What is art?

Making art is science,

Being an artist is commerce.

X being, new visual fodder with/without semiotics.

Commerce, defining networking and reach.

So, can you define art for me?

Did You Come Here Through My Instagram Post?

Comment 'pig' if you did.
Comment 'goat' if you came through Facebook.

Onin or Mine?

Will you be my serotonin or are we just each other’s dopamine?

What To Do If You’re A Woman And You Feel Horny

Google search the following:

Is feeling horny all the time normal or is it cancer webmd?

Am I going to literally grow horns for being so horny pls help

Do people die of horniness?

Is sex deprivation communicable?

Is it a sin if I’m a woman and feel so horny?

How do I ask Jesus for forgiveness for my immense sex drive?

What is the punishment in hell for women like me?

The phone number on the Mumbai local claimed they could get my virginity back but they turned out to be an orgy organising group who are now blackmailing me what to do pls help

Strange Men in Enclosed Spaces

Flirting, not love, needs loyalty; a few minutes of loyalty.

 You see an attractive guy, and when you’re trying to let him know you’re interested in him with your eyes, you’re bound by a necessity to not check out other guys. You’re being loyal to him for those minutes, to get his attention.

 If you’re sitting in an Uber with a hot guy, you’ll try to not check out other hot guys outside of your cab window. You get a limited time to spend with him in the ride. You’d like to let that guy know that your interest in him is exclusive, and you hope he gets the hint. If you get a phone call in the ride duration you politely tell the doodhwala in elegant English that you need 1.5 litres of the nutrition liquid supply for today and when he goes “Kya medem?”, you say thanks I’ll catch you later. Impression is everything. You, ergo get a short flirt story that ends happily because none of you talk but acknowledge your interest in the other person’s presence through the eyes to create a fictional magical world for a short time that nobody can take away from you.

Aww. Sweet.

Sometimes it gets more real. The guy tries to approach you and tries to talk. And the words come out in a chemical composition that react with your disinterest hormones to produce strain in the eyeballs that make them roll and you’re now travelling in an Uber with an annoying creep rascal you wish you had never seen and the doodhwala has called again and you’re yelling at him this time and why did you take this uber in the first place and you should have woken up earlier and why are the guys such losers man I deserve better why do I always judge by the looks so poorly I am so hollow and hey, cute guy outside at the traffic signal on his bike, is my hair okay?

One and Two

It takes two to make one feel lonely.

Water versus Fire

Direct contact: Water wins.

Metal solid (say, water is contained in a pan on a burner) between liquid and fire: State change. Liquid to gas. Fire wins.

What's the Word?

Oniogaffle. Greebononkers. Kitpolywonka.

Ever felt like making up a word? Had an urge to satiate the tongue? To let it roll and make whatever sound it wants to produce. I’m guessing that’s how the first words by Homo sapiens were made. Just letting the mouth produce sound waves that felt appropriate for that moment.

Let’s make up words. Like we did when we were kids, and we wanted a code language that our parents wouldn’t understand. Make the sounds appropriate for the moment. Let’s be awkward and embarrassing. Or just do it when nobody is around. Then tell me what it felt like.

Fancy words and flowery language make so much of a difference.

I hereby deny you admission into this room, as opposed to: Get out. You say the former in *any* tone and it won’t sound as offensive as the latter.

Maybe our tongue-of-slips are actually just new words looking to free themselves from our control.

Words are enjoyable.

Say them out loud when you think they’ll make someone happy. 

Hyou-mans!

I was trying the You, Man and Human joke you know? Anywho.

Come to me humans! I promise I won’t make you type out the ‘captcha’ to prove yourself. No conditions applied.

The last month has been difficult, to say the least. It has been a euphemism for solitary confinement given to prisoners. No lips to make words in response to mine. I’ve lost contact with the physical human race. The only human interaction I have is with the back of the head and the left profile of the Uber driver every morning on my way to the office. The office; which is a vast expanse (empty room allotted to me) of nothingness where my silence echoes (where my sketches reproduce by themselves every night).

The aamras guy, the dhaba guy, a few students walking around in the college campus: they’re all empty souls. They’re living in oblivion of my existence. Nobody will acknowledge my existence. Only the ghosts of Conjuring 2 visit me in my lonely apartment at night. And the dreams of Andy Samberg.

