All posts filed under: Naps

Happy Halloween!!

I thought I’d not post a second blog today but I didn’t want to miss a chance to write a few word of my own either.  So I just decided to write again. It’s Halloween and the end of October. I signed up for this blog almost a year ago but had not been actively posting until it was September already. So it’s safe to admit that I’m new to the community in every way possible. But the amount of love and support I have been getting in this month (and the past month as well) from my fellow bloggers is admittedly overwhelming. So I just wanted to write this blog to thank everyone who I follow or the bloggers who follow me and to anyone who reads my contents. It’s a pleasure to be able to be a part of this beautiful community. Thank you!! Have a happy and safe Halloween. Photo by Toni Cuenca from Pexels Photo by rawpixel.com from Pexels Advertisements

Beneath the Shrouds of Thoughts

By Bidisha Sinha // greatdipper.wordpress.com A gold digger chips on in a dark, dingy mine while his face gets plastered with mud… the silence of the night broken by the constant chipping… the music feels the room and into my veins of thoughts. As the cigarette smoke infiltrates my senses, my mind wanders in and out of the things that have happened with me and others. How the lives that is entwined with mine have been living on edges of reality and the unexplained… and yet we all live on with our lives.. isn’t it.. Borderline crazy??? I have submerged my god or ghost consciousness at the altar of science… yet today.. things go beyond my reasons. The only other time I felt this crazy was when I was in love .. but love and bewilderment and fear are different things— differing in their basic anatomy of impact. I was hoping I would never have to write about my dreams—that dreams are exaggerations of our thoughts— convoluted by the feelings that we can never perceive. …

Wherever You Go Today, You Go Today

I guessed I wouldn’t be able to write when I woke up this morning. I supposed I’d, may be, listen to a bunch of music for the rest of the day. Though, the plan was a bit different when I went to bed last night. I thought I’d write and I’d write about the play that I had watched in the evening. The morning, however, had a different plan scheduled. Autumn rains have its own nobleness; which I believe is entirely different than anytime of the year. So, when I woke up to a moist and dreary weather, I felt the urge to unbind and listen to some Fleet Foxes and, may be, watch a movie and make some music later. But it all took a different direction with the emails of all the new posts published by my fellow bloggers. So I decided to write… But about what…..? The question came up in my mind since I was not willing to analyze the play and write about it today. But then something caught my attention and …

Halloween Inscriptions: Part – I চোদ্দোশাক, চোদ্দোবাতি

A foggy October’s evening..Two phantoms settle and talk in a bamboo-bush across a pond. Today is the day of warding off the evil spirit after all. The natives call it Bhoot Chaturdashi. They eat 14 kinds of leafy greens and light up 14 candles for the custom. Long ago, on these days, people would leave edibles in this bush. But now, they don’t reckon with such rituals anymore. No one cares either, else, in what sort of seriousness would a 10 years old shout “ayy, who’s sitting there…?” …..on a day like this! Lately, several foreign news have been surfacing…..They carve pumpkins to make ghost faces…Kids go door to door while dressing up like a ghost….It’s something, they call… Halloween. Whatever, those mores have never been in vogue here…Ones that remained are dwindling into the light in Banerjees’ new house’s yard. The phantoms become somewhat sad and start walking towards a ground.. The dairyman’s wife paces  towards home. She scrutinizes her surroundings repeatedly and cautiously. The day is Bhoot Chaturdashi after all; the phantoms are out there; wandering. Banerjees’ …

অথৈ জল / Unfathomable Water (2018).

On June 14, 2018 The Times Of India published an article or rather an advertisement that read, “Purba Paschim launches poster, set to stage new play.” And three days later after that, on June 17 the same news paper alluded, “Purba Paschim pays tribute to three doyens of Bengali literature.” They are: Manik Bandyopadhyay’s Diba Ratrir Kabya, Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay’s Hasuli Banker Upokotha and Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay’s Athoi Jol. A paradigm of an excellent marketing, indeed, I’d put it that way, as the play was going to be premiered on July 22 at Academy of Fine Arts. Added to that, the novel was scripted by Ujjwal Chattopadhay, with editing and direction from none other than Bratya Basu. The adaptation holds actors like Debshankar Haldar and the founder and director of Purba Paschim himself, Soumitra Mitra. Though it has taken me months to finally get around and see the play eventually. The day, it came. On the last Sunday I finally got around to see Athoi Jol. A plot that takes place in the time of pre-WWII Bengal. The story revolves around the protagonist …

Carrie and Lowell

Sufjan Stevens – Carrie & Lowell (2015) Thanks to a cold, plain and nifty autumn evening on an ordinary Thursday. This album was almost slipping by if I hadn’t decided to collect as many indie folk album as I possibly could back in 2015. However, It took me a while to imbibe that I was not aware of this masterpiece even when it had come out almost nine months before I got the chance to listen. Sufjan Stevens is a Detroit born singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and at this point of his career I suppose it’s safe to say that he is an international treasure. Carrie and Lowell is Sufjan Stevens 7th studio album released through Asthmatic Kitty on March 31, 2015, named after his mother and stepfather. The album is a tale of the relationship that he had with his mother and the blocks of feelings that he went through after her death. The album received massively positive reviews from the critics and was considered one of the best albums released in 2015. Carrie and Lowell …

3:34. A thought on Minds.

