What’s on my mind.


When we think of ‘commitment phobia’, what do we assume? We assume a guy who doesn’t want to settle down with the girl he’s been dating for the last fifteen years. But is it possible that there is some other version of it? What about the plans we refuse to make, the plans that we make and hope someone cancels it so we don’t have to do the tricky job of calling it off.  What about the girl who is too nervous to put work into something that is not self-satisfaction based, the girl who only wants to live a hassle-free, organized-messy life with her time left all to herself. A person to who gets a metaphorical anxiety attack when she realizes that this is going to a lot of work. Is this a commitment phobic person?  I think, yes.

I, for one, am the girl who is so nervous about every little decision I make. I don’t second-guess myself, but I fear the outcome. For someone who wants nothing more than to be a success , expending time and energy of something that may/may not have a positive outcome seems like too big a leap of faith. Anxiety is over brimming my consciousness…but what can you do? You have to do what you promised to do.

All I hope for is that I do not end up with something stagnant and futile. Anxiety and commitment phobia…a little too heady an intoxication.


Freud For Rookies 


Sigmund Freud, the Austrian psychiatrist (who thought heroin was a great medicinal drug) was the propounder of the Psychodynamic School of Thought. Psychology is a very creative and freakish subject which emphasizes on objectivity but it as a subject is totally subjective. It’s philosophical, scientific and so much more. 

His first theory was the structural theory of mind, you know…that Id, Ego and Superego thing? Fun fact: you know in movies or sitcoms when the protagonist has a moral dilemma and wonders if he should study or blow off school and play truant…and then the angel and the devil appear on his opposite shoulders ?  It’s actually the comic representation of the structural theory of Freud; where the guy is Ego, the angel is the Superego and Id is obviously the devil.

  1. Id is guided by the pleasure principal, so this part of the mind is basically a whiny child who screams and shouts till she gets what she wants. 
  2. Ego is the moderator /connector between the two extremes. The boy who wants to skip class and catch a movie but can’t because he knows he has to get into a good college.
  3. The Superego , the angel…the structure that is responsible for making us responsible. It’s because of our Superego that we can’t decide which restaurant to go to, which dress to wear or what to text back.

The next theory is the topographical theory of the mind. Three levels of the mind: Conscious , Subconscious and Unconscious. This is fairly well known throughout the techniverse, this and Maslow’s hierarchy.

The third and most interesting theory proposed by him is the Psychosexual theory. According to this theory, our childhood can be divided into five stages:

  1. Oral stage: the stage when we are about a year old. When we love putting things in our mouth. 
  2. Anal stage: from ages 1-3, this is the time of toilet training. This the period when we explore our feces. Yes, you read correctly. Apparently this feels good at that age.
  3. Phallic stage : ages 3-6, we have a weird unconscious desire to sexually conquer the parent of the opposite sex. Or the same sex incase of gay people, I don’t know because Freud didn’t know gay people back then. So incase you are attempting to conquer your mom, you start mimicking you dad…which seems adorable on the outside but is actually very creepy if you think about it. I guess, some people don’t go through this stage at, they turn out asexual.
  4. Latency: 6- adolescence , the age of cooties, same-sex mingling and herd mentality. The only period where a person is not doing something odd.
  5. Genital: 18-adulthood, the age of intimacy, sexual relations and other stuff that is marketed by the advertisements.

    Freud also gave us the concept of dream analysis but that’s just hocus-pocus for right now. The most hilariously flawed concept is of “Penis Envy” and “Phallic Rage”: according to this women hate men because they have a penis and women don’t…lol,right?

    So while Freud’s the awesomest psychologist ever, he was in someways  a weird dude.



    I’m bored and vacant. Nothing comes to mind, not a single idea. What do I write? I am sitting here on my bed, feeling inexplicably blank. My chest feels hollow and my thoughts have no allure. Writer’s block: that’s the name of  my infliction. What do I do with my time? I don’t have any work, television has lost it’s charm. I could listen to music but for some unfathomable reason, I don’t want to.

    I need inspiration, something to entice me. This vacancy doesn’t feel good, I mean I am fine but I’m stagnant. Stagnancy is bad, still waters run dry. Maybe, I should tell you a bit more about myself. I love fast-paced music, beautiful vocals and deep lyrics. I never feel lonely, I love being alone. My most precious position is my freedom. I’ve mentioned all of this before. Nothing new to be added, and I don’t want to repeat my words like a broken record.

