Replay.

I wake up with a hangover. I check to see the contents of my phone. No embarrassing pictures, no drunken texts to anybody. Thank god. I remember playing M's telecaster, jamming with the guys on a new song they've been working on for the last couple of weeks. I am surprised by how much I've grown over these last few years, quite quickly in fact. I think of the young starlet and her desperation to fit in, to be accepted. I feel bad for her since I've never had to go through a phase of not being liked by anybody. That's probably because I've been serious and humble all my life. I don't do the page-3 scene. I have talent, like many others. But what I have more than others is probably self-respect, when it comes to my work. I want to reach out to her, sit her down and advice her to pick up the pieces and turn her life around. But I don't think she'd like that very much. Sometimes you have to let people learn from their own mistake, you cannot guide everybody all the time.

I don't understand arrogance, what causes some people to be so incredibly proud of having achieved so little. It turns me off. I guess I'm allowed to be a snob about these things because I've seen and worked with greats from a really young age and when you grow up watching someone like Amyt Dutt and Jivraj Singh play, you realise how inconsequential your achievements really are. You are a great big nothing in comparison. What's so inspiring about all these greats is their humility, their grace. I am in awe of them, I want to emulate them somehow. I feel grateful to be surrounded by all these individuals who I have so much to learn from.

I crib about my daily struggles to someone who's produced all the greatest bands and artists you've probably heard. Starting from Jerry Garcia to Nirvana to Radiohead. When people like that advice you, guide you, you have a tremendous amount of pressure on your back to do something with your life instead of fooling around. I guess grace is something that people from other cities will never know. But I think of how me and my friends are at a juncture where people are starting to take us seriously. It's intimidating, their expectations. I'm not a wonder kid with spunk anymore, I need to engage women and the youth to think and practise thinking instead of taking what they have for granted.

On my way to the restroom, I see a bunch of kids sitting around, whispering excitedly as they see me pass. I hear someone murmur my name. How do they know my name? They seem to be in awe. I glance at them, I expect they're looking at me because I look hot (got to pull out a few sexy tricks out of the bag once in a while to stay relevant!) but that is not the case, they give me the 'Oh there goes Suyasha didi' vibes. I am flattered and quite amused. I also feel responsible all of a sudden. I should be able to influence these kids, teach them the importance of being humble and hardworking.
I need to work harder. I need to be more dedicated perhaps.

My band has been in the spotlight since the release of our debut album but that's really nothing if you think about it. I have my body of work on record and I am proud of it, definitely. Yet somehow it is not enough.

I have been working harder since the release of the album. Exploring new genres and styles, trying to create more music, better music.
I am excited about the new projects that I've been working on. The harder I work, the more I practise, the more self confidence I seem to have. The line between confidence and arrogance is a thin one. My reality check comes when people I've grown up idolising want to play music with me. It feels strange, almost like I high. But it's a scary feeling.

"What if I play wrong chords?"
"What if I sing off-key?"
"What if I can't deliver?"

I ask M if I can play his guitar. He brings out his amp instead of poking fun at me. We exchange guitars and he teaches me to play his song and I sing along as he plays one of his older tunes. He's the sweetest guy you'll ever meet if you can get past his obnoxious outer layer. I love how he's so incredibly sweet to people he likes and such a bitch to people he doesn't. There is so much to learn from him. People need to cut him some slack I think, especially those who don't know him or have never hung out with him.
This Calcutta clan is tight as ever, almost like a family now. I am one of the youngest in the brat pack and I love every minute of it. I feel safe, protected. This is something that I have been craving for for a long time now-acceptance for who I am, without having to pretend.

I had very predictable reactions of my set from those who came in last night. The audience loved it, that's not the point though. The audience will love anything as long as you play from your heart. That isn't even a criteria for me anymore. But I've still got to fine tune, smoothen the creases. There's so much work still left.

I want to work my ass off these next two months and then take a vacation, which I am hoping will involve some drugs. I need to squeeze some sex in there as well, I don't know how but I have to. I have two frickin months to find someone I like and want to have sex with. That's the one thing I need to keep me rooted, down on the ground.

Sex really is my biggest stress buster. I have said this many times before, I am a very sensual person by nature. When I'm writing a song or playing a gig or even practising, it is like fornication for me. It is sacred, the experience is deeply personal. I guess that's why I am so attracted to music, it's basically like fucking for me.

Anyway, two months to find a new squeeze. Challenge to self accepted.

Young Drunk Punk reprise

In 2014 I had a rather rude awakening. There are no female musicians in my age group (?)

I don't understand why chicks don't pick up instruments and play the fuck out of them. It makes me so incredibly angry. I refuse to be the girl who "sings" in a band and looks pretty. I am a musician. I write my songs. By writing I don't mean vocal melodies and lyrics alone. I compose. I arrange. I paint the whole picture, not merely add shades to them. 

