Wednesday, November 26
Kichu din dhore keno jani chotobelar kotha khub mone pore, oboshor shomoi mon tane puran chotobelar albumer dike. Boshe boshe shobar chobi dekhi ar bhabi, emoni ki chilo amar chotobela? Shobai koto hashi kushi chilam, mile mishe thaktam amra, ekhon koi gelo ei shob manush? Oneke ei duniya chere chole gechen, ba onno deshe boshobash koren ba ekhane thekeo dekha hoi na. Boro kaalta kemon jani nishthur ar gombhir. Monehoi je shei chotokaale fire jai ar shobai ke joriye dhore boli, tomra emoni thako boro howar kono dorkar nei.
Kintu abar mone pore je she chotokaaler ami ek kaale khub agroho niye boro howar cheshta kortam. Boshe boshe ammuder golpo shuntam, majhe majhe lukhiyeo shona hoto. Ba Apu ar or bandhobider pichon pichon ghurtam, oder shathe khelte iche hoto ba oder golpo shunte chaiytam kintu amake newa hoto na karon ami oder jonno beshi choto chilam. Ami eka eka boshe thaktam TV-roome ar bhabtam, kakhon je boro hobo? Apuder shathe khelbo kobe? Nijer boyeshi manush ashe-pashe khub kom chilo, ar jeguli chilo prai shob guli chilo chele. Era ek shomoi giye ar amar shathe khelte chaito na. Ar jakhoni amar boyeshi meyera ashto, oder ke ami bestfriend baniye chartam, kintu keno jani tikto na. Tabe ekhono tike na, tai bole meyeder shathe bondhuto korar asha chere diyechi puropuri.
Toh ajke keno jani Apur 8 bochor jonmodiner video dekhte iche holo. Video cholar muhurte buk jore dhob dhob kora shuru korlo, puron shob manushderke dekhe ekrokom maya jege utlo oder poti. Shei chotobelar Apuke dekhe chokhe chole ashlo pani, ei shei Apu jar kichu din por biye. Jar shathe protidin joghra, maramari kortam, shei Apur biye ek bochor por. Bhabtei kemon jani lage. Khushi te hashbo naki mon udash kore thakbo, bhabna guli apatoto shob elomelo. Bodhoi Apur biyer kotha shune chotobelar kotha mone porlo, ki jani...
Tabe jani je din bodliye ashche, prithibi ar manushderke onno drishtite dekha shuru korte hobe. Ager moto bhola mon niye shopno dekhte parbo na, ek dirgho ar kothin shomoi shamne chole esheche.
Wednesday, November 19
Even writing this bit, I'm feeling anxious and uncomfortable. Is this what you call a writers block?
There are times when my head is filled with thoughts and discussions. Believe it or not, some of them are quite smart ones, perfect for my blog, so I always end up thinking; "Aah, I should blog about this when I get home or when I sit infront of the pc!" But as soon as I sit to write, my brain freezes! I wish there was a tinny person living in my head and would blog my thoughts for me instantly so I wouldn't have to sit here and type.
Monday, August 18
One of my younger friends, Shakia, is about to turn 23. That old already! Oh, no! Wait... didn't I go past that age about 23 years back? May be I did, too. And, she feels old. Too old to miss the carefree old Shakia who ran around with kids and had ice-creams. Ah! She even misses being 5.
Shakia, dear, I am there with you. I miss being 5, too. And, I don't miss being 23 at all. I still miss running on the wall (yes, on the wall, mad me so feel like Spiderman), ice-creams (they didn't have Baskin Robins or Move'nPick back then, but they indeed had ice-creams), tennis balls (we turned them into soccer balls, and played in the living-room), and the trekks down to the playing field (it seemed so away from home). I miss it all.
That's partly why I get down to the floor whenever I can, and play with children. I don't pick them up to carry them on my shoulders, as I don't want to feel bigger and older than them. I still love those spinning tops and marbles (and, no, I'm not an expert... I still handle those like a 5-year old).
I would always be 5, if I can, as much I can. I'll fight with kids, I'll be jealous of them, I'll have respect for kids who are better than me (and, most usually are). There's only one slight problem. Not many people recognize that. The gray in my hair and the dulled out eyes, the wrinkles around the corner of the eye and the creaks in my bones tell them simply I can't be anything but old. Well, I refuse to be.