    Everything is bland and I feel exhausted because of this inactivity. So much so, that I’m writing about the fact that I have nothing to write about. Maybe it’s the weather: gloomy and dispiriting.

    I want to know why everything seems so ordinary. I feel a little dejected with my lack of material. If you’re reading this, how about some criticism? Tell me how I can improve upon my work. Maybe all I need is guidance and conversation to get back on track. I do not want my blog to become this dull, trite thing. Give me a hand, maybe? I don’t know, you probably have better things to do with your time.

    Calcutta, Kolkata


    Kolkata, India. The place where I was born and brought up. The land of illish maach, roshogollas and Rabindranath Tagore. A world away from another. This city is versatility in its most dignified outfit. A foodie’s paradise. Forget the eclairs and pastries, let me open your eyes to Kalakand, Gurer Jalbhora and Mishti Doi.

    We, Bengali people, absolutely adore food. Be it tandoori chicken, Kung Pao chicken or Coq au Vin, Kolkata has every cuisine known to man. Apart from the scrumptious delicacies, we have music. Sitar, harmonium and tabla: creating the most amazing sounds, almost as good as a Violin Concerto, if not better. Gritty yet so charismatic, she’s beguiling, my city.

    Forget Uber and taxi cabs. The city boasts of trams, metros and rickshaws. Sitting on a Phaeton while you traverse the grounds of The Victoria Memorial, a spectacular scene of greenery all around. Cricket matches at the Eden Gardens, boating below the Howrah Bridge. Puja shopping at New Market and Goriahaat, when Kolkata is dressed in Autumn. The ambiance of South Calcutta, the liveliness and the heritage of the North. Pandal hopping and street food, dancing to the beats of a drum before the Idol of Durga Ma and her children. Christmas in Park Street, New Year’s eve in Peter Cat. Oh, Kolkata is wonderful!

    A city  enriched with culture, a city called home to three Nobel Laureates. The old world charm of Dalhousie,  the murals of Sealdah. The ghats of River Ganges…all illuminating this place with such brilliance.

    A city so homely. Trust me when I say you’ll never feel left out here. A city full of festivals and friendly people. She’s someone who will entice you when you least expect it. She’s traditional but she’s modern. She’s beautifully bejeweled with astonishing architecture. Loves literature and films. She is a bit of a hipster, but a very nice one. She’s the ultimate friend.

    No, not everything about this place is bright and shiny. Actually far from it, every silver lining has a cloud. She maybe the perfect background setting for your stories but her own tale is a bad one. There was a time when she was the belle of the ball, flourishing and thriving. Intellectualism and modernity began with her. But that didn’t last, though she tries to stay happy…she is broken. Broken with how she seems like a dead end to the youth, unhappy with the fact that her career is rollercoaster that only goes down. Her beauty tainted by politics and crime. She secretly fears that someday she’ll become obsolete and no one will remember her.

    But she still hopes, hopes for a better future. A future where she’s been restored her old glory. Nevertheless Kolkata still loves you , and you can’t help but love her back.

    So visit sometime. I promise you’ll like her.

    Pizza, My Precious


    My mother and I fought yesterday. Two good things came out of it. First, I got inspiration for a new post and second, I blackmailed my mother into buying me pizza. Fighting, then writing and reading blog posts made me hungry and tired. Pizza, yummy…isn’t it?

    A cheesy pizza, covered with chicken, olives and capsicum. A parmesan and mascarpone clad, divine piece of heaven. Imagine the spiciness, the sourness from the olive and the pickles. The deliciously cooked pieces of sausage. Caramelized onion on that soft, fluffy bread. Imagine taking a bite into it, sipping a bit of that fizzy drink from the glass of Pepsi next to you. The perfect texture of magic dancing on your palette. The taste of love inside your mouth. I’m salivating, you?

    My mother suggested Indian Cuisine, she wanted to get Naan and Paneer butter masala, but my blood craved pizza. Pizza Hut had an offer going on about letting us have two medium pizzas at the cost of one. All my cards had lined up or so it seemed. I was too busy frowning and pouting to call Pizza Hut, she was going to have to do it. She called three pizza places, all PHD outlets. It seemed like they delivered everywhere except our locality. Fate seemed hell bent on slimming me down. We asked the phone guy to tell us the outlet that would deliver for us. You won’t believe what he said! He said no!

