Of childhood, Lipsticks and Dinner Invitation………..

https://bbanerjee2891.wordpress.com/2018/05/06/of-childhood-lipsticks-and-dinner-invitation/

Of childhood, Lipsticks and Dinner Invitation………..

Today I had a birthday invitation. A girl child, one year old, except the birthday girl all the other females attendees were almost overdressed with trendy-less than trendy-out of trend sharees and matching ornaments in the respective order. Choices of sharee or dress were different but one thing was common in all of them, Lipstick, specifically Red Lipstick. I was a mute spectator as I didn’t know most of them. Suddenly my mind traveled back to my childhood when makeup meant only Lipstick, when no internet was there to teach us perfect smokey eyes or winged eye liners or how to contour to get a perfect highlighted chick bone like our favorite movie stars.

I am sure most of the girls of my age had this thing in common, when we had any dinner invitation we used to be very fussy about our lipsticks and took comic extra care to not to get the Lipstick marred, of course I dreamt about being kissed by then James Bond, that kind of Lipstick Ruining was always welcome but then it was a hidden dream, don’t tell my Papa, he doesn’t Like applying Lipsticks. We didn’t eat rice properly (the hithen spoon will ruin our lipstick!!!), we didn’t chew the chicken properly (the curry is of course involved in an anti Lipstick Jihad), Mutton was a strict NO (because we have to chew it barbarically which is of course against our Lipstick encrusted culture), drinking water from well above (how dare the pathetic tumbler dream of touching our Lipstick covered Lips), sucking the ice cream spoon was a sin( we didn’t discover pouting yet as E.L.James wasn’t struck with the horny dreamy of Christian Grey hence we were not aware that pouting can be so Hot).

Days passed by, we grew older, and with ages preferences changed. Red or orange Lipsticks were replaced by Nude pastel shades, we learnt that the ART OF EATING and LIPSTICK can cohabit and it is the dress we should be more concerned about not the Lipstick. I came out of my thought only to find that my dinner was almost complete and I was digging into my second helping of fish.

I came out with my mom in law and was trying to find the birthday girl but learnt that she fell asleep.

She doesn’t know how to apply Lipstick yet.

The permanent roommate, page no. 12

The Childhood:-The alarm rang at 6.30 in the morning. She pressed the snooz button with a whin just like childhood when her Mom called her and she used to say “five minutes more”. But it wasnt just five minutes when she ultimately jumps out of the bed, it was 7 am.

The teen age :- run run run Lola run run run. A quick check at the mirror while brushing teeth and her day started. Though shed doesnt have much time in her hand, she loves to make faces while standing in front of mirror. And she said “eeeeeeee”. Done. Next stop kitchen and next mission tea.
The adulthood:- Three cups of water, wihout sugar and milk. Then she switched the iron on. White shirt of husband became flawless under her practised hand. Tea is served in the mean time. Two buiscuit each. Then a quick shower, she cant spend half an hour like she loved to do before she left home for post grad. Tiffin packed. Run run run Lola run run run to the ticket counter.
The much responsible adulthood :- “good morning mam” the security guard said as she entered the office. She nodded back. After logging into the system she started to jot down her plan for a long day. She could barely breath after attending the court, many customers, replying mails, answering boss, when she realised that the day passed by and she didnt even ask her husband if he had his lunch. It was raining outside. He waited for her patiently with umbrella and took her bag as she met him outside her office.
Two tired soul :- they felt drained and could barely speak with each other. He handed her over a bottle of water. He always knew. She then rest her hand on his byceps and fell asleep. Almost half an hour later he called her up, we are home,wake up sleepy head. She woke up and smiled. 
Still child inside:- After dinner he said that he downloaded the next episode of a series they were watching with a wink.He knew she liked the Hero of that series. And the episod began. 

 The episod ended. They joked about each others crush on the hero and his female coworker. The day was about to end when she noticed he was starting to play a game in his mobile and she objected. He didnt pay any attention, on the contrary he tucked her in and handed her over her favourite teddy bear. 
She whispered good night while cuddling with her teddy bear and lost in sleep only to snooz the alarm clock next day at 6.30 am.

