Barbados is a lovely word

There's someone here who's into blogs, so I can't post save when she ain't here. Well, I've been dying to scream out to the world that I have 'follicular tonsilitis', one manifestation of which is this huge wart in my throat that I can see- it's white with pus: grotesque, completely, hee hee. I certainly hope I will gross out people who read about it. And then, there's antibiotics, which make you feel out of this world, quite literally. All I want to do is to be left to myself and to sleep. Instead of ruddy office. Tobe shei woe niye ar na i bollam. And the boy and I had such a good chat over phone last night that I took so long to get over it that I fell asleep without eating. Now this none save ma know yet.
Ar it's generally not pleasant to feel that there's cotton wool wedged up your throat. And then, intimations of mortality. Bhoy lage, if you have to die. I so don't want to die.
I began reading Love in the Time of Cholera jedin office jai ni over this thing. I think it's rather rather nice. Majhe majhe khub ichhe hoy, jodi anek din pai, to live like the old days: sharadin boi pore katiye ditam, break only to eat, or bathe, fall asleep over the book, wake to read. May be get out for a brief while.
Summer is for receding inside yourself, to find happiness, standing on the verandah deep at night, feel the breeze, be happy. Lightness, freedness. And let me yet say, there is great joy in loving the boy, to be allowed to let be, to call and say I feel vomitty. Oh yeah, it sounds simperingly saccharine. But it's well, all of what I was saying earlier. I am rather happy.

pluperfect

A post for rip:

Well, it is about kindness. Of joking away sadness, panic. What O has done over five years, for me and dare I say, for so many of us. I miss it very much. I don't want others to take life as darkly as I end up doing ever so often, to forget the happiness and believe doomsday to be near. The happiness of space, the unbearable lightness of being. To see a rose and smile in fulfilment.

There is also something to be said about a white shirted fair gent noticing you at the end of his day. Nothing to do with the gent as such, just you.
Well, my back's aching awfully, and I can hardly make sense. I want to go home, though I know I can finish the copy if I push myself enough. I also tramped with that jumble of a knap to a hotail on the bypass, after I had listened to a seminar on IT management at something on Little Russell Street. Souffles suck, chocolate mud pies are brilliant things. As are taxi drivers scared you might turn out to be a gangster or something. At least that's what I imagined, kept asking er por kothay jaben, eta ki apnar guest house, tumi apni, general befuddlement. Amar bhishon pithey byatha korchhe. Period.
The whole post was not for rip.

can't take it anymore. am i losing it? feel at the end of my tether. desperately want a break, to get away. happened quite suddenly on monday. sunday i was fresh and happy & monday, i was somehow dragging on like i hadn't stopped in a long while. and the end of the week is lined with assignments, absolutely snowed under. what can i do?

can't take it anymore. am i losing it? feel at the end of my tether. desperately want a break, to get away. happened quite suddenly on monday. sunday i was fresh and happy & monday, i was somehow dragging on like i hadn't stopped in a long while. and the end of the week is lined with assignments, absolutely snowed under. what can i do?

Day

I got Leonard Cohen. I am not going to Gourbhanga. Should I be methodical and sad?
I filched a NatGeo from O's place. Haven't told her yet. Will I be righteous and depressed?
I took the easy way out again, didn't I.
On other terms, I have to decide much more in advance that I am quite conclusively going to go. The situation didn't suggest itself. N went off for his Advanced Course today. O goes in May. I met a very quiet, niriho French author. I wanted to sit down and talk with him for a long time, the dishevelled man with ash blond hair and perplexed eyes. You were so sweet to me. Such small units of grace, come alive and frame your day.
I'd had a lovely day yesterday, perhaps an aftermath of that: wrote the story in a prolonged leisurely way (for which in trouble), it was that rare rare time when you don't feel someone playing strings with your nerves, and you are free to think, to pick and choose what you shall include and what not and why. Bought food (tasteless biryani from Rahmania), went over to O's feeling guilty for not having bought ma's Poila Baishakh sari that still mean to give. Sat with kaku kakima, sitting around, listening to them planning train tickets for her course, it's home, in dimensions I don't quite know. I was more comfortable between them than I have been for a while. We had chips, we had tea, food, ice-cream, I had golap jamun. The humdrumness is so pleasing. We talked, and that she is rather very much desperation, that she is studying so much in some desperation. And we fell asleep, eventually. I in the other room. The comfort of a bed after a very long time. Cuz I choose the floor now. I woke up in some darkness, the coolness of the room. Went up, smiled, kaku kakima were cooking, came away. It was so pleasant.

coming close

Was leaving the room the same time as K. There are two glass doors on the way. As he walked away in the other direction, there was his outline, through one door, and then the next. Is this how it will be, me looking in front and seeing him, as he walks away?

.....

I have nothing to write, so. Life trundles on. WHY, the same inevitable pattern?
I hardly worked today. Don't feel too enthused about it.

.

It is very strange where I am now. I feel lonelier than I have felt in a long while, like in a sea, o very vast. Alone in an unfamiliar world. There's no one here now, I find that so difficult to encompass, and upstairs the world's a flurry of frenetic activity. It's like a drug, and once in it, you can't bear to give it up. I don't know what shall happen, cannot say. He holds words to heart, and what I said today might be given back to me tomorrow. Such uncertainty, and you a mere spectator. I feel very very lonely. It becomes more and more frequent that I find myself amongst those less wise than I. Which had never been the case before. There is no one to rely on but your own wits.
What he says makes sense, I suppose. Which casts a very poor light on what I have been doing. Indeed none of the skills, save kichhuta by default ayotto kara, which you can't do without. Oh I had yearned for someone intelligent. Those that are expect you to pick up stuff. I haven't. "We need to be looked into," he said. How hideous we must have become. Afraid I don't make much sense, I am keying letters in some desperation, because I can't think. There is no peace at all. Very sleepy, and the day had begun well. O you, you, you, why are you human, why don't problems melt away of their own accord at the sight of you. They do, but not to be brushed away under the carpet. Excuse me. I don't know what I feel, what I must do. Insensate, balm
O O O O, the Shakespehearean rag....it's so elegant, so intelligent

.

I am gonna be screwed. I have a story to write and I am here writing. I had a paneer roll, and one from office offered me biryani, which i graciously declined. My blog must seem so cloistered, what with talking about only work, and o-very-personal woes. Some more: the boy is ill. I don't like it. I hope he is better soon.
C leaved day after and we didn't get time to meet, all of us. Have grand plans of meeting C tomorrow somewhere, whisk her off to lunch, leave her standing bloated and scoot off to office. God, when we were young. I desperately need to taste some of it again. It's like being physically parched, age, work, responsibility, paper, relationships be damned. Where's the fuh-uh-un??? O would surely be scandalised.