I have always been curious as to how we would develop our idiosyncrasies in terms of isolation from the world in general. Would it resuscitate the primordial quintessence inside us or beget an entirely new instinct? I believe human mind is incapable of  forming nothing. It’s unable to think of zero. Namely, if we are ever to say “what if nothing would exist. Universe, stars, planets, time, us and so on?” we would not be able to perceive and picture it entirely. Therefore if we are ever to be isolated from everything we would have ascertained the utmost balderdash but there would have always been something to ponder over. To be even more precise, think of someone left alone in void who is free from materialistic illusions and organism and is unfamiliar with anything previously thought and perceived. What would this person come up to? However, while this is not what I am going to conclude, which I will probably be incapable of, it has always been a subject of curiosity for me. What has partial isolation …

2:23. A thought on Hallucinations.

I take my headphone off as I find myself listening to this newly-found song for over an hour and going places while lying in this dark room at 2:23 in the morning. “Someone slowly walks by and the passing car’s sound elapses in the distance just like it was on yesterday or the day before. Like I am entangled in a loop of time.” I think to myself. Radonitsa as the track is called. A blend of ambient and folk. From “No Time To Hurry“, an album off a Russian ambient musician Foresteppe. I forsake the urge to sleep as it isn’t going to ensue anytime soon and decide to tramp. As i get past the silhouettes in the living room and open the door of the balcony I see the soft beam of a curved moon lights up the porch. I settle into an armchair. The annoyance and hardship of not being able to rest for days obliterates as soon as the tints of the moon and millions of stars shine upon my weary eyes and I …

In Solitude They Are Least Alone:

‘Martin!’ ….’Martin, Martin! Look out into the street tomorrow, for I shall come.’ Martin Avdeiteh, a cobbler who lived in a certain town in Leo Tolstoy‘s short story: Where Love Is, God is. A black/white city. All quiet, static, befogged, moist, damped, or even imbecile where in a humid and pluvial morning someone has forgotten to close the windows and left for work. Think of this empty apartment. What would be the perception without someone to witness the apartment, the open window, the wet floors right under it, the damped wind, the swinging almanac on the wall, the hapless town and the savanna right outside of it, the dangling meadows and shrubs, the forests and the trees, the mild waves on the lake, the dew and water drops on the leaves, the pristine and occult spirits that only incarnate in secrecy? Or what could possibly be the perception of a post-apocalyptic city, all gray and demolished, the shattered houses, the annihilated people, or a billowing and corrugating sea at night, a dense and perplexed forest in …

The Ghost of Anhedonia:

If you walk towards west you’ll meet a crossing. There is a cafe right across the street. Closed. A road has come straight from the west, one from the south and another from north. If you walk to north, the road is quite dusty and fuzzy yellow light shines upon the place to make it look surreal. And, yeah, you’ll get to see a record store and a lady of around 30 years, probably the owner of it, noticing your existence and your walk with her cold eyes while sitting on a bench and cleaning the vinyls, on your way, right beside the closed cafe, to the north pointedly. A 2 minutes walk and you’ll get to see it.. Dreams can be admittedly expressive and are, in some ways, able to exhibit the tangible world through distortion, exaggeration, primitivism, and fantasy. However, it’s not that I have ample knowledge of dreams but what I do have is ample amount of defiled instincts. About 1937, Max Ernst, a German painter, sculptor, graphic artist, poet and a primary pioneer of the Dada movement and Surrealism, …

One Person at a Time: An Oasis of Serenity Amidst the Heart of Bakkhali

-Bony 3:30 am was when the phone rang. Nobody answered. 4:00 am, the alarm went off. I woke up, gave a call back, did a few other calls, went to the bathroom, brush my teeth, took the backpack, set out. 5:12 am was when the train was supposed to arrive. Was it on time? I don’t remember. When we reached in Bakkhali it was around 9 O’Clock in the morning. The beach was almost empty like most of the time. Minimalism has always been a thing for me. From a piece of music to a mediocre sea with a wide beach with no or few people, it has been something I’ve always found myself in love with. I have been asked a lot of times why do I love to be in a place or spend my money for a place that has no impregnate beauty whatsoever! Not that I have been able to quench their thirst for a legitimate answer because minimalism itself is a complex and abstract subject. A couple of days ago …