When a back bencher speaks

This post is about all the back benchersToday I was watching Dadagiri. The winner of this episod started from being saved from elimination with a point of -15 and ended upto fastest centurion and as a winner. His main compititor was a gawky girl with specs who knew every answer at first then started to fade away and ended up in answering more wrong questions.
This reminded me of our own class. Obviously we all have that special best student in our class who was the Mr. Prfect or Ms. Perfect. In my case it was more tough as that Mr Perfect was my own twin brother. Thanks to our exceptional sibling bond affection and love never turned into rivalry. But in our girls school there was anothet Ms. Perfect. She was a real pain in ass. Topper in every subject, in whole class, perfect drawing, never late, flawless skin and charming smile. Every teacher was like “awwwwww!!!”. A whole new prize was created for her, “Sukanya Purashkar”. 
Compared to her I was a real pointed pain in ass to my parents. I was dyslexsic. I found my only love was maths at class 8. Before that I was a hopless creature, both for family and for school. the school was trying to find a chance to kick me out but my exceptional deligent mom saved me time and again. As the days passed I started to excell picking up my genetical que ( I belong to an all teacher family). And our little Ms. Perfect started to degrade. in upper section students from various schools joined and she started to fall apart from the competition. Years later we passed our grad from the same college. I headed for the Law college where as she passed with a bare “P” division. Just like todays little Miss sunshine from Dadagiri. 
Today if I look back to our class, most normal easygoing girls are at real top positions, now university gold medalist then stammered to answer a simple question from history, now a school teacher was punished for excessive levity in class. And that Sukanya is nowhere. Left without a trace ! 
I am no one to decide and in nowhere connected with accademics but I think that there is a severe flaw in our thought process. I still dont get why I had to be perfect, why I had to listen “she scored this much and look where you are “. Why people should not tell those perfects that Bidisha have a fantastic sense of drawing, ms. One has a fantastic sense of music. Why marks were our only criteria to be judged? May be I am still a dyslexic that is why I still dont get it but one thing for sure I still dont want to be Ms.perfect. I am very happy with all my flaws, that I dont fit in pencil heel. That I cant draw a perfect winged eye liner. That I dont have a flawless skin and perfect hourglass body. After all flawed people like me are here that is why Ms. Perfects are highlighted.

How to give the Bahubali 2 a GOT twist :-

Today I was watching Baahubali 2, the conclusion and felt like something was missing, like some GOT like epic twist. So I reached home and after a good dose of w**d I developed some theories. Here are they. 

Theory No. 1. Katappa is the extramarittal affair of the queen Shivagami and Amarendra Bahubali is the illegitimate son of them. 😈😈😈
Theory No. 2. Devasena conspired with Bhallaladev for killing Amarendra as she was already pregnant with the child of Bhallaladev ( take a not not with the child of Amarendra but with the child of Bhallaladev)
Theory No. 3. The wife of Mahendra Bahubali, Avantika is a bisexual who has a rocking affair with her own maid and plans for orgy often 😂😂😂😂
So far this is enough. I am yet to develop more theories and I need some more w**d for that 😎😎😎
Disclaimer :- This article is published by the Satanic alter Ego of the actual Bidisha Banerjee who have no controll over her. So her south Indian friends are requested to not to take any offence.

Confession of a badass bitch

Today I decided to be the most badass bitch and I am very much successful at it. 😈
I am daily passanger of 8.18 metro since my office location shifted to a more convenient place, and generally I ride on the last boggy. After few days I noticed four girls who ride on the same boggy and they are chatterbugs. One is a skinny girl. Another is a fat woman of loud dress sense and with loads of make up, using the lipstick as if that was the last one on the earth, from nose end to chin end, a rather humanoid “makeupbox” and two average Jihoozoors. The whole ladies section fall silent when they start to laugh indecently and chat at the top of their voice. Personally I prefer to take a nap during that time but with them in the same boggy even Metallica at the top volume can not save you. Previously one elderly woman objected but they replied very rudly that she can shift to any other boggy if she is facing so much problem and from the next day I didnt see that elderly woman anymore. Right descision for woman of her dignity but not for a nasty woman like me. So I conspired with one of my colleague who happens to have office in the same building as that of me.
Today I sat on the same side and beside that human makeupbox. On the otherside my coconspirator sat. As usual they started to laugh and chat loudly. I started immidiately even more louder and broke into a hysterical maniacal laugh and started shouting GST. As if GST is the funniest thing that ever happened on earth(😂😂😂). Then and there they stopped laughing and stared at me. But I didnt stop. Both the conspirator then started to discuss the dress budget of Narendra Modi during foreign tour and again started to laugh. Those fantastic four fell silent. But I didnt stop there. During the conversation I slapped on the knee of the “Makeupbox” and dig my nail into her leg immidiately withdrawing the same.