My les paul has somehow changed me as a musician. I'm playing better guitars. I'm writing better guitar parts, focusing more on layers. It's fucking inspiring as fuck.

My new songs are raw, grotesque. I want to explore and exploit this new state of mind. My life is as Indian punk as it gets. Neo-Indian punk. 

I finished tracking guitars (about 4 layers, mind you) and vocals for a new song today and although it's just a scratch, I feel a strange sense of excitement, of bigger things to come. 

I have been working my ass off for as long as I remember and like a phoenix, I shall rise again. It is only a matter of time.

Brace yourself world, this  young drunk and punk girl will hit the right spot. I can sense it. 

My Head, My Rules

I have been working out religiously these last few weeks and even if it doesn't show just yet, I feel so incredibly good about my body these days. Truth be told, I had let myself go and I think I reached my melting point when I'd see how ugly I was starting to become. Fat in all the wrong places, so unfit, so inflexible. But I have sworn to myself that I will not let my body go there again, it's a scary place and sometimes there's no coming back when you get there. I'm young and I refuse to let my youth go to waste like this. Shit happens but you've got to pick yourself up and get back on the road again.

I am excited to let someone see me naked, see how lean I've become. I want someone to enjoy my body, pleasure it. I don't know who and I don't know when just yet but I am looking forward to it, yes.

I make all these rules as I grow. The latest one being to not let people fall in love with me. People fall in love very easily and that kills me sometimes because I can't seem to reciprocate. This is exactly why I hate dating boys. They're much too naive, too young. They fall in love at the drop of a hat, just like I fall for older guys. It's a perpetual love triangle.
I may be a brat but I have a heart, I don't want people to undergo unnecessary misery because of me. I have been in similar situations where I've been strung along and trust me, it's not a good feeling. I hate it when people charm your pants off and then leave you stranded. I hate it. I don't want to be that person to someone else. I refuse to be a villain. I refuse to be the bad guy just for kicks.

But anyway, coming back to my body. I feel good. I feel great. The more I work out, the more I start loving my body and subsequently myself. It's the greatest romance I think-to love yourself.
I have battled body issues for a long time, since the rape to be precise and these days I don't feel inhibited or conscious to let people see me naked anymore. I give myself a pat on the back for that. Sure I still have body issues, but there are other things, bigger things in my life that I worry about these days.

It's not really a milestone, although it is something.

Seasons Change

It's hard to wake up in the morning when you have depression. It's hard to focus on things, do something constructive.
There's a voice that tells me that it's not worth it, I'm not good enough and that I am going to waste away-nameless, faceless, without having done anything commendable with my life. Sometimes it's hard to shake that voice off and prove it wrong. So I stay in bed. I keep my eyes closed. I dream of a different life, a happier one.


Living with depression has taught me to be strong, but it becomes so incredibly tiring after a point of time. Years have passed, years will pass, but my depression does not go away. It has crawled so deep into my skin that I am afraid of letting it go. What if I lose my strength if my depression goes away?

I wait patiently for the mania to strike, I crave for it like an addict. I am ready to spend an infinite amount of time in pain for that one moment of euphoria. I am the worst kind of addict there is. Sometimes I wish my parents had in fact checked me into a rehab, instead of just contemplating. Maybe I would have turned out different then.

I am a little bit crazy.
But my soul is clean.
I wish someone would atleast try to get to know me.
Unfortunately, people fall in love too easily.

I Bruise Easily

My body is a piece of art, a canvas.
You draw your pictures,
with love and with vengeance.
My body is all I have to offer to you.
I cannot give you my heart for I know you'll break it eventually.
Like you've done so many times before.
Over and over and over again.

I'm lying on the floor today.
Crying.
Replaying memories in my head.
I'm bleeding it out, like always.
You came.
You left.
I lay all along, waiting for you to finish and maybe tell me how much you love me.
But you didn't.
I couldn't feel your love, as much as I wanted to.

I wish things didn't have to be this way, but I place a stone on my heart, cage it, lock it, keep it tucked away safe. No one can hurt me now. I am invincible.

I will cry every day till I get conditioned to the pain, but I will never let my weakness show.

My body is his now.
My body is hers now.
My body is theirs now.
My body is everyone's now.
Because there is no such thing as making love, it's all a great big lie. You may have duped me once, but I've learnt my lesson. I will never forget.

Stone Cold

You're sober as a child, it feels strange. You're in highschool, almost. When did intoxicants take over your life, your sex life to be more precise? It's awkward, it's highly awkward. You make all the wrong moves, he pushes all the wrong buttons. It's a mess. But something tells you to keep going, maybe it won't be that bad, you just need to calm your nerves. You feel a strange sense of pressure, you assume he does too. He kisses you and this time you remember. You remember the details. You kiss him with grace, you're not a drunken mess this time. You're finally in control of your body as is he.
Your brain takes photographs of his body. He's tall, you stand on your toes to reach his face.You enjoy the challenge. He's also older than anyone you've ever been with. It's strange and yet quite comfortable.
Little by little, your inhibitions drop. Your body may be flawed, but your body is all you have to offer to him.
You kiss him, see what works and what doesn't. He's very different from the last person you were with. He enjoys your body, but doesn't tear it apart like a wolf. He grabs you and you want it as much as he does.
You like it.
You crave for more.
So wet, as he slips his fingers into you.
You can't believe you're doing this, but it feels good. Now you can't seem to stop, you want him inside you, to fuck the shit out of you.
The feeling is good,
So good.
You had almost forgotten how good it felt.

