering she is someone so close to me, I want to remember how amazing she's been. And from that I mean from the time I was a little baby girl. Yes, that is how long I've known her. We've practically grown up together. Played the weirdest of games, have been crazy fans of TV shows, of songs, of hotties. We've celebrated 17 birthdays, 17 Saraswati Pujos, 17 Diwalis. She was always there, always there to take me back home. I can tell her everything in the world without a second thought.  She's someone I call when I'm sitting in the loo and am bored to my wits. Now, this person I'm talking about might be the most disciplined, balanced person you may know of. People around the campus DO NOT know how fun and crazy she can be. And then again she's a freakin genius too. ( I AM SURROUNDED BY SUCH SPECIES. Sigh.. ) I love her. I love spending time with her. I love how she is so simple and down-to-earth. I love how I am a little guarded when I tell her about boys. ( :P You know that!). I love how she loves Grey's Anatomy as much as I do. 

There you go, two utter geniuses, but such lovely human beings. Such fun to be with. Yes, I'd like to remember you two foreverandeververeverever..

SHANKHA now stop with the gelatos. And ROSHNI GET A GUY. :P


Tuesday, September 18, 2012


I’ll dance like no one’s watching
I’ll jump off with not an ounce of fear
I’ll run like the wind is after me
I’ll sing like there’s millions waiting to hear.

The moment the lights are on
The blood red curtains draw away for me
The curious stares make me wobbly beneath
I leap in the air, let myself go free.

The music engulfs my every sense
I flutter away through its sublime line
Starting slow I sway through the tune
My body is light, the stage is mine.

I command every sight in front
They are enticed by my Pirouette’s spot on
The music takes its beats a step ahead
One more leap, I’m off the ground.

I fall hard, I hear a crack
The audience is on their feet
The music stops, a sudden shriek
A child’s cry cuts me off my beat.

Perturbed, I run for the beat
I cling on to it in beautiful grace
I hate the child with the golden locks
The tune, the song is back in place.

The stage is red, circles of red
The song is playing in my head
One more jump, I land perfect
I am euphoric of my pirouette.

I don’t remember the curtains close
I don’t remember the end
Did I amaze the crown with my grand jete?
I hope this time my legs weren’t bent.

I hope daddy held me in my arms
Whispering how proud a father he was
I hope he would still buy me those new ballerinas
Like he promised to me, I hope he does.
It’s strange how all I remember now
Is the music going away, too far away
Where did I go wrong, what did I miss
My mind won’t tell me, I hit rewind and play.

I wonder all this while I lay on bed
With a lost leg, and a dead heart
I had danced till my last fall down
I had danced from the very start.
I had danced when the lights were on
When shutterbugs kept making it hard
I had danced till all I saw seemed dark
I had loved every move, every nick, and every spark.

-----This has been lying ignored in my drafts for a long time now, high time I publish it here.
I've always loved dancing, hope you can connect to it even if you are a non-dancer. But who doesn't love to secretly dance when no one's watching? I bet you do.
Keep shaking it senoras ;)

Monday, September 17, 2012

A post of pictures.

The last Teachers day of school.
5th September. Wrapping up long pretty saris over tired bodies (late night sleep). Teaching classes. Taking in the shizz of the teacher's staff room. Tons of pictures.  Tons of poses. The red roses. The dancing in the class.  The food. The company. The after-party. The CCD madness. The scooty rides. The crazy ass rain. The friends who make you cry and weep and talk shit and then drop you back home. The class, even though how much you hate it at times is so close to your heart that you have no idea how. The and all.


Sunday, September 2, 2012


Sarah was a girl of knowledge. Someone who knew what she wanted, who didn’t roam around the
ice-cream parlour deciding on what flavour to feast on. She loved books; the smell of books, her
fingers would pass through those yellowed pages, making them yellower by the touch. She lived on
a language none in her family spoke of or even knew of. She dreamt of dancing in the arms of the
scandalous yet handsome Rhett Butler, of being friends with Darrell Rivers in her six terms of Malory
Towers, of the trees of Nainital how they swished and swooshed as the times of the monsoon came.