“Oh I am sorry, I thought it was my leg” (ofcourse its not my fucking leg and I was fully aware of it)
She said I should better watch. I ignored her and started again to laugh, this time on how some woman wear loud makeups early in the morning. She couldnt hold anymore and asked me to talk a little less louder. I said “If you are facing so much problem you should change you boggy”. All four of them fell silent.
By that time our journey was about to end. They left at Chandni Chowk. I was about to stand as the next station was mine when the rest of daily passangers greeted me with cheer saying they were served right. My inner satan sit back in admiration of her handywork. 
Moral of the story:- never mess with my morning nap 😂😂😂😂😈😈😈😈

Paper swans

She stood before the window. Just behind her he stood too. The moonlight flooded their entwined body. He gently lifting her hair kissed behind her ears as two firflies joined them in their pure joy of being together. 
Years later, when she forgot almost evrything, the only memory she had of him was kissing in the moonlight.

It was their fiftieth marriage anniversary, he asked the hospital authority to let him decorate the room. They did. He made paper swans, with his trembling fingers, colourful paper swans, just like the first day they made love. Rest were done by the nurses. The room was filled up with the paper swans. And she was happy, giggling like a teenager, though could not recognise him anymore as her memory failed her.When he entered the room she was asleep. He went to the other side of the bed, took off his shoes and slipped inside the quilt, wrapping her with his long arms. He could feel her heart beats. Slow, gentle. 

Hours later, when the nurse woke him up, he slowly unwrapped her body, breathing no more, cold but with a faint smile on her face. 

The paper swans were hanging in the air, witnessing both the days, when two bodies mate, when two bodies were separated .

A conversation

Is that a real tattoo?

Yes, why ?

Was it painful?

Pain is a very relative feeling, if you are weak, you will feel it, if you are strong, you will read it, it will be just a word, not feeling anymore. 

You are sick

No I am strong 

A rather darker side of Jio Sim:- PART 1

 

Since last few months I was following a page which generally advised me how to use banana peel so that I can become from Hunchback of Notre Dame to Princes Diana!!! (Rather creepy thing), but in this costly market my service provider was pretty determined that they will create a hole in my pocket for Net recharges!!!. The easiest way to defend was to get a JIO sim, and so I got, from my office after standing half an hour in queue. Yes!!! Now I can know how to use all the peels, not only Banana, orange, apple, potato, blah blah blah…..

Saswata here I come, all the beauty product compaies will wait for me to sign their advertisement contract, No more F**kin job!!!

So I started browsing while I travelled from my office to home (it usually takes eternity!).

But wait!, what was that? “8 ways to control your male partners”. I must read it, so that I can make Saswata wash the dishes every day, do the laundry in week end and serve me bed tea every morning with a rose between his teeth. The little Devil started to laugh inside me. Now, Saswata who will save you?

OK, here we go.

Rule 1. Cook every day the favourite dish for him! (Oh my God! I thought He is supposed to cook for me).

Rule2. Show that you care for him (of course I care for him! Who is gonna wash the dishes if he is not ok)

Rule3.Encourage him even if there are mistakes ( yeah, yeah, I always encourage him to clean the kitchen after washing the dishes)

Rule4. Advice him! ( that is too I do, not to use steel wool while cleaning the non stick kadai)

Rule5. Dont ecourage bad habits. ( well I try to encourage him to get up early and make me a bed tea, remember- “early to bed, early to rise”)

Rule 6. Be sensitive! (of course I buy the Patanjali dish wash so that his hands are ok even after doing the kitchen full of utensils)

Rule7. Don’t show you attitude! ( now who is the idiot to lose the handyman by showing attitude!, I always speak to him like “honey will you not arrange the dinner table? You do it much better than me, I am a good for nothing”)

Rule 8.Engage him in house hold works ( Oh! I thought that was the whole point of it)

I closed the tab only to find the ten useful ways to control your mother in law.

To be continued………………………………

 

 

Charas

Location:- somewhere in remote Pakistani province

You don’t understand, marrying off Saeeda will be a good discision

But she is only eight and he is forty three

He is paying twenty thousand.

She will die

I don’t care, we have to survive

Saeeda cried silently. The day after next day Saeeda was married off to a rich businessman.

The Marriage was consummated and she bleed profusely, with almost no hope of life. Two days later she was introduced to her new role, nobody told her that her husband was a dealer of charas. She became a labour of his factory. They said, the more tender fingers the more better are charas.

Four months later:- her fingers are black now. She is in a constant delirious state, not remembering her name, where from she is, her mother, her family………

Location :- Asansol, a far eastern part of Bengal, mostly infamous for its smuggling and drug dealing history.

He stopped his bike and locked it, entered into Bustin Bazar. He knew exactly where to find it. He approached to the dealer, paid and got the bundle.

He covered the windows of his room with long curtains. Sat on his bed and drew the cigarette, lit it and took a deep plunge into the material, the best charas , from Pakistan. A deep void, smoothly he rode into. And came out of the other side with a craving for more.