Shame

I thought about the Monster today, after a long time. I remembered that sinking feeling in my stomach. I'd wait for hours and hours for him to call, but he never did. I called him, always. But why did he string me along?
Why would a teenager, an adult ever be interested in a 12 year old girl?
His perversion haunts me till date.
Why would he stick his dick inside me knowing fully well that I was in love with him and that I knew nothing about sex?

But the older I grow, the more I find the Monster in every man I meet. They all turn out to be the same, the way they look at me, the way they touch me, the way they abandon me.

Are all men monsters?
Will I ever find a man who will treat me right, not abandon me?

I'm so sick of falling in love. I take one step forward and retract immediately. Out of shame, out of so much gut-wrenching shame. I'm never good enough. Nobody wants someone with as much baggage as me. I feel sick. Sometimes I feel like killing myself. That feeling's been growing every day.
I have a friend or two who distract me, keep me company. But they can't be with me at all times, can they? They have their own lives and their own set of problems to take care of.

I spend hours trying to figure out what will stop men from abandoning me. I think that is what hurts the most, when they abandon you after they're done taking what they want from you. It feels like my life is stuck at the same juncture, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to break away from it. Everything is a loop. Everything is a loop.

Sometimes I wonder why I wasn't raped violently and killed after. It would have been so much easier. Living is so hard. Living alone is so hard. Living alone with so much shame, so much pain. I try to be so strong all the time, but I'm 23 and I can't do this anymore. I can't figure out how to stop this sinking feeling in my stomach and make it go away. I don't know how to make the choking go away.
At the end of the day, when I take a look in the mirror, I can't figure out why men do what they do. I have flaws, many many flaws, but are they the reason I'm abandoned?

I was born the way I am. I did not chose my body. Is it my fault I look the way I do? Is it my fault I get abandoned? Perhaps. Maybe I deserved to get raped. Maybe I will get raped again someday. Worse, maybe I will keep getting my heart broken by men I fall in love with and place my trust in. That's what ugly people get perhaps. I always figured that a good heart and a good soul was all you needed to get people to like you. But this world is cruel, it doesn't work that way. I'm not cut out for this world, it only brings me endless melancholy. I am an outcaste and always will be. I'd much rather die than live each day as a dead man, like this.

I want to die soon. I can't live with this pain anymore, it's killing me from the inside.

Death, come to me, I wait for you. Please.

I am not a believer and yet I pray every day now. I don't pray for a better life. I don't pray for the pain to go away, the shame to fade. I only pray for death. I want to die. I can't be strong anymore. I've been fighting this feeling over a decade now and it will never really go away. The last person I was with brought it all back. I can't deal with this heartache anymore. I hope the universe will be kind and listen to my prayers someday. I don't mind a long and painful death, I will be happy knowing that it will end one day.
I just want to die.
Only my death will bring me salvation.

Lover's Spit

It crawls onto your skin, slowly and stealthily, covering every inch of you gradually. It's a layer that encompasses you, a bubble that traps you. You try hard to break out, but you can't. No matter how hard you try, it always follows you around like a shadow.

What triggers it? What causes your eternal melancholy to keep coming back to you? 

Is it because you're lonely and unwanted? Is it because you're unloved? Or both? 

You wonder if anybody will ever miss you if you're gone. You contemplate running away from everything and everyone you know, to a remote beach somewhere and work as a daily wage labourer perhaps. 

But you can't let go of your lifestyle. You probably can't rough it out like you think you can.
It crushes you how bothered you are about the fact that what could have been your first international gig fell through because the damn funding never happened. You grow jealous and weary of the more affluent who seem to have the world at their fingertips. You blame your government, you blame your indifference, but mostly you blame your luck for never being by your side.
Tough love.
Tough love is what it's all about. You learn to let go. Better things come to those who are patient, those who persevere.

You go out on a date, your first in over a year. You wonder if he's thinking about you at the exact same moment as you describe to someone what went wrong with you two. You keep it short, detail-less. You've never been one to kiss and tell and you're not changing that about yourself anytime soon.  You don't want to know about him, he's done. The aching heart isn't in fact aching anymore. That empty feeling in your stomach is replaced by what could potentially be a bad hangover.
Hangovers, the worst hangovers over an aching heart. Any day.

