Come-back post #Umpteen.

I've been out of touch with the writer in me for quite a while now. It's something I like doing, but somehow, I've always managed to find a reason to shelf it. Not that I'm avoiding it, after all, it isn't really a compulsion. It isn't a compulsion at all. In fact, I want to keep writing. Lots of thoughts in my mind, every now and then. And I want to put them all down. Given that I've been using the blogger like a personal journal of sorts, a vent to my ever-full-of-infinite-thoughts mind, I actually enjoy writing here. Moreover, I like a little bit of audience every once in a while. And I know for a fact I don't write that bad either. It's mostly random, but it's honest. And what I've learned over the years is, honesty sells. Oh yes, it does. People love honesty. I love honesty. There's a feeling of freedom to everything honest, especially when they're confessions, guilty or not. Honesty. That brings me back to why I haven't been writing as often as I originally intended to while creating this blog.

I've been lazy. Wayyy (yes, that many Ys) too lazy for a 20 year old, I can vouch. The thoughts just keep coming and going, the self-answered questions, and a few unanswered ones, the experiences, the feelings.. And the laptop's right here, open beside me. But there's always a "better reason" to not write: five more minutes of sleep which ultimately extends up to a couple of hours or more; watching more than my daily quota of episodes of 'The Mentalist' (an awesome show I've started watching recently); lying down on my bed and doing some more day-dreaming; reading other blogs; or simply pretending to "study".
"Always one excuse or the other." (thick teacher-ish accent).
But I want to write. It's just that I don't want to make that effort of actually sitting up and typing all of that. Sometimes I wish we had a technology wherein we would simply think and all our thoughts would magically get written on their own. Very much like Rita Skeeter's magic quill, I would say. But if only even half our wishes came true, right?

A few of my friends, and also a few other people who surprisingly follow my blog discreetly, much to the pleasure of my childish desire for praise, have been telling me to write something soon 'cause they like what they read. (Discreet followers, if you be reading this, yes, you're not the only one). So that kind of acts like an inspiration of sorts to actually sit and update this page. If not for me, for them. So here I am, in yet another attempt to revive the writer in me. I like that person, and I want her to live. Besides the extremely passionate person in me who likes photography and everything to do with it, the writer in me is almost the only other person in me I'm proud of. Phew, that's intense, eh? I wish I could post half as frequently, okay one-fifth, no make that one-tenth as frequently as those Thought Catalog people (http://thoughtcatalog.com/ for all you ignorant retards), and of course not to mention half as awesome, but that's not possible.

I know this blog won't last forever. It has to end one day. Either I'll run out of thoughts and actually face the writer's block everybody keeps talking about, or I'll just grow up to realise what a stupid kid I have been wasting precious minutes of my life over a stupid little machine that cannot react to human emotions and will inevitably become obsolete one day.

But till then, I'll keep trying. And I hope one day, when I'm gone, someone somewhere will read my very own "thought catalog" here, and will remember me for the person they discovered I was.

Haunted.

The world is always changing, but I like to believe it is actually the same. It really depends on how you look at it. If the world implies the people to you, then yes, it is changing. Everyday. However, in a rather larger perspective, it isn't. People may keep adding new buildings and roads everyday, but a majority of them stay back. I believe that the people who die, or even the living people, have the capability to haunt. They haunt the place they have spent a lot of time, or even a moment worth a lifetime, at, in the form of memories, or distant echoes that somehow eerily exist. The Statue of Liberty, or the Eiffel Tower, or the Taj Mahal, or even that old house on the neighbouring street - all those buildings built so many decades (in some cases even centuries) ago..they are all haunted. Haunted by the people who lived in them, who dropped their last sweat to see the completion of their creation. Even a house where we have lived for a considerable amount of time, I don't think when we move on, we move altogether. We leave a part of us behind, the part which haunts the place forever. Even if that room or building is gone, that space of air still remains that had once touched us. We are all ghosts, whether we want it or not. And even while we're walking down the road, whether we feel it or not, there is the ghost of the person who walked it before us, maybe laughed, cracked a joke with a friend..even that laughter remains. That building over there, dark and locked, I can hear the old man changing the channel and laughing at his wife's wit, even though it has been ages since they both passed away. It does not matter if I've seen him or not, the face is unknown but the everything else - it's like I've known them all my life. I can also hear the newspaper boy shouting while professionally throwing the rolled up paper onto the balcony, waving and smiling in retort at the old couple as he passes by. I can hear the group of college kids sitting on the corner of that road, all of them without a face but with voices only well known, at 1 A.M. in the night, getting drunk and laughing, even though they are now working in different parts of the world, apart. Maybe you can hear it too, if you are open to hearing it. Or maybe I'm just not normal. My mother once told me of a very intriguing theory she came up with herself while she was growing up. It is a well know fact (for science students at least), that energy remains constant in any isolated system. It can neither be created, nor destroyed. It may change forms, but it remains. So what if we were to assume this entire universe as a whole isolated system? Also, we know that sound is a form of energy. Thus, everything ever spoken, every sound ever made, every word ever uttered, is there around us, always, invisible. From the moment Man's life on earth on began till today and continuing, no word spake has left this universe, it's all around us, in the form of energy. Every emotion, every experience expressed in words or sounds, it's all there and here to stay. It's around you right now. Doesn't that send a chill down your spine? It does mine. It's haunted. Everything is. We're all connected somehow, the different generations. Who knows where we'll go once we die. Maybe join our ancestors in some possible post-death haven, or maybe just fizz out into nothingness. Whatever be it, whether we live or die, the ghosts we leave behind will continue to stay and haunt the places we leave, as memories keen on holding on, eternally.

A Great Mind, A Great Work.

Aaj Pochishe Baishakh. Aaj kobi guru Rabindranath Thakurer dershotomo jonmo dibosh. His 150th birthday. Tagore, as he is popularly known worldwide, is more than just another Noble laureate. To me he signifies the entire rich Bengali culture and art. His music, prose, poetry, and stories both long and short, still do not fail to push us into the great depths of his vivid and beautiful imagination. It still does not fail to charm our inner senses, take us to another world altogether - his world - a world we would most willingly plunge into. He and his works are an asset and pride not just for all Bengalis, but for all lovers of art. And today, as a sign of remembrance and respect on the day of his most hyped sesquicentennial anniversary celebrations, I would like to share on this forum one of my favourite poems, and quite an appropriate one in the present scenario, by the bard. Titled 'Choddosho Shaal' (The Year 1400 - as in the Bengali calendar, this year being the 1418th year), it talks about a time 100 years down the line from when Tagore wrote this poem, when perhaps his work would be read with equal zest as had been when he was writing this. Read on.

Kobi Guru Rabindranath Thakur ke janai pronaam.

(Poem source: http://www.ganguly.de/Tagore/)

Oh Look What I Found!

Stumbled upon this on Facebook. Some guy tagged a friend of mine.

How cool is that? Right? Hats off to the guy who edited the original poster (you figured which, right?)!!

The Calvin-Hobbes Connection in Fight Club.

Yes you read it right.
Calvin and Hobbes, the popular comic strip by Bill Watterson you can never put down.
Fight Club, that awesome movie you saw by David Fincher starring Brad Pitt and Edward Norton.
Oh you read it right alright.

Now read again.

http://metaphilm.com/philm.php?id=29_0_2

That's the link to the theory which says the imaginary Tyler Durden is (a re-incarnated) Hobbes, while Jack is really a grown up Calvin. Copy-paste the above given link on your address bar and go to the page to read more.

Read it.
It's fascinating.

ps- Thank you Tarun Misra, for sharing this link with me. It was a delightful read indeed!