Then comes the tough part. When I fail to meet the expectations that come with my age, some of them go and hate me, some go scared, and some more laugh their heads off at me silly. They can't help taking me seriously.
Do I care? Yes, I do. And, that's why I miss being 5 so much.
Thanks, Shakia, for reminding me who I am - a little kid caged in a aging crumbling rotting body. Pray for that kid in me, and the kid in you, too. I am happy to have recognized that kid in you, even before we decided to talk to me. Happy birthday, kiddo, 30 days in advance.
- Aditya Kabir
Sunday, August 17
So it took me about 2 days to get my wardrobe back to a civilized state, though I took very long breaks inbetween. Sometimes because of pure laziness other times because of frustration. Ended up sighing, yelling and cursing myself badly. "WHAT WAS I THINKING WHILE BUYING ALL THESE?!" Wishing that some thief would come in and just empty up my wardrobe or that I'd give it all away to charity.
To top that I have my sub continental dresses too! It's not enough that I need to have trousers, tops, dresses, skirts, winter clothes then summer clothes... But to add selwar kamiz and sari and not just one or two pairs. But one in each colour, fabric and designs!!! Then matching shoes and bags... AAAAA... It never ends!!!
I seriously wish I was born into a guy, specially time like these! Do you guys end up with these kinds of issues? No! It wouldn't even matter if you had ripped jeans and a greasy t-shirt which you wash once a month! Ah... If life was that simple!
Now I am pretty content with the amount of garments I own, so I've decided that I wont buy/ask for more. I will try to live happily with the amount for the next 2-3 decades!
And Apu if you are reading this, just so you know the only useful thing has happened since you moved to Australia, I've got more closet space! Your room is the offical dumping place. Thank you!
Saturday, August 16
Somehow it feels like my life will take a drastic turn the coming years. The carefree, childish me who enjoys running around with kids and eating ice cream, will have to face adulthood. Sitting still at one corner, have a decent civilized conversation about the worries of a 23 year old girl should have. (Thinking about this makes me feel 5 year old again)
I'd stop time if I could, but as that is impossible I have to be satisfied with my writing. Probably in future I'll read these posts and remind myself of the young me.
So be ready, these 31 days are only about me!
Tuesday, August 5
My upbringing has involved a lot "DO NOT's" from both family and society. Where I sucked in everything, to every tinny detail, like a sponge. But now growing up, steping into the adult crowd, these "DO NOT's" seems more like an obvious thing to do nowadays!
There is group A, the "jewels" of the society I breathe in, that makes me feel utterly backdated, the loser geek that has no life. In various occations I've tried hard enough to follow their track, the modern/chic/commercial life style. But ended up, being the inkspot on a white crisp shirt. Even before my mind realizes, my body stops myself from taking another step, as I know my limits are not as broad as theirs.
Then group B, the "saints" whom I really admire, but I feel a bit too fast for their tempo. My liberal thoughts might not be as appreciated. Which leads me to nowhere!
So where is my group C? I don't know, am I overlooking people?
Friday, June 27
A part of me, was holding myself back from even coming home. Could feel how my legs wanted to go backwards instead of front. Kept on pushing as if I had the world chained to my legs. But if I stopped walking maybe then everything would remain the same? But I know there is no way out of this, so I need to embrace adulthood. But how do I embrace it?
By looking up in the sky and in one breath say everything I have to say and puff! I am an adult?! I might create an earthquake or I just might pass with a lovely breeze in a sunny day.
Where ever this leads me, a part of me knows that it's time.
Monday, April 7
There are three types of immigrants from my point of view; the ones who adapt to the environment, the ones who choose to remain being visitors and then the last ones those who are like me, two feet in different boats.
Being born in one place and being raised by a different culture has taken the spark out of me. Always in search of belonging somewhere, either I am too exotic for the pale people or I am too pale for the exotic ones, and ironically both of them have the very same question: “Where are you from?” And there is no satisfying answer to it, because when I’m pale I should have said exotic and when I change to exotic then I should have said pale. So am I pale exotic or exotic pale?!
It’s very common for people with similar background to choose a dominant culture and follow that. But what happens when you choose to have it 50%-50%, because I don’t see myself as a Swedish nor do I see myself as a Bangali “second generation immigrant”. Yes, I have a label too given by my dear society! So what do I do?
I jump into the sea and swim away to a deserted island and call myself, Shakia. No longer do I have the need of belonging somewhere in society. I am the person I was destined to be, a mix of everything.