Your date is courteous enough to message you the morning after. So it did happen then, you did stick your tongue in his mouth. Or was it the other way round? You can't remember.
You remember kissing him, holding him. You remember him kissing you and holding you.
You had forgotten how good it felt to kiss someone. Was it a good kiss? Was it a bad kiss? You can't remember. There are hickies on your neck which you don't remember getting. Did you leave some on him too? Something tells you that he was the catapult you were looking for.
You smile to yourself trying to recollect the incidents of the previous night. Being single can be fun sometimes, it's not always I-hate-myself-and-want-to-die.

You initiate a conversation with J for the first time in weeks. You chuckle at the thought of a clueless white guy getting hammered on Old Monk. You want to meet him too. You've been stalling for too long. You tell yourself that you will go out with him on a date the next time he asks.
Going on dates can be fun. You need to do this, for yourself.

You stop wondering if he still thinks about you. 
Plenty of fish in the sea. You know it's true.

Why It's Good, no, Best To Quit Facebook

1. People who you like will eventually start acting like assholes, you will loathe their sheer existence at some point and then "unfollow" them because you don't want to be the bitch who unfriends people randomly.

2. Facebook celebrities will kill your drive to actually go out and do something with your life. If a person who is not a public figure (legit model actress musician etc etc) and has over 500 followers and likes on their profile picture, chances are they will make you question everybody's sanity and the level of stupidity the world has come down to.

3. Girls who proudly flaunt pictures of them pouting and looking hot like that's how they look everyday. That shit aint real, who you fooling bitch?

What's worse is when they caption their photograph with quotes and lyrics which have no connection with their pictures.

4. Hipsters flaunting their tastes in music."Have you heard this producer from  Ethiopia bro? He plays povertytrance" No bro I haven't. Go take your hipster sensibilities and shove it up your ass. 

5. Even bigger assholes who proclaim their love for Yo Yo Honey Shit instead of being ashamed of it. This applies particularly to annoying juniors from school and college who's friend requests you shouldn't have accepted in the first place.

6. Pseudo stoners who post pictures of the joints they made out of the shittiest weed one could imagine. True stoners keep shut about their addiction, you poseur assholes! 

7. The ones (like me) who hate on everything and every one. I hate the government. I hate your band. I hate myself and want to die etc etc

8. Overtly-optimistic cunts with "gud morning" type status updates. Good morning? More like গুদমারানি! 

9. People with embarrassingly bad grammar. Get off your computer and attend an english grammar class or something you bunch of wanks. Your parents did not work to put you through a fancy english-medium school for nothing. Have some respect for your teachers who tried to turn an ape into a human. 

10. "Wanna friendship?" Enough said! 

Dj KittyKat

My homies and I were lamenting the fact that DJs are pretty much kicking us in the crotch and taking away our gigs. The new trend of colleges welcoming rave festivals at their fests to support/promote the same is rather alarming and very heartbreaking. 

It's one thing to host EDM festivals. But to play at college fests is nothing less than stupid and arrogant. My beef is not with producers who take the pain to make their music, I have a problem with all the wannabes pressing their spacebar and randomly fiddling with the faders on their board like they even know what they are doing.

It takes years and years of practise and hardwork to learn and master an instrument. A band puts in hours and hours of practise to sound good. But for what? There's always going to be a dick promoter who will book a DJ instead of a band just because it's cheaper and there is less hassle.

Of all the things that I hate about Calcutta, I hate how we're taught from a young age to be humble and respect other artists. But honestly, the more I travel outside, the less respect I have for some artists who are so busy being famous and making money that they forget why they're on stage in the first place. I hate people who take shortcuts. Being smart and being a cunning asshole are two very different things. 

Would you ever pay money to a tailor to perform surgery on you? Then why would you pay a guy with a macbook and a mixtape to be an artist at your event, isn't that musicians are for?

I attended the Bonobo concert last year in Mumbai and I don't know if it was the drugs or the band, but I had a great time. I am a huge fan of Simon Green's, but I probably would have skipped the gig had it been a dj set. It doesn't move me, to see some dude up on stage alone doing practically nothing. I'd rather sit at home and read a book, or better play the ukulele to relax and unwind. 

If you want to dance and have a good time then why not stay at home, invite your people and play your favourite CD! Why pay tickets to go watch someone repeatedly press their spacebar and pretend like it's so much work! 

I've been pushing myself to become a better musician over these last few years. I'm teaching myself to play more musical instruments and produce my music. Believe me, that is a lot of work! I'm not even taking into account the vocal practises and band practises which literally break my back sometimes. But for what? 

It's bad enough that I have very few role models because women are more interested in being glamorous and not enhancing their skills. What's worse is how the very few women who do take music seriously almost never come into the spotlight. The Indian media is strange and rather shamelessly chauvinist. 

Sometimes I think I could just change into my hotpants, a crop top and be a DJ, sell the default sex appeal that I have as a woman. 

If I were a DJ, I'd be DJ KittyKat.

But if I were to become a DJ, please don't hesitate to shoot me in the head. 