A few digital conversations validate the existence of humans who still like me. But who knows, they could be exceptionally trained bots, right? Let me accept my new low and tell you how I had a 25 minute long conversation (albeit an interesting one) with the Zomato inconvenience help chatline one midnight which I thought was only creatively different but all meaning the same automated responses.

 Maybe this is what solipsism is like. Maybe you’re my imagination, all of you? And you’re all fading away. Was the nose always between two eyes? Was the anatomical arrangement always like this? Did you not have two tentacles by your ears? Am I just going paranoid because I am devoid of interactive human beings? C’mon. Laugh at my humor. Compliment my beauty. Encourage my efforts. Appreciate my ideas. Make your presence be felt.

I will hug you and feed you chocolates. Or whatever it is that humans eat. Come hither, to my side.

Old Post

Tick tock on the clock
But the party won' stop, no!

The alarm on my phone goes, full volume.
I hit the snooze button and snuggle a little deeper inside my three layers of blankets.

Fifteen minutes get over in a blink and there goes Keisha on my phone again. I hit the 'stop' button this time.It's been twelve hours since the clock struck eight. It's been a week since the last Monday Morning Blues.

So I go against my heavy eyelids and struggle to get up. I shiver with the January chills.
Slipping into the nearest sweater and slippers, I groggily walk towards the bathroom.

If it was any colder this tap would've supplied me icicles. The temperature of water flushes down all my sleepiness and puts my anti-freeze mechanism on alert, I race through my morning routine and come back to my room. But it's not over yet. There's one more thing to be taken care of...

Leave  it Nripa, the pg doesn't have a geyser, you'll die of cold.
But you've done that loads of times before, nothing happened.

Brahmin daughter chucking out' bath' from her routine? Mommy won't be happy.
Mommy doesn't need to know.

What will your friends think?
Emptying bottles of deodorants is their idea of a bath.

Sleepy face?
Some moisturizer and kajal should do the trick.

But it's only a matter of minutes!
I'll adjust with an extra long bath tomorrow.

It's been twenty four full hours.
And I shampooed and scrubbed so well yesterday. It's winters, I didn't sweat.

You could heat some water on the electric heater you own.
There's a global water crisis. I should help preserve water,

God is watching you!
He has mercy on his children

It's getting late, be done with your bath now.
It's getting late, I should avoid the whole prospect of a bath.

Your roommate will know, what will she think?
Good point. Maybe I can preten..

Oh you stubborn little thing you! Think of all the germs!
I'm building resistance.

You will make this a habit.
Won't. Pinky promise.

What happens next?

May

The frustrating frenzy

The flying currency

The to and fro

Impressive consequences.

Missing your moment

While flying high

Coming down to create new ones
You feel the moment on your skin
Like an itch.

Peeping moonshine

Romantic dinner

Delicious kisses

And tangible forms that love you

Battling loneliness

By sitting with friends

Who themselves are lonely

There’s no such thing as

Drinking down your sorrows.

A change in the design of your life

In a frivolous fortnight

Are you happy that you are happy?

Let's play the Shadow Game.

Let's play the Shadow Game.

Why, Hellu!

Yes Yes.

The usual. I’ve been too busy to update my blog.

No. I’ve been too lazy to do so.

I’ll be honest. My perfectly amazing brain has had multiple blog post ideas in the past two months but my perfectly amazing brain didn’t want to co-ordinate with my perfectly functioning fingers to materialize any of them.

Boom.

This came out of the part of my brain which still stores memories of my Twitter days. Yes. I used to be a Twitterati, okay? VERY active. Toilet active. Yes.

Notice how I use ‘Yes’ a lot? No? I do.

Happy Diwali folks! To no-one. Because I’m so lonely, you know. Yes. My own sister doesn’t read my blog. Not even my imaginary boyfriend. I mean, my IMAGINATION doesn’t let my imaginary boyfriend read my blog. That’s how lonely I am. And it’s not even depressing. It’s just clichéd.

*Deep breath* Focus.