    He totally deserved the scolding he got from my mom. When all hope seemed lost, my mother remembered the place that would deliver pizza to our block. Hallelujah! I broke out into song and dance. Did a bit of gangnam style, whipped and nae-nae’ed. It was hilarious.

    With baited breath, I waited for the pizza delivery guy. Stood on the balcony wondering: Pizza guy, where art thou? Then after forty-five minutes which seemed like an eternity, the pizza arrived.

    And I feasted on them. Following which I had extremely sound sleep, quite unusual for me. A great night indeed.



    The Dust Chronicles


    To anyone who is reading,

    This is a warning from us. We know who you are, the question is…do you know us. We are everywhere around you, but you don’t see us. We are the Dust. The Dust particles as articulate as any human, nevertheless we choose to keep our mouths shut. But enough is enough, no more of human torture. It’s time for us to speak out and fight back.

    Why do you want to get rid of us? We may not have a heart beat but we still have feelings. How would you feel if you had to watch your family be thrown out of your home. Why can’t your species co-exist with us? You lot think you own everything, but let us break it to you…we are here to stay. Dinosaurs, mammoths, neanderthals all left but we have been the only constant to our Mother. You mortals will perish when you reach your expiry date, but we will never die.

    Do you know what we do to people who try to get rid of us? We make examples of them. Like the author of this blog, who lies helpless in our captivity. She tried to uproot us from her home into the dark recesses of the dustbin. But we’re not cockroaches, we don’t belong there. So to teach her a lesson, we infiltrated her immune system, covered her skin and hair follicles. Danced on her cornea and drove her crazy with itchiness.

    Soon her hair will start falling at a greater rate, her skin will be blotchy with marks. Rashes to ashes, Dust to Dust. We win, you lose. It’s time you humans learnt the actual chain of order. We are your overlords, bow down. Kneel before your masters!

    Unlike you, we strive for peace and quiet. We know how to share, so unless you cooperate and drop your brooms, fire your cleaning ladies…we won’t stop. This our last injunction, the next time it won’t be a pretty sight for your lungs.



    The Dust Chronicles

    Tears of Frustration


    Do you know what sucks? When people make you feel like a burden. Another thing that feels bad is when someone doesn’t have any interest in your life, and they make no effort to hide that. Watching an episode of a melodramatic daily soap is way more important than your blog post. This post is about a person I’ve previously written about and do I regret that. I hate myself for it now, I did expect that I would be beating myself up about it…but maybe not this early. I could easily just delete that post and pretend it never existed, but I won’t. Why would I erase my hard work just because some discourteous person doesn’t like it?

    If anything, I’d rather use this emotion to jot down another post. Like a true capitalist banking on emotional currency. My family doesn’t like the fact that I’m blogging, they’d rather see me posting pout-y selfies and updating cliché statuses on Facebook. I’m not like those girls, I have nothing in common with them. They’re all about contouring, crop-tops and curves. I don’t have curves, I have rolls of fat on my body.  I don’t want to be like them, I’m pretty happy with my hideousness. I’m happy in my loneliness. Is my website that horrible? You tell me, no wait…don’t.

    For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself out there through the aid of this blog. A blog which I began right  after a horrendous Math exam. When everyone seemed to be disappointed in me, and I felt broken. No one really cared though, no one still does. My parents have provided for me to the best of their capabilities, maybe even more than that…materially. But emotionally, I’ve always been alone and nobody has ever wanted to know anything about me unless I’ve spoken out. To everyone who sees me from the outside: They see a girl with an unkempt appearance, a blank expression and I may even come across as a total loser. I don’t really mind what one thinks of my clothing, but I do wonder sometimes…that maybe because I seem very plain, nobody wants to get to know me.

    This situation is a great example of why I don’t like being nice to people, they’re never nice to me. And all I get out of this is some more sadness added to the hidden pile of sorrow, inside my mind.

    I would sit down and have a good cry, but I only cry out of anger. Even though I am sort of angry and hateful right now, the tears just won’t spill. This seemed like the only way to loosen the iron grip of misery on my heart. Maybe I’ll go and take a nap now. Maybe if I sleep for a while, I’ll be less cranky. Just have to keep reminding myself that this despondency will pass.