New Beginnings/Closure

It's the little things in life, like waking up to a message and maybe your heart skips a beat. That sinking feeling caused by someone else starts to fade slowly. You learn to pick yourself up with time. Start over.

This is pretty much the third time J's asked me out on a date, nothing fancy, just drinks perhaps. It's not even a date sort of a date, but I've been stalling it every time. He's incredibly attractive and quite the brains too. Almost too perfect, too good to be true.

I am so incredibly scared. What if we don't click? What if he doesn't like me? What if we run out of things to talk about? Will there be a second date if I were to accept? 

I want to take it slow this time around, I don't want to drop my clothes right away, my guard with it.

We never talk about romance or anything romantic. He doesn't flirt, neither do I.

Is this how adults initiate something? A relationship or a friendship perhaps? I spend my day on my own, doing my things. But it's nice to have someone to talk to, about random things when I'm feeling lonely. Politics, sports, the economy, sociology etc etc.

The thought of fucking him doesn't cross my mind as much as having a deep, intellectual conversation with him does. 

Am I growing up, into a woman? Isn't this how ladies behave? Random hookups don't excite me anymore, fooling around is for kids. I'm looking for something real this time. I want fidelity, I want security. I don't want steamy sex if it comes at the cost of feeling abandoned afterwards.

Being the child in a relationship has brought me a lot of pain and honestly it is all my fault because I have been making all the wrong choices. I pick someone who is completely wrong from the start, thinking I can change them, thinking my love will change them. But it almost never works. "Time is a flat circle" and people keep doing and redoing the same things over and over again, nobody ever changes.

I met someone the other day who reminded me of myself a year or so back. It's lovely when someone makes you dream of the glorious future, but I pray that she stays safe and he treats her right. A precious flower, hope he doesn't crush her and abandon her, like they've done to me. I want to tell her to be strong and brace herself incase she is thrown into a storm but I think she'll learn and grow on her own anyway.

I envy some people. Their lives are simple and they are happy. Stupid people are always happy because they don't think too much. I wish I could be stupid for a day, maybe I'd be happy too.

The initial stages of attraction are always the greatest. You know you're going to fall in love eventually, it's only a matter of time

But I'm going to be strong this time. I will toughen up by choice. I am tired of crying myself to sleep and having my heart crushed to bits.

I want to be with someone who loves me and treats me right. My demands are simple. But I'm not going to compromise this time around.

I deserve something great, if not the best. I didn't kiss all the frogs for nothing, get scarred by them. 

Young Drunk Punk

Baby steps,
one by one.
I'll only talk to you if you talk to me.
Ask me questions.
And I'll answer.

We're all so lonely,
trying to find someone to hold on to
For comfort.
Across continents and different time zones.

What if we never meet again?
Will you remember my face?
What else will you remember?

Baby steps this time around,
I can't keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
You teach me how to love myself
And I'll bare my soul to you one day.

Let's talk about this city.
Let's solve its mysteries.
Lets fall in love.
A cross-cultural love affair.
Torrid and passionate.
You keep me safe.
I'll keep you sane.


But I don't want to rush anymore
I have all the time in the world to find you
I know you're out there somewhere
For me.
Just for me.

50 Shades of Meh.

I don't get what the hype is all about, honestly. I tried to read the book and it put me to sleep, especially the "bdsm" bits.
I am a huge fan of dominance and subordination. I wonder if that makes me some kind of a pervert, yet I can't help but enjoy it.
What sexually active woman will not get excited at the thought of being roughed up a little. Women are not the doe-eyed sacrificial lambs they pretend to be, they like it dirty as much as men do. Well definitely some, if not all.

I like a man who takes control behind closed doors. I can't help it. I don't want to mother a virgin, I enjoy men, not boys. Sex like that is energising, more satisfactory. Vanilla is good, vanilla is great for everyday life. But why not shake things up a little sometimes?
A was a spanker and it was quite the departure from what I expected from him. He would like to spank me little, once or twice before we did it from behind. His palms reigned firm blows on my cheeks, I'd cry out. Moan. He'd check to see if I had become embarrassingly wet. Usually, it did. It turned me on instead of angering me or making me run for cover. I wanted more, never said no. It became a habit for us to do it so incredibly rough and hard and then balance it out with some vanilla after. It's weird how being punished made me feel more turned on than freaked out. It's liberating to be spanked sometimes. But not jokingly, pansily. Firm, strong, painful strokes.
The greatest pleasure is always in pain, always. You have to be very strong, only then can you truly enjoy pleasure. Like the act of having your body ravaged. Letting somebody scratch lines on your back, making you bleed a little. If it feels good, then it's got to be right. Right and wrong are rather relative.

Good girls go to heaven and bad girls have the best sex.

Cuff me, collar me, blindfold me, gag me, asphyxiate me, spank me, cut me, fuck me. Keep it real. We are animals at the end of the day. Civilisation is a myth, it's all for survival. Pleasure prompts survival. Do your bit.

