La Douleur Exquise

La Douleur Exquise is a French phrase which translates into the ‘exquisite pain of wanting someone you can’t have’.

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Escaping Exam Time Sadness

Often it seems like our mind starts functioning at a very different pace when end semester exams are at the door. Like literally at the door. So the mind does everything in its hands to ensure that it doesn’t open the door to welcome the unwanted guest (Exams).

It is during this time that the mind starts functioning extremely fast, and thinks a thousand thoughts a minute, but usually about all the unnecessary things. Obviously.

My exams begin day after and all I can think about are the following things.

How the fee structure of our University (governed by an Act/ Statute and a Government institution, as such) is highly disproportionate to the facilities/ amenities that one may legitimately expect from such a fee structure. Also, you cannot help but get reminded of the fact that since it’s partly a Government funded institution, you should probably not be getting charged as high an amount of fees as you are getting charged right now. Like a hundred other things you would like to do something about but simply sleep through, you decide to sleep over this as well. But for how long can you sleep over it? Only till the time your exams knock on the door. Your brain then decides it’s the right time to do something about this nagging issue.

Exam time is also the time when you tend to day dream like never before. So you see pictures of an ex-schoolmate in London and you develop a wanderlust (perfect timing, eh), the ads on facebook about all the clothes and shoes you could shop online on discounted prices beg and tease you to check out their stuff and you give in to their pleadings. Your ex’s profile suddenly gets more enchanting than ever before and worries about family issues that you weren’t truly concerned about till like a week back, suddenly seem like issues that demand your immediate attention. And you give in to all these calls for your attention.

Bloody escapist. Procrastinator. Lazy fuckin bum. *Sigh*

The things we do to escape the moment! It’s like the brain is playing games with itself just to keep away from work. Work that really needs to be done.

Books beckon and I would be smart to take their call now. Tch. Such a waste of overflowing creative energy. Adios.

Don’t call me beautiful.

I don’t want to be called beautiful or pretty. I don’t want to be told I have deep eyes, good hair or sexy legs. No, I’m not just a pretty face. Look beyond it and maybe, you’ll find ‘me’. I don’t want to be hooted at, or have you passing smartass remarks as I walk down the street. No, I also don’t want to be whistled at. There are better ways to show appreciation for what you call my ‘good looks’.

I had a healthy personal life, and I’m no longer in a committed relationship. No, that does not mean I’m ‘available’ for you to ‘approach’.

I have guy friends who love me like they would love their other guy friends. They do things for me that they would do for their guy friends. They care for me and I care for them and we show that in various ways. How we show it, is our prerogative. It does not mean that he’s interested or that we’re sleeping together. No, that does not even mean that he is my ‘pet dog’. It means he cares and is not afraid to show it. Jealous guys and girls, please go take a hike, also, it’s tough, but try and get a life.

Just because I’m single, does not mean I’m ready to mingle- that too, in ways and ‘arrangements’ that you find suitable. No, I’m not the girl you’re looking for if you don’t want emotional attachments. No, I don’t want to be your ‘no-strings’ partner. There are better ways to tell me that you find me attractive and would like to bed me. Grow a pair of balls, be a man and take me with my ‘baggage’. No, don’t make me an offer to be your concubine.

I will wear what I want to wear and I will go out when and where I want to go out, that does not give you the license to x-ray my body with your glaring eyes, or to pass judgment about what ‘type’ of a girl I am. No, I am not a ‘slut’ and no, I do not need your expert judgments on my character.

I am not the victim of sexual harassment. I am a heroine of the unfortunate circumstances that idiots like yourself have thrown my way. I withstood what you cannot imagine in your worst dreams. No, do not feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for yourself and your impotent society.

I will talk back with impertinence to you if you get in my way of expression or try to force your ‘manhood’ on me. I will kick you where it hurts and watch you wriggle to death. No, don’t question my courage- physical, emotional or mental.

I love you and I will perhaps, do things for you to make you feel special. I will show the care in various ways. Be a man and accept the love with chivalry. Do not take me for granted and abuse my feelings. No, the love I feel for you, and the number of times I forgive you (thanks to that love), is not a reflection of my weakness. Memorize that.

Just because you’re a person in authority, does not mean you get to exercise that authority on me. No, I am not impressed by your uniform, or by the number of people saluting you to glory. I do not speak up because yes, I am a little scared. No, my silence is not my consent. My mind is tearing you apart in pieces right now. It just fed your balls to the dogs. No, do not try to sweet-talk me. No, do not try to take advantage of my innocence.

My innocence is my choice. As are my love, my forgiveness, my sweetness. No, I am not stupid, and no, you are not a ‘stud’. Don’t mislead yourself, and don’t misread me. Love me, and I will love you, perhaps, double-measure in return. Play me like a game, and I will beat you at it.

Oh Calcutta.

Back when I was a kid (say about 3 years back- I believe I’m no kid anymore and that the past 3 years have added to my maturity levels, both mental and physical, quite substantially, much to my disappointment) I couldn’t wait to leave the city- the city I was born and brought up in and which everyone mostly liked to refer to as the City of Joy. What exactly it was about Calcutta which made them call it that, I failed to understand. I tried and tried, but couldn’t figure out.

When some of my friends had to choose colleges after passing out from school, they maintained quite unequivocally (and in retrospect, I believe, very maturely) that they would not leave their dear hometown. They seemed un-adventurous to me back then. In hindsight though, I think it was one of the smartest decisions they could have made. Choosing to stay back. There is something about that place. Something which makes it special, something which makes it stand out in your heart. Something which makes you refer to it as ‘home’. I couldn’t wait to get away. But three years away from the city, and you feel almost a magnetic attraction towards it which you had never imagined you would feel. Three years away and you realize maybe you’re not that adventurous after all.. Calcutta. Dear old Calcutta. What was it about the city that changed my views so drastically? What was making me so Calcutta-sick? It took me quite a while to realize. Continue reading “Oh Calcutta.”