it is high time i kick my bucket list!!!!

for a long time i have been having this desire to visit Kolkata.... Yes of course....Parineeta.....Howrah Bridge... Trams.... etc.... i did get an oppurtunity to be on top of Howrah twice.... but hey it is just a bridge....like any other.... i did stike off an item from my bucket list.... but i am reconsidering the idea of the bucket list altogether.... its not  like i have impossible things on my list like flying  solo across somewhere... but i felt then on top of Howrah Bridge and then again when i saw a tram coming towards our cab with no signs of brakes... and again when i almost kicked the bucket with earthquake tremors shaking the **** out of me in small town Malda....that the times in which we live each day becomes an item in the bucket list.... anyways there will be no bucket list if all the items on it are kicked off the list.... i think for the time being all the buckets should be left in peace.....

how would we live without the option like....

it s funny to see people likimg each others titbits in facebook....it is more crucial when it comes to liking something already liked by somebody else.... i think all such likers are in dire need of pokes....

wats lyf?!!!!

OMG!

i really dunno!

if i shud say sumthin
  then i guess
lyf s sumthin dat hapns btw da

endless sms blocking your mob and the forwards trashing up your inbox

Omg! ya!
 and of course
trying to cling to the meaninglessness or

trying to find an epiphanic  understanding of all these
by spreading it out on the blog!!!!

my endless speculations . . .

i walk down the road

shadowed by the lofty branches
 dripping heavenly drops
i haul in the moment

the beauty it offers

when all of a sudden
among the many windows peeping out
i find a girl filling with colours
a glass window . . .
i felt her to be a stranger...
i willed her to be one. . .
little did i know that

i know her... i know her by her name...
suddenly disappointment floods me

an end to all the possibilities. .. .
she ceases to be a mystery
she loses her enigma . . .



now she has failed to be a subject. . .
a subject of my endless speculations. . . .

memory stained!!!!!

our lives are memory stained!

the only thing is that  it is given an attractive package

we call it "Nostalgia"!!!!


it does sound like a chronic disorder????

somehow in the process of living it....

we do not see it . . .

not the stains. . .

not the symptoms. . .

we live on . . .

refusing to acknowledge. . .  

refusing to wash away the stains?????

statistics. . .

can life be defined by mere statistics????


just imagine beginning something on " according to the latest statistical report there is a 79.89% that what you are going to write is something random. . . "

well come to think about it and i feel that most of these reports are just made up on the spot....

why ?????

because we all feel this need to belong somewhere....
safe....


but pathetic. . .

somewhere between the folds of these statistics.....

names are never accidents. . .

you are born....
 something happens to those responsible. . .

i dont really know what. . .

but you are named



a tag you tag along. . .

all these a series of misadventures or accidents??????

how else to define the situation when you call out a name


and the response comes from an un namely person. . . .

but i guess at the end of these incidents


you become your namesake. . . .

somehow or the other.....

i guess then....

names are never accidents. . .