I cannot recollect the number of orgasms I've had every time I've been handled with firmness. Almost too firm, too rough. I'm a thin girl, a man should have the ability to throw me around a little sometimes, use a little force to overpower me perhaps. A man knows the fine line between being dominant and rape-y. I like trusting a man. The sex is always better that way.
I'm a lioness, I am wild.
I don't care about the size of your dick. I judge you by what you do with it. You can have the biggest dick in the world and yet it wouldn't be enough to satisfy me. I need you to take control of my body, use it at your will, for your pleasure once in a while.

মাঝে মাঝে হারিয়ে গেলে, ক্ষতি কোথায়ে?

Sometimes I think about the futility of life as a whole. Not one person I know around me is happy, satisfied. The more I study spirituality, the more I realise that human beings aspire to become like animals, taking care of only their basic needs. It is only then one can achieve true freedom, salvation.

Have you ever observed birds? Or fish? The live and they die, being of no real consequence when in reality they help perpetuate the universe. All species, except for man, live with their universe. Man lives on earth, dominates it. But what is man but a virus, perhaps the most destructive species this earth has ever seen.

I hear my father, the best damn family man one can be, talk over the phone at wee hours of the night. He is discussing movies and film stars with his girlfriend. I can't blame him or hate him for what he does and how badly he covers the tracks of his affair, I understand him. But yet I feel so incredibly angry thinking of the impact his actions have had on me. I have never grown up in an atmosphere where I can imagine what a normal relationship feels like. My parents share a strange dynamic now that they're living together in the same house and in the same city again after all these years. I can't feel the love between them and it kills me. How can two people who were so madly in love at one point of time in their young lives be so indifferent to each other?
Turns out that my father does not have cancer, but his lungs are starting to betray him slowly. It runs in the family apparently, as does cancer. But the thought of losing my father one day, eventually, does not scare me. It does not break me. Over the years, I have grown used to losses. I feel the pain, but it no longer cripples me.
Death has never scared me. I am not scared of dying tomorrow, I am however terrified of waking up one day when I'm 90 to realise that my limbs, my organs don't function properly anymore.

But anyway, I've regressed far too much to write down what I originally intended to. I blame the damn pot.

I don't know why but I feel like I've been losing myself lately and this time to tackle my depression, I've been studying. I've reading reading reading. Loners like me find a strange kind of comfort in the words of other people.
I've been stocking up on Bengali literature. I've been forcing myself to write in my mother tongue. It brings me at peace with myself somehow. My words come out like a child who is slowly learning to talk. The simplicity of it brings me a strange kind of comfort.

মাঝে মাঝে হারিয়ে গেলে, ক্ষতি কোথায়ে?

Alternative Career Options

1. Drug dealer, scene sorter.
2. Pimp.
3. Whore.
4. Model  Don't fulfill basic height/vital stat requirements
5. Actor  Cannot act to save life.
6. Writer for tabloids, the page 3 etc etc
7. Professional alcoholic.
8. Full time homemaker.
9. Private tutor  Don't have patience, can't stand most children.
10. Tollywood extra.

Babe,

(You just pictured me seductively moan "babe" into your ear, didn't you, you cheap fuck? ) I miss you. I miss how we'd kiss, how you'd hold my hand and guide me from time to time. I miss you and the way you'd hold me, hug me and console me. I miss the way you'd run your fingers through my hair and down my back, I miss how you'd squeeze my butt, my breasts and run your nails down my body. You'd finger me. You'd fuck me and you'd make me cry out for more. You were everything I wanted but I guess I was never good enough for you.
You never loved me the way I should have been loved. 'Why are you so hot' you exclaimed when you were busy sticking your dick inside me, onetime. That was always it for you. I was a hot, modern yogic piece of meat for you, never more. You never tried to understand me. You blamed the ex-lovers for getting in the way, but never blamed yourself. My ex-lovers were never throwing themselves at juvenile sluts, you were. My ex-lovers were never lying to me, you were. My ex-lovers were never abandoning me, you were. My ex-lovers were gone from the frame, Only you were around, but it is so much easier to blame someone else that yourself, isn't it?

I think about the sex we had from time to time and I pray that it wasn't the greatest I'll ever experience, I pray that it will be better for me someday. I pray for average sex with someone who'll love me with their heart over great sex with someone who will ultimately leave me feeling like a whore. I want to close my eyes and make love with someone, someday. I know I will, because you sure can fuck me hard and fuck me fast, but you've never been able to bare yourself and make love to me. It takes some amount of sensitivity and genuineness-qualities which you clearly don't possess.

Pay someone a thousand rupees and they'd probably do the same as I did. I was your cheap cheap cheap fucking whore, nothing more. Pay a whore a thousand rupees or slightly more and she'd swallow your semen and tell you how much she loves you as well. There is no real difference, is there? It's all just the same, girl A girl B girl X girl Y...it's all just the same. Scope them out on facebook, flirt your balls off, dream of fucking them someday somewhere. The cycle is endless. Two birds in the bush are quite obviously better than the one in hand, ain't it?