She had her own little nook, where she’d elope when the night would give away, when the house
would be bustling with hungry men drinking to the brim, where her innocence would be juggled by
men with hungry eyes and hands the size of her timid body. All that separated her from the filthy
shenanigans of the night outside would be a cranky door latch and a world of imagination tucking
her in to sleep to a much safer abode, to a morning where the house would be so quiet that she
could finally be.

Living in a man’s world was a task she was born with. She wasn’t used to emotions, to teenage love,
to going crazy about the next MTV stint. She wasn’t used to staring at mannequins, to tapping away
on trashy touch-screens, to manicured fingers and pedicured toes.

The house rarely smelt of food. Rarely would there be a pan frying or the sizzle of burnt biriyani
masala her Ammi used to recklessly burn, but that was two years ago. Sarah was now the only
woman in between the ravenous beasts.

Her only escape would be Charu and Panchali, people of the same mind set but with four-wheelers
to step on to head back to their respective homes in the posh area of Ballygunge Place. Charu
and Panchali might be her only solace but they would never understand, would never know how
cold it was for her outside, how she was in this psychological trauma, this anxiety, how her very
adolescence was a thing she was scared of. How the very sound of Abbu’s arrival with the Koran
tightly held under his armpits was the most ironic image she had ever seen, even more than the
fictitious work she was so used to reading.

Abbu was a child molester. Someone the crew from the new show Aamir Khan had come up with
would pay a bunch of rupees to secure, someone they were taught to fend away at school, and
someone who would be a felonious criminal in the eyes of the media and the public in general.

Sarah was a girl of knowledge. Someone who knew what she wanted, but had only patches of
dreams of a reality she would never get hold of.


Source: Pinterest

Little something I wrote at school, just scribbled down some words and voila had something to get rid of the worst kind of writer's block. :/ And yes I hear you, the inspiration and what I came up with are like miles apart but PINTEREST does that to you I guess. 
I think Deepika Padukone (?) looks absolutely breath-taking and I REALLY REALLY need to get my nose pierced. SIGH 

Monday, August 20, 2012


The two of us. We really don’t make sense. I talk, you start talking but hell I talk right when you even start. So yes countless conversations which don’t even start but turn to one more anecdote I have to share. It’s weird how I know I do this all the time but I cannot stop. 

You and me, let’s face it we are idiots. We have perfect bad ways to express emotion. IDIOTS.  We are bewildered at how people in love around can talk chat gift presents stare at each other for hours while we find it hard to even say a stupid “I love you” without thinking twice although I KNOW I love the living shit out of you. Plain and simple as that.

 We have a crazy on and off thing like the rains around here where you never know when you’ll be blown away with the things nature can do. Mother of God, we are such plain idiots, such idiots who love to just cuddle when most people would tread on to a new base for the heck of it.
I guess we have gotten used to the awkward lower arm, the silent moments with only low slow drags to fill the silence, the little kisses here and there and that feeling at night when the moments suddenly creep up out of nowhere.

Idiots. Total idiots.

 I remember this perfect silence that we had one time and I had this overwhelming urge of breaking through the silence. That is so random a thing to say but then all I did was just sing out a note loud and clear. Haha, and then the times when I absentmindedly brush my hair to one side when I know you’re looking at me and I try to act as if nothing is happening? The times when I will get all dude-ish and pretend that I don’t need you while all I want to do is cuddle some more. I will try and hide these feelings all the way. And maybe MAYBE someday I WILL consider the fact that you might feel the same. That you too marvel at my clumsiness, my dumb wit and my inability to make you laugh or to bake cake.

 Someday I will find the perfect words to tell you how I feel about you. Till then I'll munch on them perfect pancakes. Funny word that, perfect…

Sam B.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

When in LADAKH Part I

1.Walk down the streets of Leh to the city center

2.Let go of your long suppressed wishes

3.Climb to the terrace of every monastery you visit
(Little secret: THAT is where all the magic unfolds)

4.Click a self portrait with a chanting wheel if you must ;)

5.Stare and stare and wonder if there's anyplace more magical

May the odds be EVER in your favor! 

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Little joys in life: Hammocks

I remember you telling me about the new hammock you had bought. A new addition to your amazing home which is without any doubt one of my favorite places in this campus of ours. Set in the backyard midst the trees, it was quite a charming little nook.