I barely remember which idea my brain wanted to bring to words right now. It’s all noodled up. And down. And around, now.  ‘Noodled’ has red squiggly lines under it. LET ME MAKE UP WORDS MSWORD! I wish I could gouge your eyeballs out with my razor sharp wit.

That’s why I’m skinny. I’m always stressed. I’m writing this article and I have twenty other problems of my life running in my head. No. They’re taking a nice long stroll in my head, enjoying the mindlessness.  I’m too skinny and I deal with all the skinny girl problems. So, hi-five all my imaginary skinny girl readers! *Ouch* Lightly. It hurts.

Was this supposed to be a funny article? You know narcissists are funny. That’s their strength. Am I funny? Do I want to be funny?
Wait, this was supposed to be a deep contemplating-y article. It was supposed to make you think. About great things. It was supposed to make you appreciate my writing skills. Damn, no big words in this article. No epiphanies. No famous people quotes. Zilch. 

Hmm. There’s one deep thought. Who am I? As a writer, I mean. I’m not unwell. I remember who I am.  Am I a serious writer, a poetic writer, erotic writer, humorous writer, definitely lazy writer, pretentious writer, Scarlett Johansson,  political writer, a wasted Martian?  We’ll know soon enough. We. Me and myself. Yes.

Did you notice how I use ‘Yes’ a lot?

Food for Soul

One of the toughest things that teeny tiny teenagers have to do while leaving home for college with their big suitcases, apart from giving up all the good homemade food, is, leaving the person who makes it for them with utmost love.

This is where the rescuers in disguise arrive. They make your transition from MHK (Maa ke Haath ka Khaana) to MHK (Mashi ke Haath ka Khaana) really simple. They are the eating joints, or as the jargon goes, ‘dhabas’ right inside and outside college.

 Their culinary prowess and their quick service make them an instant hit. They have a motley variety available right from the morning till the evening; vegetarian, eggetarian, non-vegetarian or diet-arian; there’s always something for everybody. You have your freedom of customizing every dish too: a little cheese in your Dosa or some broccoli and chili in your Wai Wai. The best part being, they are really easy on the pocket. And the street dust adds the required flavoring.

The gossip, the budding romance and the bird-watching comes gratis with the omelettes and the momos and the likes. They provide more than just food; they provide a hangout ‘adda’. They satiate more than just hunger. This food doesn't go straight to the thighs; it goes straight to the soul with the accompanied conversations of your friends. Hog on!

God Resigned and Who Took Over

Religious.

Agnostic.

Atheist.

Blasphemous.

In the decreasing order of Love for God or Spiritual Beings.  I’m on the third level.

Why am I writing about Religion today? For a friend and for my Whatsapp conversation with him. This isn't going to be an article written about the origins of religion by a naïve young girl because I do not possess any well researched facts upon it. This is merely going to be an article of what crosses my mind when I think of religion.

I fancy myself as a little bit of a rebel. Like most people of my generation, defying tiny rules in my day to day life gives me a thrill. Organised religion is not my cup of tea. Anything that even subtly ‘dictates’ what I should or should not do ticks me off. In all honesty my schedule doesn't even let me think of religion, or God, or Spirits at any given moment. I’m comfortably one of those wannabe hippies whose ‘bhajans’ comprise Imagine and All You Need Is Love by Lennon bhaisahab.

There are things that I do appreciate about religion though. I've seen it add discipline to the lives of a lot of people. I especially like the festivals observed by different sects. I love the togetherness. I admire the religious architecture. Above all I love how religion provides solace to a lot of troubled souls. A temple is sometimes a place where a lot of emotional uplifting happens. Churches are places of hope and peace.  Someone has wisely said: the problems we share are bigger than the problems that divide us.

According to my ideas of ‘right’ I don’t feel the need of a religion in my life. My conscience has always been my guide. It’s been nurtured by my family. And I receive all my hope and peace from my friends. Earthly beings have been kind enough to me. They don’ let me seek. My work keeps me involved. And I still live my life the way any worshiper would. Sans the worshiping.

P.S. This was going to be a longer piece of writing but I'm suffering from an almost non-functioning right hand currently. I think the Almighty is punishing me.

A Midsummer Night's Conversation Or Why I Started This Blog

A Whatsapp conversation. Between two deeply philosophical females.

