Truant in canary-shoes

1. Ladybugs have taken over my balcony. They eat aphids. Nymphadora suggested that it is a cause for celebration that I am not an aphid. I know that. She knows that. The question is: do the ladybugs know?

2. So last night I finally saw the northern lights. From my very own window that looks out onto the river and the north sky. If I had a bucket list for life, this would be one item in it. The thing is, I have decided not to create the bucket list myself and delegated the task to life. So life is now taking me to Lac Ste. Anne tomorrow afternoon. Life also suggested to me in its very subtle way that I pray for people while I am there. May be pick up a few blessings hardened into stones and give them away to those who need it. 

3. Note to self: My mind functions in the weirdest way and decided to divulge to you the story about the lady bugs first and northern lights later. 

4. I don't have a bucket list but I do have a secret wish. It's been buzzing in there since March. Now I am waiting to see if my very own Deus Ex Machina can guess what it is and do something about it. Sorry to be so cryptic. This is almost another note to self. I dare to do these things in a so-called public space like a blog because I am almost certain that no one reads it. Also because sometimes I like to irritate people mildly. 

5. That's all for now. There is no fifth point. I just like primes. 

Teta Metit

التيتا ماتت وما في انترنت بالضيعة‬

In other words, 'grandmother died and no internet in the village'. In some other words, sorry I have been out of touch.

I am proud. Of my achievements. By achievements I mean the ability to successfully pick up and reproduce Arabic slangs and proverbs at the right moment. My Lebanese roommate Rantoush is equally proud too. She can now show me off as a perfect student. This would explain why we shout kusummak and uskimaki at each other. You guessed right as they are used between us as the highest form of affection. Also, they mean the same.

This is a strange household. It reminds me of our old place in North Calcutta where people used to leave their front doors open for pretty much anybody to come in while they would be taking their siestas. Here, DV comes and goes as she pleases. Lucie and company come to work in their little kitchen garden and never fail to knock on my window and peek in and say hi. Rantoush takes the last bus from school at one in the morning, enters the house in tiptoes and starts dancing with enthusiasm as soon as she steps in my room, trying to share coherently and incoherently the details of her exciting days. I almost had gotten used to the weird rhythm of this house. Especially I had thought that none of Rantoush's quirks could surprise me anymore. However, I was supposed to stand corrected when the other night she came in, posed as the tickle monster and jumped in the general direction of my body shouting the war cry Katukutu. Yes, Bongs... Katukutu.. and yes she is a full-on Arab who loves the aatar made of belphul or زهرة فل.

I am moving again in a week from now and starting another leg of this journey in another apartment. However I doubt that I will go back to the no-pants-dandy-legs life of a bach as now I seem to have acquired a family here. Edmonton proves to be full of little surprises. Stay tuned for more adventures!

PS: Speaking of adventures, my little Lomo Diana is now starting to deliver. Thought it was time to change the header image :)

The Demise of a Fighter, in other news Jatugriha

So on June 4th, 2011 I receive a call from the foster parents of Gadhesh saying that he has passed away after suffering for a couple days. We discussed the last rites and as I am writing this, he has been put to rest under a maple tree hoping that in the next life he becomes a bird which is one step ahead in the evolution race. Although, given that Gadhesh was my pet and on one occasion had decided to jump out of his bowl to attack a friend of mine, quirkiness can not be discounted and he might end up evolving into a flying fish. That would be pretty neat in my opinion. Looking back, he seemed to have great insights into human characters and I should have taken his hint. I am not saying that I should have bitten the said friend but I am also not not saying that I should have bitten the said friend.

Speaking of friends, this morning Rantoush tried to cheer me up saying that Gadhesh must already have gone to the fish-heaven and either he has found his mate there and is having fun without trying to tear her apart or he has turned into a fish-angel and going around saying sorry to all the orphan little fish whose parents he murdered in his moments of rage.

Given that yesterday we learned that we were living in a house that was an inch away from a huge dryer fire, I really understand being enraged to the max and not being able to do something about it because we have to be nice. I was and am frying inside because people are not only assholes but they believe in it as if it's the standard and I can't go beyond a certain point to indicate that they are being superdicks. Gahh the helplessness of being civil and human!!! Being a fish is sometimes so much easier.

Lonely and Shy Boisakh

Yeah bitches.... I am back. And you know why? You wanna know why? Because it's the Bengali New Year that announces the advent of summer and all things warm, it tells you that your prickly heats are back and are gonna stay the season and back in old Kolkata, power starts to "come" at certain times of the day and not "go" as they shed the loads. And somewhere in Kolkata people are eating Ilish and wearing finest and crispestly starched Dhakai sarees and cotton kurtas and visiting friends and foes. And that brings me here today.