Weren't we excited the initial summer days when it was set up?  Imaginary games on the hammock, laying down in twos while the leaves above played lovely shadows on our faces. The silly contests of picking up clips from the ground while swinging to and fro on the hammock. How the ropes would weigh down after a long nap on the hammock and would take sometime for the whole ensemble to resemble its former taut self.
It was a peaceful happy time, no routine, no aim in life, just swinging to the silent periodic sound coming from the ropes conflicting with the termite infested tree trunk.

It's been ages that we've not put up the hammock, I would sprint out of my chair with no pretense what-so-ever if we decide to put it up today, on this hot summer day. Somehow the summers have an immediate association to little things like these.
Maybe the rising temperatures today, makes me think about things in the past summer when I wouldn't busy myself cribbing about the immense heat and humidity and how this is the hottest summer in the history of Kharagpur.

With hopes of a hammock ride in a week's time ( Take note YOU!),
Sam B

Friday, May 18, 2012


Behold ye loyal stalkers, I have news!

1. The post on "dadu" ( got featured! And I know for some of you it might seem like such a- normal-everyday-thing but I am totally on cloud nine thousand. :P

Anyway, check out the organization who were so kind as to feature my post. Aamoksh One Eighty looks like such an amazing retirement home based on the foothills of the ever beautiful Kodaikanal, catering to the needs of the elderly and retired people. The site even has a picture of the cutest grandpas playing a game of soccer on the beach. Now that is one retirement home I'd love to go visit.

Anyway, here's the post

2. An awesomespice thanks to Kirti from for the versatile blogger award. This is one blog you don't want to miss stalking. Go check out her amazing blog full of short stories, randomness and music.

Now as per the rules,
1. Create a new post
2. Thank the lovely person who nominated you for the award.
3. Pass it on to your fellow bloggers.
4. State 7 random facts about you.
5.Claim and post the award pic.
Moving on to rule 4,

7 random facts:

1. I have finally gotten back to practicing Bharatanatyam after a year long gap. Feels good to dance along to the amazing Carnatic tunes and the rhythmic sound of the Ghungrus.
2. Have been reading a lot of books lately which makes me feel really good about myself.
3. I am hugely fascinated by dark alleys, rugged doors and black and white tiled floors.
4. Pinterest is currently the best thing on the WWW.
5. I really like doing math.
6. I hate the fact that I cycle less these days and am on the scooty more often.
7. Cannot wait for the Pujos to start. They are somehow the best days of the year.

As per passing on the award, I swear I'll do that later due to the time constraint at the moment. SCHOOL NIGHT *sigh*
Anyway other than that,
I have been pinning all day long over here : Has totally taken over my sanityyyyy. :/
Any of you guys on pinterest?! If not GO LOG IN and get drugged.
Some pinterest lowe your way,

This might be my favorite pin ever.

Signing off, 
Sam B.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

The Artist

Midst the twisting streets, buzzing motor scooters, leaf-shaded cafes, faded roof tiles, cigarette smoke, ancient buildings he sat on a patch of sidewalk his belongings haphazardly strewn all around him.
A vagabond artist noted for a life of travel between festivals, Franz solely lived from the coins tossed next to his drawings by foreign tourists in awe of his masterpieces.
He sat alone in his own bubble tracing lines to match the cathedral round the corner he was attempting to replicate. His board hitched on the cobbled street just beside the city square, his palette colored bright today he was living out dreams on a sheet.
Long forgotten were the fights with Martha over the scanty money he produced yesterday, the begging eyes of his two little sons craving for a loaf of bread to fill their empty stomachs. Today he didn’t have a care in the world about the self imposed deadlines, the marketing, the need to produce good art for his existence.
As the colors started to bend, he slaved away on the canvas perfecting every line, smoothening out the edges, darkening the shadowed parts.
High accolades from the crowd filled the square as more and more tourists thronged around Franz staring at the impossible, murmurs of “how he did it?” Some taking photographs to show to their friends and family. Some sympathized, others just stood in awe of him.
People were more interested in seeing the cathedral through his oil and pastel rather than through the sanctity of their naked eyes. With the rattling of coins, they sure did guarantee a safe escape from the painful words Martha never failed to spit out at him.
As the last rays of light scanned over the place, he hustled away from his usual spot, cleaning up the mess of paint and hurried over to his den.
On the way he stopped by the local bakery, tugging along a warm loaf of bread with his baggage of tools. The warm bread felt heavier than even the sturdy wooden board, bet the kids would rush over to their papa with shouts of joy.
As he walked past the dark waters of the Seine, his mind wandered off to the days when life was so much easier.
All he now knew was that the night was to be a good one, a lot like they used to be before the night when he lost one eye.
Yes, tonight he would sleep in peace, he would glimpse his angels savor the bread, he would kiss Martha good night and rock her to sleep, tonight he would be intoxicated by memories and feelings, a very rare event in his two dimensional life of a struggling artist.