Pay a whore some money and she'd dress up all nice for you, be lady you can show off to your friends. There is no difference. They won't let you kiss them on the mouth though, But I wouldn't know, the lovers of my past have been completely satisfied with me, they've never had to look around as much as you've had to. they've never had to visit the rendipotti in Calcutta or elsewhere because despite my frail frame, I've been more than enough woman for them. You're the only asshole who I was obviously not enough for. I guess maybe if I was younger, sluttier, and had bigger boobs, maybe then I'd have your undivided attention. But what to do, I can't and I won't let someone like you make me feel inferior. If I had to take revenge then I'd talk about the size and girth of your fucking dick, your manhood. But I won't go there. I am not the peasant that you are. I am royalty, bitch.

People are obstinate, people don't change. Perhaps sometimes they get better at covering their tracks when they lie. But they never change. Anything you hear on the contrary, are just lies.

The older I grow, the more I realise that I want to settle down with someone, marry them and have their babies. I want to be in an average mediocre relationship with someone loyal, faithful and loving. I don't want adventures and grand plans. I just want someone who'll love me and complete me. I want someone who'll treat me right and be there for me when I need them the most.

The sex with you was probably the only thing I remember fondly, but then again, you never really understood and valued me. Because if you had then you'd never let me go. You'd never treat me the way you did. I was your hooker, I was never your lover. Dignity, look up the word on a dictionary, I don't think you know what it means. My ego has never swallowed me whole and every time you treated me like dirt at public places, I took it with a pinch of salt figuring that you're perhaps too naive, you're one of those asshole chauvinists who will perhaps change someday as they grow older.
It's strange how the more I let you treat me badly, the more you went ahead and did indeed. A showpiece, a prize, that's all I amounted to for you. But you forgot, you poor boy, was that everything has a repercussion. If you were to ever father a girl child some day, I pray that nobody ever treats her the way you treated me. Seriously, can you imagine the rage and the humiliation you'd feel? It's cool to treat women like your sextoys, isn't it? Wait till you have a daughter of your own, you cunt. Or would you be okay with someone treating her like a prostitute as well?

It's okay I guess. You're old enough to understand that we belong to two very different spheres. We want something completely different out of our lives. You want hot chicks, a whole bunch of them to adore you, you want to be rich and famous, I just want to settle down with a man and a dog (two actually) somewhere and write my music. Our priorities in life are very different.

You hurt me and I will eventually forgive you, with time. But I will never forgive myself for falling for a fraud. I always fall for a fraud. I guess that's my weak point, thank you for tapping into it. You're not much different from the guy who raped me. I feel stupid thinking that somebody would love me for my soul and the kind of person that I am. I guess the perils of having a moderately fuckable body is that guys will always only want to fuck you and dump you after that.

I don't know why that is though. Am I that ugly? Or does nobody want to love me because I'm tainted, because I've been raped? It's like everyone wants to stick their dick in me but nobody wants to stick around. I guess there are a few drawbacks of being raped during your adolescence, everybody assumes that you're a piece of shit and that you do deserve to be treated like one. Sometimes I feel like I should douse myself in kerosene and set myself on fire, just die. Perhaps nobody will love me. Everybody just wants to have a go at me, fuck me and then abandon me.
I guess not every girl has a happy ending. Some people, like me, unfortunately become the victims of the cruel game called life. I don't blame you, you had your go-duping me from time to time. I hope you had a good time. I hope I was able to "love you long time." The gifts make sense now. I'm not a cheap hooker, I'm one of those classy ones, you give me gifts and I give blowjobs etc etc.

I sometimes wonder if you think of me too. I wonder if you remember the time at your place when I trusted you to make love to me. Wait, who am I kidding. Your memory is probably too jammed from the fucking drugs and the superficial lifestyle. How could you remember, if you had any respect and valued sentiments, you wouldn't let me go so far away/

Someone told me that you've been writing about me, that you put up a naked picture of me. You know what, I won't give you the pleasure by even reading what you have to say to the whole wide world. I give a flying fuck. Try as hard as you can, pull of all your unimaginative and incredibly mediocre stunts, I'm gone. I'm really really gone. You're just a waste of time in my 23 years of existence, nothing more. If I can get over the person who I loved for the first time in life who raped me, then getting over you should be a piece of cake. I'm done waiting for a sign. I'm done waiting for you.

Infact, why the fuck am I even typing this out. I'd rather write a note for my dead soulmate who'll at least acknowledge my presence. You're not even a man. You're just an infant who threw away the best he could have imagined, the one who threw away the best he could have got.

Sincerely, without any love
S.

Cheeky Little Cunt

My pussy is tight

My pussy is tight

Don't kill my vibe, bitch

Don't kill my vibe.