As of now, 8.09 pm in Edmonton, we have the Christmas lights (yes CHRISTMAS FUCKING LIGHTS!!) on since it went dark(which was rather early, let me tell you that) and Rantoush and I had a very sombre dinner listening to Frosty the Snowman un-showered and in our pjs because... it's snowing like hell since last night without a break. Just before eating our sad meal(which was by itself the yummiest ever) I was putting the lights on to pretend that the sign of festivities has not died in this household and then I stood at our picture-frame window of the living room looking at the snow-pile outside.

I was probably shaking my head to myself while I heard Rantoush muttering under her breath sitting at the kitchen table:
-Yeah , yeah, I know you are trying to deal with it... Just as I am trying to find a suitable Christmas song on the fucking internet..when it decides to show it's face ..But you know, this is ...surprise.. APRIL! We're all dealing with our issues you know..!
-Yeah man.. What.. This.. I HATE this..
-Yeah, Melancholy is my family name..

...and then she kept muttering about whether the shower was gonna happen, or whether she should go out in her pjs and the hilariously childish striped t-shirt and sandals for a smoke at which point I decided to retire to my perch and write to all you fine people that we are still alive.. So, YOU may begin your debaucheries and assholeries for another year, I permit you in the finest grace and charm that I can summon at this moment. I. Don't. Give. A. Shit.

The Cinnamon Peeler : Michael Ondaatje

I am trying very hard not to fall in love but ..it's hard.. "Nuf about me..Why don't you just read this?

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
-- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other womenthe grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume.
and knewwhat good is itto be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in an act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.

I am not a Clydesdale but...

Apparently when you live in -30s, you adapt. Also people remind you daily that being bfff with the double-duvet is not a great socializing option and they mind if you are not paying attention. So you grumble, put on about twelve layers of clothing and go check out the winter festivals.. as if you didn't have enough of the snow already. After about three such expeditions, the festivals become more or less a continuous walk-on-the snow, try-to-warm-yourself-by-chopping-some-wood, failure-acknowledgement, hot-chocolate-and-hand-warmer-in-pocket process. I have a feeling that unless you are a Shiba Inu or a little Clydesdale, you are naturally at a comparative disadvantage as far as frolicking in the snow is concerned. However, I am not any variety of dog or pony. So my feelings are not that hard to decipher. Yet, today I went out of the house with absolutely no provocation and stayed out for an hour shooting my feathered neighbors in the Mill Creek.

Since then I am in bed with no amount of hot chocolates making any difference. Somebody kill me now.

State of Chhayanat

Alrighty!

Chhayanat has come hobbling back again to your darken your virtual doorstep! Honestly speaking these days sometimes I feel like a teeny weeny leetlil chicken running around with its head cut off. This Prairie winter's been howling outside my window for so long that finally I am giving in. My tropical fucking bones need the heat sometimes thank you very much. So however much I liked to meet the magpies in the Mill Creek ravine while they told me how they brought Aurora Borealis from the north pole on one endless dark winter night, squawking and cawing, I want to go back to my effing crowded city full of little brown sweating-profusely people. As it is, half of my time these days is spent lying on a table exposing my slender back to the Chinese horrors of Acuneedles. Believe me or not, I am the Reverse Bhishma Revisited on the bed of arrows.

On other news, I am getting sucked into the lomo-whirlpool big time. So much so that one of these days in spite of my stupor I managed to haul the fishycam to the table of Acuda and demanded that he take a picture or several of my thorn-adorned bare back. Remember Matrix?

Talking about movies, apparently the big Oscar night came and went. I was kind of engaged in some other stuff that required more attention. One such is my first drag show. May be I am at the far end of the spectrum but I miserably failed at seeing the point of nightclubs and drag shows. Nightclubs may be fun for some but they do kill your eardrums. And since I am not planning to get into the whole serious discourse of the politics and economics of sexuality, let's just say that I was not impressed with the drag either. It was a drag queen pageant and it was as sad as any other beauty pageants are. Thank you but no thank you.

The much-promised Lomoland

Here goes the first batch of Lomos from wintry Edmonton! This has been so much fun that a bunch of clydesdales won't be able to drag me away now from my cute Lomosh. I am totally hooked!

State of Chhayanat

- Alive and sore!
- Lomo pics coming soon! May be..
- A community "what if .." fiction coming soon! This basilisk is looking at Scribbler, Dip Narayan, Ketchup Girl and any volunteer that willingly ventures to open that chamber..
- Managing to keep my dick out of crazy, so far!
Hang on tight there buddies!