This is written for Ruhani's Mindbowing May DAY 16!, check out you'll!
I started off with the first inspiration; the second inspiration just happened to find its place somewhere in between. Yes I be total coolness B)
Anyway SOME BIG STUFF happened in the past few days blog-wise. More on that later, maybe on my next post here.

Love :*
Sam B

Thursday, May 10, 2012

"The ones that love us never really leave us"

"Do you miss your son?"

In the beginning,
she said yes because her son was murdered overseas at a place where she could not protect him. 

She said yes, because your son isn't supposed to go before you, that's just not the way life is supposed to happen.

She said yes, because Tom was a brave kid, so daring, so young. 

She said yes, because her son had gone, never to come back, until the haunting memories of his funeral would obscure her dreams.

She said yes maybe a thousand times as millions of people, lovers and strangers thronged her house over and over again. Her house was stocked with so much food that would last her the whole of the year. Or maybe two.  She had flowers so many that she didn't know what to do with them. Cards expressing love, sadness and memories of the fondest kind. She even had awkward conversations with the kids that lived on her street, their mothers forcing them to check up on her every other day. 

Then came the day of the funeral. The first time she had cried in the stillness of the night as she had set the time for the memorial pretty late; telling no one of the secret memorial she performed at the quaint, shady spot at the nearby park. Somewhere where Tom would be blessed with knowledge, somewhere where she could silently tiptoe to talk sweet nothings to all that was left of him. An aesthetically engraved stone of his name and a patch of green filled with white daises he had always loved.

Time passed as she slowly turned older. Every year she would reach that same spot she picked out for him with a bunch of wild daises in hand. One more year accomplished. One more year set. One more year of solitude, seclusion, isolation.

Years have passed since. One last time she was asked by the local newspaper reporting of Tom's unexpected death 20 years back. For the final time, "Do you miss your son?" A silent pause followed by a silent denial.

In the end,
She said no; because her son was murdered overseas at a place where she could not protect him, he had gone knowing what to expect, doing a job he had loved.

She said no; because even if your kid isn't supposed to go first but you have to trust them and let then go because you know he had been young, happy, brave and strong while he was at the ends of his life.

She said no; because her son had not gone at all. What all remained of him was not only that little spot at the park by her house, it wasn't only the books and pictures she had left of him. It was so much more than the inanimate objects around the house she kept close to her fearing they would somehow vanish. She didn't need a Polaroid of Tom tucked in her hand purse, she didn't need to stare at her desktop background till tears flooded her tired eyes. She had learnt to carry him in her heart.

After so many years she finally understood "The ones that love us never really leave us, You can always find them cradling deep inside our heart".

~Sam B
This is written for Ruhani's Mindbowing May.

Firstly, I feel the writing could have been better had I paid a little more effort, went through it a little too hastily. Other than that, I feel a little sad at the weak response for Mindblowing May, not many bloggers are actually joining in like they did during Fantabulous February, I know people are busy and all but it feels so nice to see 10 more people write on the same topic.I hope Ru's amazing efforts bring a lot many people to join in because she's doing such a good job. I love love the inspirations this time. So variant and fun. And yes Harry Potter FTW. Join in all you creative heads out there!

