i am sick, with a cold, cough and bits of asthma. lonesome and a little angry.

Hi, I went for my first birdwatch at Chintamoni Kar bird sanctuary today, and although the senior birders there said that not a lot of serious birdwatching happened, I found it very very good. Mane I was introduced to the place, to the basics of birding, and I saw some nice birds. The place is a bit like a forest, and it was ever so pleasant walking on earth paths strewn with dried/old/wet leaves. A while after we left, after I had been dropped off at a localoy, I smelt my hands, and they had the smell that villagers have, mane for me, the Puruliya, Bansa smell. I felt so glad, relieved, more than anything. It was familiar and I can’t wait to go back, to rock-climbing, trekking. And this was good in a way that trekking is not. Perhaps it is to do with the fact that I found that I liked this all by myself, without having it as a given, to like it. I can’t wait to do it all, in my own way.
I saw:
Greater coucal
Spangled drongo
Common kingfisher (such a pert beauty)
Tree pie (didja know children, that this was hnarichacha, the very same? My mum would have identified the bird, I think. This one was mobbed by a team of warblers.)
Little Grebe (at Shaatkhola, some distance away)
Cotton pigmy goose (ditto)
Black naped-oriole (ki pretty. Amader photographers have taken some lovely photos occasionally. Black-naped oriole and this blue-throated barbet, I think.)
An injured cuckoo (maramari korechhilo, they said)
White-throated? fantail
Aro pakhi chhilo, kintu sheygulo ami dekhini tai likhchhina. I wish I had my own binoculars. Mane they saw grey lapwing, aro koto ki, but I DIDN’T. So there.
Dear Jesus, it will soon be time for a better camera. It’s already time for a bird book that I will buy in this book fair.

(And I wish so hard that he would join me. More than happy, I would be relieved.)

hee hee, i've been tagged i've been tagged. think calvin rubbing his hands with evil glee and saying i am rich i am rich (his father gave him a quarter, i think, and tried teaching him the value of money) and you'll know how i feel.
pphoooey!

Well, this:
I was walking in Chandni Market today, and again, you know, after a while you enter this sense of total comfort amid tumultous crowds going about their business. And I am happiest then if I am alone. Only other person, perhaps Oli, or N (strange, but not so strange), but then, to be honest, it’s best when I am by myself. I never give this being its due. Mane, comfort with myself is like a fau that I keep saving for the hardest times which I think will come when no one is there. It’s this way with most things I do. I never give the things most easily available their due, and run after the harder ones, for the thrill of searching, and the pining if I don’t get it is a solid filler, a real taker-away from the boredom I am liable to lapse into. I seem to need little then, people only occasionally. I keen toward them, partly out of habit, and partly out of the fear of what might happen if I do actually need them. I trust myself so little. I dunno why. I am no worse than the average human..
Anyway, so I found Chin Wah, but apparently they open only after 6, and it was just after 5 then. The place is a little off the crowded Chandni Market ghinji golis. Ar tokhon ajan hochhilo as I emerged from the lane, and there were bright lights and people all around, and it was great. I wished I had a reason to keep on walking and searching for something there. Well, I bargained and got myself a DVD holder. It’s only now I wonder why I didn’t ask for a better colour. Mane it’s in a garish violet shade, and of garish colours, violet is not a real favourite. And I bought a scarf for 20 rupees in the morning, and felt really bad. Mane, I make such random purchases, and the reason for buying has long been lost, and it’s like I’ve given in to getting what takes the eye for just the moment. The moment it comes to hand, there is such a crashing sense of disappointment, cause there was no need for it.
Then I walked over for tea, and it’s a comfort, as usual, because the stall owner talks little, knows what you want. Makes good tea.
Hideous hideous, I wish I could evaporate into a particle in the atmosphere there, much as I would have liked best to exist in Vellore.

I walked to Park Street and back to get a cake for home. And rushed cause there was sthng to correct on the fucking page, which I wasn't getting in hand all the fucking time I was waiting. Somewhere I hope someone's recording that I am not the selfish monster I am made out to be.
I was panting for breath and am still sweating. (I did eat a sandwich at Park Street, the place was so fucking tempting). I am fat.

I have become one of those people who don't need to be hungry to eat. Chokher khide is no longer something to be fought, but registered as something to be answered with as much concern as real khide. I ate up three plates of fried pork momo yesterday. A chicken sandwich and a black forest cake out of merely the desire to do so. Doesn't sound like much, I suppose, but I feel like I am changing into someone else.
I also bought lingerie worth Rs bloody 595, which I can't find any functional use for.
People are getting married all over. I haven't known one year when so many people I knew got married. The boy jokingly (snidely!) said, biyer morok legechhe. Ebaba, chhee chhee.
And I did voters' ID card hearing today. If the fates and all their grandchildren are pleased with me, a card might emerge at the end of all this.
I am reading Aron Ralston's Between A Rock and A Hard Place. It's good.
And that I feel left out. But I'll be damned if I asked. Fucker, shala.

I dunno why I am writing about the boy's friend's marriage, but there's generally a biyer hirik on everywhere. C is getting married, Rituparna, a friend, is. A senior is. You almost feel as if you are obliged to follow suit. Or something. The boy had fun, I believe, as he is prone to, on such occasions, like musing what would happen if he were to tie his friend's dhuti (the friend himself being incapable of it) - mane, he said, shorshor kore akta awaj hobe, ar tarpor dekha jabe purut moshai ke ar dekha jachhe na. That is, the purut would be covered under the dhuti. I say! Also, that people should wear buzzers on their heads, and when you wished to speak to someone, the buzzers would ring or light up, and the person would come and speak to you. Mane, no random people coming up to get chatty with you, ar ki. I keep imagining this bald person in our off., going around wearing this buzzer, like bellboys. Angry giggles is a concept I now understand.
Ar toh he was awake through a lot of the night, wearing his ornate panjabi.
Oh well, whatever, I am more or less at a loss to understand why I am so excited about a wedding I havent even be invited to.
I guess I am so deprived of entertainement I would jump at anything.