new beginnings


namaste to all out there! i am almost done with my last semester at university-oh so close to being certified by an arbitrary educational system- hey i’m almost a graduate in political science! just a few exams to go.

in other news i have finally got down to making my travel blog. i haven’t started posting yet, but just created it. that’s a big thing for me though considering how averse to technology i am  growing as the days pass. i request my reader(s) to follow, have a look at it- right here (

i hope everyone is doing well. i hear from my friends and acquaintances from different parts of the globe that they are going through a difficult time right about now. there seems to be a global existential crisis of sorts; but i’m sure we will make it out of this alive. there seems to be so much darkness and turmoil but with all of this there’s  growing hope; new ideas; radical activism and unabashed criticism of that which deserves it.

i wish you all


on the nature of knowledge 


Namaste! Today I want to write about a conversation I (most likely) had with someone completely forgotten and non existent/pertinent/consequential in my life anymore.

“we have to accept the unavoidable fragility and torment that comes with the quest of knowledge. we must understand that if we are to be great at what we do, whether it is painting or writing poetry or playing the damned guitar; all else must cease to be of importance but the path to knowledge. no I don’t claim to be aware of anything more than you or her or him whoever but if I may dare to say so, we ought to give up the luxury of fulfilment through love, education, intoxication- anything but the knowledge itself cannot heal our wounded fragmented yearning. and hey, while we’re at it, we must realise that knowledge of the arts will only lead to knowledge of ourselves or our infinite wandering glorious immortal selves. Silly things such as security  and comfort are too little a price to pay for the knowledge anyways”

search for the divine feminine!



I’m consciously making it a point to learn more about the myths and legends of India. It may be because I feel like an outsider to a culture that I’ve grown up in but it also may be so because I find it incredibly powerful and perhaps intelligible.The other day I went to a cutesy bookstore as recommended to me by a friend PR; she had earlier gifted me something on my birthday from this store; and the visit to this place was a wonderful experience. 

Of all the uncommon books there, I found one on Indian goddesses and the divine feminine and I’ve been reading that. Another aspect of my learning now focusses on talking to those around me and what the legends and myths mean to them. It’s an immensely helpful aspect to my soul searching; hearing interpretations of these events that are known to many; it frees my mind and opens my eye.

Among the things I learnt about, one line stays in my head. <<Parvati (or Shakti), the life force igniting creation whose lovemaking with Shiv sends ripples across the cosmos. >>

like spinning plates



(the title of my post today is borrowed from the Radiohead song of the same name- i feel much like the music,lyrics there)

sometime after processing life changing events and travels and love and death and the self and cities unknown i am questioning the notion of identity once again. my country is  going through a period of turmoil, strife because the right to dissent and self expression are only words on a paper that was designed to protect the integrity of this imagined community. sigh. after focusing my academic self on the issues,issues problems of this world my philosophical spiritual self finds it hard to reconcile its foundations and theoretical basis with that of the material plane of reality.

i never lose hope-it is all i have; i never lose the vision that defines existence for me-beauty everywhere. whether the dirty littered streets of Kolkata with children screaming begging yet content all the same; or the smoky hallowed streets of Paris where musicians offer their souls’ cry in exchange for generosity or appreciation; i have come to observe the city as an outsider despite being inside it’s walls.



I don’t know what it is about eyes that has me thinking too much at this point of time. I must explain myself before any further elaboration for the fear of sounding uncomfortably absurd. By “eyes” I mean the organ(s) of the human body which play a crucial part in the process of perceiving the sense of sight/vision in its entirety (physical structure, purpose, metaphysical aspect,etc).

I was speaking to a certain someone, I call him,for the purpose of clarity “P.T.”. The second initial of this name I give him is the same as the type of pets I own or perhaps it could be better for me to say the animal species of my children. Anyhow, P.T. has the most childlike wonder in his eyes. I see how his eyes lightens up when it views an object of interest or when P.T. speaks to me of his abstract understanding of nature and humanity (especially when the concept of the inherent beauty in everything comes up). Yesterday we concluded we were doomed to be melancholic if we accepted that the darkness had become an addiction and we could not fight it. But hey,man, there’s too much beauty (I said to him) and I saw his eyes light up (thus he proved my point).

Another pair of eyes that are consuming me now are those of M.S, who was, for the past few months, my healer. She was the cutest little creature that walked this earth. She had the most beautiful eyes and her eyelashes were majestic. Our eyes often communicated to each other more than what our words could. She was my person to share the silence with and convey the waves of the emotional specturum with the use of the eyes. M.S , my cute little healer had grand tears in her eyes the last time I saw her and her beautiful eyes were red. My eyes quickly took cue and what followed  can easily be understood. 