Sunday, May 6, 2012


I’ve never lost someone before you. So yes, seeing you leave was a complete new turn in life. Had you left any last note bidding your last goodbye, I would have never left but held you close in my arms until your body would turn cold and lifeless like it did. It’s strange how we never understand how much a person means to us once he’s in our life; they say we take people for granted. Yes, I never really thought you would turn into a piece of my memory, someone I would think about in indiscriminate moments, tear up at times and escape into the comfort of ma’s hugs. It doesn’t feel the same in Korunamoyee anymore, like when I don’t see you huddled up in bed talking about how the left front has changed from the old times, how you had huge tiffs with dida on the silliest of things; the way me and tito would cuddle with you and listen about your journeys through Europe and awe at every little detail, how we’d make fun of your girlfriends long back then and dida would awkwardly smile shooing us off. And how about the times when you’d show us your vast coin collection, a magnifying glass in hand we’d go through coins as old as our great-great grandfather’s. Dadu, I haven’t talked to you in a long time, so long that it breaks my heart to even write this down. Frankly speaking, I didn’t feel that sad when I saw you covered in white, crammed into a van with flowers covering the whole of your body, a peaceful aura throughout your face, being carried away to the burning ghats. It clearly didn’t register then. That moment seeing people breaking down to their feet, it didn’t make sense as to why they felt so, weren’t they happy to see you at relief from all the pain cancer would cause?
Now it feels very empty all of a sudden, it took me 2 years to actually realize the effect of your existence. I picture your face as I write this and I see you smiling down at me and saying those usual words, “ titir tui boro hobi ar boro scientist hobi”; the way you’d go over to a stranger and completely embarrass me by proudly explaining how good I am in my academics and how I did this and did that and how I even play soccer with boys and then how I’d run away self consciously and shout at you later  every time; but you’d never listen.
Each week as we drive down to Kolkata; the city feels new. I miss being the person I was with you. I miss your Einstein like air, carelessly white flying around, your rupa frontline vest with small holes all over it which you’d never leave, I miss the kisses on your forehead, the way you’d go about doing every little knick knack in the house, the way you’d look at dida and would make us believe that ultimate love did exist, 50 years of marriage paid true evidence of that.
Dadu, if I could call someone to be a higher power, someone up there looking out for me, that’d be you. Everything else feels so lame now that you’ve gone. I know how hard it is for ma, for dida, for paul mama, for little tito. We love you so much, it’s stupid to even note that down once again, but like I was telling dida we hope you are finally dancing away with hot chicks in the beaches of Hawaii like you always wanted to. ;)

Dadu, For you a thousand times over.

Titir/Sam B/ Your rebellious little natni :)

This is written for Ruhani's Mindbowing May, check out you'll! 
Thank you for inspiring me in such a different level all together. You have been doing an amazing job being so out-of-the -box with the inspirations. 
Anyway, dadu is my mum's dad, dadu in bengali, dida being my mum's mum. He was one very special person for me and he's without doubt someone I adore, respect, love, value the most if I could say so for an individual
. 2 years has been hard but life goes on. Anyway, it's been a leettle beet too emotional today but Dadu, I know you've got God on the run, quite a perky man you are :*

Monday, April 30, 2012

The random one liner post!

17 year old in 2 hrs.....bursting from inside happy!!! Is it normal to feel so elated on one's own birthday? Call me crazy! No big parties this time, keeping it low I guess. LOADS of BnR, food, coke and the best of people. Oh and CAKEEEEEE

Happy BDAY meeeee, 17 kisses to you!


Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Summer on the Sea

Chapter 1

The rusty bell rang announcing the arrival of yet another girl from the foreign lands trying to merge into the Indian populace. Wearing that ever famous Kurti with a jhola, the quintessential Gayatri Mantra weaved in red throughout the fibers and with that an attempt of carrying the bindi on her pale white forehead. And that very same air of adventure; of living life on her own terms; Of not giving a fuck.  The thousands of such people outnumbering the Goan man are an intriguing batch of people; I bet you feel the same; or else why look at them intently when they cross paths?