10:57pm, 9 Sep 2013 – Bakchor A: Hey
Bakchor N: Ki holo?
Bakchor A: Major BT happening
Bakchor A: Life
Bakchor A: I can turn the best of things in my life into a source of self esteem bashing
Bakchor A: That's my one big talent in life
Bakchor N: That's a bad phase nothing else.
Bakchor N: Your talent is awesomeness
Bakchor N: I think you should also meet new people.
Bakchor N: Learn something.
Bakchor N: Or teach.
Bakchor A: So that I look at new people and feel more depressed about how shitty I am in comparison
Bakchor N: You'll even earn some pocket money.
Bakchor A: I could teach.
Bakchor A: Yes.
Bakchor A: Depression 101.
Bakchor N: Ya.. write a book on it. Cash on your tragedy!
Bakchor A: How to get depressed by anything and everything and ponder your existence in 3 simple stages
Bakchor N: Write a blog.
Bakchor N: Make it interesting.
And sad.
Very very sad.
Bakchor A: I'm writing it right now.
Bakchor N: And it'll help u release the negativity.
Bakchor N: Out in the universe.
Bakchor A: Wikidepression.org
Bakchor N: C'mon. Something more creative.
Bakchor A: Somethingmorecreative.blogspot
Bakchor N: You used to write well in school.
Bakchor A: Sadly...
Bakchor A: Writing left me.
The breakup is still recent...
Bakchor N: Really now?? Blognamefail.blogspit.com 😛
Bakchor A: So the wounds are fresh.
Bakchor N: Bring it back
Bakchor N: Type
Bakchor A: We always had a love hate relationship
Bakchor A: Often...writing made me feel like a whore...came to me...only for certain one night stands
Bakchor N: Ya. Because you are destined to become the ranbir kapoor from rockstar.
Bakchor A: Can't write.
Bakchor A: Don't give me another complex please
Bakchor N: Plan
Bakchor A: Sutta.
Bakchor N: Eat
Bakchor A: Daaru.
Bakchor N: No
Bakchor A: Potty.
Bakchor N: Yes
Bakchor A: Blow my brains out with dad's service pistol.
Bakchor N: But people. Socialization.
Bakchor N: Meet losers
Bakchor N: You're finger licking good
Bakchor A: Hai?
Bakchor N: Just saying.
Bakchor N: COMPARISON IS THE THIEF OF ALL JOY.
Bakchor A: Truck it man.
Bakchor A: They think their life is cool.
Bakchor A: They think they're winning the rat race.
Bakchor N: Yo baybeh
Bakchor A: Then there are the cool ones...smoking a joint in the corner...laughing at them rat race runners...thinking they're all cool..
Bakchor A: But truck all of them...
Bakchor N: Spider Jerusalem
Bakchor A: Mothertrucker michael phelps beat us all man
Bakchor A: he did it eating mayo cheese sandwiches
Bakchor A: AND he smoked pot
Bakchor N: Beat us! Beat us!
Bakchor N: He did it at 18.
Whats the stupid point of competing.
Bakchor N: That mothatruckin monster aaaaaa!!!
Bakchor A: He beat us with ADHD
Bakchor N: Nwooo.
Bakchor A: Imagine the ass serving we would have gotten if he wasn't a retard
Bakchor N: Servings of an ass dot WordPress dot com
Bakchor A: Copy paste this convo on the internet.
Bakchor A: And we have "Escapist's guide to Nirvana".
Bakchor N: And win free porn for lifetime!
Bakchor N: Blog entry #1
Bakchor A: We make a good bakchori team
Bakchor N: You MUST write woman.
Bakchor A: I'm seriously considering copying this only
Bakchor N: Go on.
Make us fame-us!
Bakchor A: You post it.
Bakchor A: Withhold identity obviously
Bakchor A: My friends will guess
Bakchor N: Hahaha. They'll be happy for you .
Bakchor N: To see how cute n funny you are even when you're sad.
Bakchor N: I'm posting this tomorrow.
Bakchor A: Ok. I'm bakchor A
Bakchor N: Pakka
Bakchor A: You're Bakchor N.
Bakchor N: Cool?
Bakchor N: Name of the blog?
Bakchor A: Although when they reach "potty" they'll obviously know its me
Bakchor N: Oh. Of course. Potty. More important.
Bakchor A: Start from "major BT happening"
Bakchor A: Gives the convo the context it needs while remaining short and sweet
Bakchor N: I have a blog called disgustingly disguised.WordPress btw
Bakchor A: Hai?
Bakchor N: Ok ok. *makes notes*
Bakchor A: We are pretty self explanatory people
Bakchor N: Obviously.
Them trucking ditches need no spoon feeding.
Bakchor A: And if people don't get the idea of the blog entry by "bakchor A and bakchor B"
Bakchor A: They don't deserve to be reading us
Bakchor N: True dat.
Bakchor A: *acts all snooty*
Bakchor N: Snootypotty.blogspot?
Bakchor A: Nope
Bakchor N: Servings of your ass?
Bakchor A: It’s a big step
Bakchor A: Let it remain unnamed abhi
Bakchor N: Yes yes. *nervous shivers*
Bakchor N: Nameless for a while.blogspot
Bakchor N: Ablogwithnoname.WordPress
Bakchor A: Can it be changed later?
Bakchor N: Can
Bakchor A: I hereby bestow the right to give it a name onto you
Bakchor A: Temporary name
Bakchor N: *exaggerated bow*
Bakchor N: *slow claps*
Bakchor A: *even slower walking like red riding hood*
Bakchor N: *kisskiss*
Bakchor A: *this is my cue to leave*
Bakchor A: Okay all bakchori aside
Bakchor N: *writing like this looks so pretty!*
Bakchor A: You're not really posting it are you?
Bakchor N: I am.
Bakchor A: WHAT THE TRUCK!!!! Nooooooo
Bakchor N: I am.
Bakchor N: You can't take it away from me.
Bakchor A: Oh god
Bakchor N: Iambic.
Bakchor N: Iambic.
Bakchor N: Wtf autocorrect.
Bakchor N: I am.
Bakchor A: I'm going to regret it
Bakchor N: Gpl. For you.
Bakchor N: Gpl on your vagina.
Bakchor A: I feel like the park avenue ad for their beer shampoo
Bakchor N: Kheekheekheekhee
Bakchor A: And that's the lowest point of anyone's existence
12:24am, 10 Sep 2013 - Bakchor A: Night!!!