The eyes of D/J were incredibly powerful and meeting them with my own made my cheeks rouge. His eyes were not close in any way to the animal he described himself as:an old camel. Sigh. More like a young reptile. His eyes are a reminder of why I must, no matter what, continue to improve my French, so that, one day, our eyes meet but the sounds ,my lips seem to part for ,are remotely similar to his reading of Rimbaud.

S.D’s eyes are comforting and crescent-like. Her eyelashes are majestic, much like my cute little healer. S.D, with her half moon incredibly powerful eyes stood one day as my mother-figure reminding me of what must be done and some other reminding me of how much she loves and cares about me. Her eyes emanate joy when you utter the word “Rome”. My non biological Maa has beautiful eyes.

My soulmate/fake husband D has eyes that change shades of colour. The aesthetic appreciation as well as the ease of communication through his eyes make me so drawn to his. The funniest is when he makes the bechara eyes. I have no hesitations while looking into his eyes and not speaking for a while.

I must shut my eyes soon for I must let them rest! I guess it’s too much of a cliché to say that “Eyes are the window of the soul” but well that’s as close to the truth as we, as mortal beings, can get. A related issue to the physical pair of eyes that I must adress in great length is the third eye. For now, I must depart.
peace. love. anarchy 

happy new year,everyone!


in an attempt to connect my self to my virtual self i have once again opened this blog of mine, that you, my reader (perhaps a nonexistent entity; existing to the confines of my hopes and imagination) are welcome to share experiences with.

namaste/salut/hello once again. i sincerely wish everyone love and light and warmth and beauty along with the harsh ugly truths of life that ultimately would lead you to a higher understanding therefore in turn meaning the love, light etc.  in the past 5 months i have traveled far and wide; experienced much more than a (biologically) young woman such as myself could ever dream of; and finally learned to love myself. i have had always to a degree loved myself as my journey to overcome the hate and vile and bitterness and anger that has forever come my way. today i finally can say i love myself and this love, this point of life is blessed; i am overwhelmed and overcome with emotions such as gratitude to a force i am yet to understand.

i will write a blog separately dedicated to my travels (the link of which i will post soon) as i want to keep this one exclusively as my journal where i share des sentiments avec vous.

today i want to write a few lines.


cultural differences.

foggy mirrors in bathrooms of your desirable city

(suburbs of the Parisian dream)                                                                                                                                                                                as well as those back in confinement;

your (incorrect) nativity,

lead you to the same.

Jacques? David?

i am far from knowing their names.

however problematic it may seem for me,

i must begin to speak from my heart.

you can never truly know the colour of his eyes                                                                                                                                                                     shining, bright, changing (by virtue of the sun)

or the tenderness of his tears and how the longing                                                                                                                                                   (for the comforts of the mother’s breasts) lead him to mine,

clinging and loving;innocently seeking                                                                                                                                                           (child’s laughter forgetful of what divides us now)



peace love light.





viva la France!


namasté, bonjour, hello

to everyone and anyone who still hears me out.

i am in France for the semester among the other things happening in my life)

i have already visited Paris twice, i have seen works by Van Gogh, Dali, Picasso. what have i to keep me alive anymore?

i engage in the beautiful clichés of french life. wine and cheese and coffee and cigarettes. a waking life of poetry and fresh air and nature and culture welcomes me.

i am so far away from what i have been told was my motherland but i feel so at home.

i visited the grave of the love of my life mr james twice and all i could feel was a moment of grief and then came the liberation. i have let go of all that i harbored within and now i am set free.

the question still remains however, what does it mean to be content? is it pure eternal bliss or is it the sense of emptiness that comes from living your dreams and not knowing what to look forward to? i would like to believe it is a bit of both and none.

i think i am finally and truly at peace with who i am today.

i am not the strange piece of poetry that is fragmented at lines and borders

close to free verse or

incoherent ramblings,

the semblance to the words of a drunk.

i am not these clothes of the sixties,

a hippie with free wild hair and passions

to be free.

i am not the overly opinionated,

often misunderstood

angry young girl of twenty something

crying desperately to be heard

trying hard to be.

i am not my dreams and my feelings and my words and my skin and my lips

my touch or my voice.

i am just a world unto myself

without territories




or strife.