I hopped off my rusty high stool, walking through the circle of smoke I’d specialized through years of practice, hurried over to the door. Outside the area marked with pristine white canopies was flapping madly in the wind. The sun was out, a glint of the sea obscuring my sight. The doors of “Baga Café” were open to one and all. Obviously she was new to the place and waited for her turn to enter into the blood red walls of paradise. Yes, this is what Baga was. The minute you enter, you encounter this waft of marijuana, the intoxicating Goan beer, of white shrimp sauce and eggs tossed over in sizzling pans and a whole lot of sweat, sand and the sea. The brilliant red color pouring out of the walls wakes you up in a trance. You enter, and it takes a while for the eyes to somber down.  Amidst the chaos, is the everyday crowd of rookies, lazying around, aimlessly cooing to the hearty tunes of the big guy, Fernandez.  A Goan man with a paunch the size of his loud mouth but a heart even bigger.  With a ukulele in his hands Fernandez was the life behind our café, millions pouring into the place just to see him smile, jitter from stool to stool, and contemplate over his music ranging from the Beatles, the carpenters to my favorite Goan song, yaya mayyaya. Not one person is left seated as the whole cafe swings into groups celebrating life as it is. All in all, Fernandez could beat the crap out of any wannabe soul singer gaining fame out of reality television.

Now you’ve seated yourself far away from the disorder, opting for a quiet spot overlooking the blue waters. Your stare is calm and composed as if you’ve found out your niche in this place and have sunk in. You look somehow washed out; clearly having a hard time dealing with the parched Goan summer. A minute later you are flipping through the soiled papers of our printed menu seldom used by the usual customer. Thank God I made it a point to leave some for circumstances like these. Enjoying myself, I see you worry yourself from head to toe over the array of omelets served here. On a usual day I would have walked over recommending the Spanish omelet, by far the crowd favorite; but seeing you cringe and fret over such irrelevant details catered for sadistic pleasure in my heart. I smiled. Leaning over the bar, I looked around as sepia toned pictures of my own alcove animated through my mind. For that moment, I felt like yes things were right, that I sure had grown from being the aimless bloke, who had his life served in a silver platter, a person who would be stereotyped as a  ‘snob’. The minute dad died, me in my second year in college; it had to stop. The partying, the booze, the girls, the cars, the bikes, the living on the money from dad’s big-time company.  What came was responsibility of my family, taking a stand as the only male left in the family, caring for my little sisters and my inconsolable mother, but mainly what was left was this massive guilt of doing nothing throughout my life then. Of having no dreams, no aim, no vision, no experience to boast of. I felt incomplete and not the usual handsome stud I was made to feel, who could get around with whatever he wanted, do whatever he felt like. Not thinking through, I had bought a ticket to Goa, running away from my traumatized family, I had hid inside my friend’s house in the heart of Panaji. With hopes that the sea would provide me a new home, a place to clear my mind out, to set off to a new start. Hence commenced my summer on the sea.


Here goes something I've been writing. About the sea, the sand, the sun, of new beginnings. Awaiting your feedback like always! 

Sam B

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

"And the only way to get rid of a shadow is to turn off the lights, to stop running from the darkness and face what you fear, head on."

Taken at my very close friend's drama recital. Took my camera out after a long long time. Kind of went OTT with the picture capturing. Might have seen most of the play through the lens but none the less, a really good evening spent there. Have some more pictures to post. This one here might be my favorite among all of the 800 pictures. ( I told you I had gone crazy!) I love the lighting, the Ramayana feel to it,  and the fact that it reminded me of this quote I had hearted a year back.

Guess who's getting all three of the hunger games books? ME ME ME *wink wink* I cannot wait to get that big brown package mashed around with that well known flipkart tape with a lovely "handle with care" sign carefully put on because obviously there's bloody important stuff inside. 
And then I hear the books look lovely and there's supposed to be a hunger games t shirt too inside. What are you kidding me? 3 more days. The bloody perks of people who live in the metros and get books in 2-3 days and people like me just have to wait and tick of dates on calendars. :( 
Anyway BIG BLOGGY shout-out to Peebeaaaaa! Thank you for telling me. I had lost all hope on getting the books in a reasonable parents-not-giving-me-the-look price. :P

Will tell you when they reach our place, and I am officially out of facebook again. ( Done that before. Didn't work out to say the least. Had my butt back on the very next day. Here's to trying once again. Bleh!)

Sam B

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


This is from Would be uber cool if you guys could stick it out and answer a few!

Here is my response.