I'd fuck your girlfriend

I'd fuck your brother.

I'd fuck them real good.

I'd fuck them right.

Cause my pussy's still tight.

Warm. So wet.

Waiting for you.

All those rumours you've heard

Are indeed true.

My pussy is tight.

My pussy is tight.

I'll spread anarchy right here in Calcutta.

It's time to start a fight!

It's A Man's World

"I'm with the band" is as good as it gets for some girls. They spend their time trying to somehow fit into the circle, where I'm assuming the ultimate coolios are the guys in the band. Life's never been like that for me. I've never been a groupie for someone else. I am the band, bitch.

It felt strange to be back at Someplace Else after all this time, as though we were finishing what we'd started three years back on the exact same stage. I was possessed. It was unreal.
I have been told so many times by so many people that I'm just another pretty face, that my band will not last. I can't sing. I have mediocre talent. Last night was a slap in the face for those people. The satisfaction in proving your haters wrong and giving them absolutely no reason to criticize you can be such a high.

I'm not an arrogant prick who can't stand criticism, don't get me wrong. I welcome constructive criticism because it helps me grow. I was once told that I sing awfully live and that I should quit. I did not let that break me, I've spent the last year trying to work on better singing and that remains my priority in every gig. I'm fortunate because I've had help coming my way from some of the best there is, those who try to tweak me to become better, to realise my potential.

When the lights are on, the stage is set, everything happens in a flash. I'm in a trance. It doesn't matter who is in the audience, it's me and three people who are extensions of my soul versus the entire world. I love being in a band because it's like a brotherhood, but only better.

The relationship between bandmates is strange, quite undescribeable. I love them so much that it hurts and yet sometimes I want to punch them in the face. They've seen me during my best and my worst. They are my friends, siblings, parents, colleagues all rolled into one.

I could always go solo, play my music through a laptop and a few instruments. But where is the fun in that? Everybody can do that. Would the Beatles be The Beatles if the four of them tried to make it work by going solo?

But being in a band is not always rainbows and butterflies, it teaches you to be tolerant of those with beliefs different from yours, it also teaches you to put others before yourself sometimes. It's a lot of hard work to spend all your time with people who are completely different from you, things get tense sometimes, everybody reaches their boiling points, but the good thing is that in such situations, one person always becomes the peace-maker, the mediator.
I would much rather die than give up on my band. We may not make money, we may not be famous. However, every time we hit the stage, I feel protected, I feel at one with the three and at the end of the day, we feel the exact same things-the reason I play music in the first place.


The biggest compliment I received last night was probably from M who in his drunken stupor said that I have balls of steel. Songwriters need to have some balls, they need to have an opinion, it can't be about love songs and romances all the time. Even if it is, then you really need to feel what you say, fucking someone and writing a song about them is cheating, it's being lazy. Also we're living in an era where romance is essentially dead, this is not the 60s and the 70s. The acid we drop is not pure. The ecstasy we abuse is to get us to fuck, not make love. Despite what others may think of it, I enjoy industrial rock, it is dirty like the crack the world is on. It is grotesque and it is on you to find the beauty in it.
M once said something very profound on the lines of musicians either playing with their cocks or their assholes, which I find to be quite true. But maybe instead of cock and asshole, I'd say heart/mind and body. I don't want to be the latter. It's okay if I can't sing like Freddie Mercury, I can however, be the best damn Suyasha there is. So many people start playing music for such wrong reasons, the most obvious one being to get laid. Or to be famous and make money. But what they don't realise is that if you have nothing to say, you're not going to be able to achieve any of those things.
Women, or rather girls, in particular are even worse at these things. So many girls I know start singing (because hello, just about anybody can sing, it's the easiest thing to do in a band!) because they want to be a famous model or an actress. They obviously can't hold on to the spotlight and when the audience is bored of what they see, they move on to other things. If there's anything I'd hate to be, that would be to be a fad and nothing more. I don't want to be known for the way I look and the way I sing, I want to be known for what I have to say.

Live music is a time-bomb and not every woman has the strength of Aunty J. I desperately want to be as strong, wise and elegant as she is when I'm her age. I've seen too many skanks around and I know, I just know, that twenty years down the line, none of them will remain. They will get married to rich men and have their babies, that will be their career. I'm not envious of those around me because some may have more popularity, more money than I do. But I'm not here for those things, I am here because this is the only thing I can do, I don't have a choice. Music is my life.

So going back to the whole "I'm with the band" sentence, sometimes girls need to find their own scene and not become the hellwoman from This Is Spinal Tap. It's frankly quite embarrassing because no one takes groupies seriously, they're just fuck and throw. If I were to meet Kurt Cobain in a hypothetical situation, I still wouldn't be his groupie, I'd just be a musician talking to another, perhaps a more experienced one.



PS-If you think about it, Kurt Cobain ultimately fell for a musician (whether you like her or not is not the point!), not one of this groupies. There's your example.