The Indomitable (Lazy) Spirit

We NIFTians take pride in being an empowered, artistically talented and a highly creative lot. But apparently that is where it ends; in taking pride. But don’t be mistaken, we do possess the Indomitable Spirit.

Our exams are nearing, we have assignments to do, our teachers are worried, our parents are apprehensive and our projects are calling out to us. Yet, we do not give in. We do not bow low. We do not let our Spirits be conquered by fear. We take a deep breath and a ticket to the currently running movie. We exhale.

The marks which could potentially be ours are now fading into the extra hours of hard work that we are putting into our gossip sessions to keep ourselves updated. We cannot let the work pressure win over us. So we let it build a little more.

And NO, we will not work until it is absolutely necessary. Until we’ve resisted till the last minute. Until we’ve seen the exam-schedule in its eyes and said “I’ll prepare... After an hour”. And that is how year after year, batch after batch it goes on. Our Spirits are united, inspired by each other, and they are Indomitable.

So we look at our fancy stationeries, read our assignment topics and log onto the internet for inspiration. Then we listen to our unofficial anthem. The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars.

Poem

A moonlit night
This does not belong to the werewolves,
It isn't of the bats and vampires,
This one is different
Blushing with untold secrets.

"Raise your spirits, silver soul!", said Mama Love
While she put her crimson painted nails
Inside her gypsy-bag to produce;
What I comprehended to be; a magic crystal ball.

"Not more prophecies of Prince Charming
Descending from the clouds on his stallion",
I sighed to myself.
"Cheer up little thing
For the starts conjure up some lovage for you!",
Mama Love spoke, with visible glee.

"Love for yourself, that you left behind
Giving up what was your only own.
Color yourself with the violet vapors of this night
Meet your enchanted soul."

And she disappeared with the winds
As they blew over me the sands of the desert
Like glitter
The fairy dust settling on me.
This night is different..