1) What is your favourite word?............................Serendipity and supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (It's funny and I go to sing song mode thinking about it)
2) What is your least favourite word? words in specific, hate acronyms, they don't really say much but pretend to do so.
3) What turns you on creatively, emotionally or spiritually?......................... Humor
4) What turns you off?........................routine life
5) What is your favourite curse word....................... the usual f word. :/
6) What sound or noise do you love?....................... Rain, Coldplay
7) What sound or noise do you hate?....................... The phone ringing.
8) What profession would you like to attempt?....................Soccer player, shack/cafe owner, dancer, LAZING AROUND could be considered a profession?, World traveler on the lines of Samantha Brown.
9) What profession would you not like to do?.........................anything associated with a timetable and routine.
10) If heaven exists, what would you like god to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?.............................Hell you were one tough cookie :P

Send me your links if you guys do this. I'm tagging whoever is interested and I might have said that before. Other than that, class 12 has started and it's been pretty darn boring.
Sam B

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Chocolate Cake!

*The clatter of flour strewn utensils, the smell of raw eggs, the oh so lovely vanilla essence and the sight of chocolate that makes you dizzy to the core*
Bloggers, readers, dogs, cats, Good people, not so good people....


And I swear not one person died eating the shit! YAYAYAYA!  I feel like I've climbed the stairs of self actualization!! (not!)

Anyway, I've been pretty much neglecting this little space because of some FIITJEE stuff I have to deal with. Other than that, it's been pretty good..gorging on huge amounts of BnR and getting back on the field with my running shoes on and hanging with the BEST PEOPLE ON THE FACE OF PLANET EARTH.

Give me 2 weeks and I'll be back on track,
Till then here are some random pics that have been lying around; some taken while hanging with Antara, some from Ladakh, and one of my desktop background.

Antara and yours truly on our walk around the campus.


Pangong tso, Ladakh

Nubra Valley, Ladakh

Weird stares and goofy smiles. HEY YOU :P


Thursday, March 15, 2012



The exams are over! Good times ahead now before class 12 descends. How frickin crazy is it that we are the senior most class in school? I feel laid back and happy all of a sudden, reading books, going out to eat, playing soccer, NOT fretting over stupid exams!
Have been reading the Mediator series, Meg Cabot. It's about this girl who can see the dead talk to them and help them clear their conscience and free them from hanging around after death. What I think is, the book is a lot better than the princess diaries which are so damn SAME. Mia ranting on about life and how hard it is o be a princess now. BITE ME! :/ Anyway so Mediator is way sensible than that, but still I would refer to the book as 'time pass'. It's a light read and you can finish off in a few hours. So, read it if you have nothing else to do. And holy moly, there's this dead person who is supposedly hot and has a six pack, still have no clue how that works. :P
Other than that, I've realized this thing that screws me up big time. And that is PLANNING on what to do. If I come up with a plan to finish off whatever it is I want to, in 5 mins I'm slacking off. It's so screwed up. I've made up a plan so not to PLAN things out and do things spontaneously hoping I'll get more work done that way. And what is with all my creative juices overflowing my tank during the exams and NOW all of a sudden I'm completely drained of anything creative. It's not even fair. I tell you, the exams have this hidden good side to them. I wrote for fanta feb, drew sketches for the first time, danced a lot more than usual.
And now all I'm doing is reading books, sleeping and mending by cut leg. Worthless. My butt does not move and make me start writing something and hence this pointless post. Anyway I wrote this thing after listening to Katy Perry, took the first line; has the same tune. 

Summer love

Summer after high school when we first met
Over chit chat and flip flops we were all set
Mornings began with goofing round the beach.

Used to take piggy back rides, play in the blues
Talk about our futures, like we have a clue
Never knew that one day you’d be a stranger too.

Sneaking to your terrace, catching fireflies
Laughing through the night, till the lights would die
Would pinch myself hard to know if this was true?

Cos, in that night of ours
You were the light in that dark place
Over cans of coke and promises
Our friendship was there to stay

Cos in that night of ours
You were captured in my jar
Crawl out or peep through
You would not go any far

You were my summer love from May..

Your wonky blue truck, the Panera breads
The feather you used to braid down my head
Drawing footprints and building castles in the sand

Fighting and squabbling over TV shows
Messing around at the rowdy circus below
Never thought that one day I’d be losing you.
Cos you were my army fool
That summer that we met
Over fireworks and magic shows
Not once did I regret

Cos you were my army bloke
You went off to save our land
We had to break up over silent stares
As my legs gave away in the sands

Boy, You were my love from May..

I feel the beach is my calling. :D

Have a great day,