Story of my mascara

Diary of a mascara lover:

Quotes say, ‘Get yourself a man who will ruin your lipstick but not the mascara’. M stands for mascara and mascara stands for magic. Having a man who ruins mascara is not always a curse. You should not regret the things that once made you happier and your eyes darker!
I was almost seventeen at that time. While my friends were still busy with winged eyeliner, I associated myself with mascara for the first time. On a pleasant evening, when the city was not fully dark or not fully lit up, my first boyfriend Anish had gifted me a Maybelline Mascara! Seventeen is the time for many first things…first boyfriend, first tube of mascara and first heavy eyelids cause of crying! I was so happy with the gift that I started applying on my eyes right after buying. And Anish helped me doing so! My mascara coated eyes made him astonished. He said, “You look beautiful.”
Since then, mascara has become the inevitable unavoidable kit for my eyes.
Mom was really angry when she discovered mascara in my bag. She said, “You are still a child; you should not wear it now.” I said, “You are a grown up; still you never use it.” On that day, she scolded me a lot. I started hiding things from her.
I have spent hours looking my mascara coated eyelashes and thought “he would love me or not.” However, everything melts and wipes away after some time; and who doesn’t know that water makes mascara melt! Anish left the city for higher education. As a goodbye gift he had given me a Revlon mascara. I made my eyes more appealing with Covergirl mascara. My mascara rimmed eyes glazed many eyes. My fantasy for mascara didn’t fade away with his departure or with time. I cried a lot for him and covered my heavy eyelids with mascara so that no one knows what I did last night. I met someone who praised my fluffy eyes and messy look. Sometimes, a stranger comes into our lives to make us see ourselves in different light, in different eyes and different views. With time, he too bade a bye.
Today, I do wear mascara to make myself happy, not for someone to compliment. I too realized that men come and go, but mascara is forever. She is a genuine friend unlike men. When one says, “Mascara is like men, they run when you get little emotional”… I really get angry. Mascara can never be like men. And getting yourself a man who ruins mascara is not always a bad thing. You will cherish the memories and experiences. You will play and cry over the memories and one day you will get over it. Like a real queen you too will say, “I will not cry for you, my mascara is expensive.”

©Joyee

 

A bowl of prawns and you

Prawn is my favorite and so is you. You got pungent words, marvellous looks and irresistible attitude…just like prawns cooked in Bengali style with lots of spice, poppy seeds, coconut milk and pulp. I often think you are the human version of our “Daab chingri.”

On a sunny summer Sunday noon, you showed up at my doorstep with a box of milky, spicy prawns. I was about to order something from ‘Swiggy’ and your appearance made me cancel the plan. I was so startled with your action that couldn’t even say a word for five minutes and you kept grinning impishly. I always knew that my girl doesn’t cook, can’t cook and will never cook just because ‘she is a girl !’

“Why do you bring this?”

“Because it is your favorite!” she chuckled.

“Did you cook yourself?” I had to ask.

“Yes!!” said she while transferring the prawns from box to bowl,  “A girl should not always cook but a little cooking doesn’t hurt.”

“Wow! I am changing you” I rejoiced just to make her angry.

“Not really, little boy” She said in sarcastic tone, “Now you have to prepare the rice.”

However, she helped me preparing the rice too. And it was a grand lunch with rice and “Daab chingri”. It was really a gala day for my taste buds. The prawns bathed in coconut milk just like a Cleopatra in goat milk and we relished the dish like ‘heaven is now here’, in our taste buds. I have never had such a quaint taste in restaurant food; the food was homely yet delicious.

When we finished the food, my heart was fuller than stomach. I asked her the reason behind such a treat while still busy on licking my fingers.

“I have finally dumped my bastard boyfriend to be with you,” she embraced me in a bear hug. I have always wanted this to happen. It should be like dream coming into reality for me. But sadly, I couldn’t. I just stood still stupidly. I felt sorry for him who once was my enemy.

Finally my crush is saying “Yes” when I least expected it. All my thoughts went to ‘that bastard’ who is my current best friend !!

©Joyee

Pic courtesy: Afraa

বখাটে ছেলে লালকমলের চিঠি মহাদেবকে

হে শিবশম্ভু,
    আজ কাঁধে কলসীর বাঁক নিয়েছি, টুংটাং ঘণ্টা আর গাঁদা ফুলের মালায় বাঁক সাজিয়েছি। আজ আমার দেওয়া গঙ্গাজলে তুমি তুষ্ট হয়ো। সবাই আমায় যতই মন্দ ছেলে বলুক, দুয়ো দিক, কুৎসা রটাক…তুমি তো জান আমি খারাপ  নই। তুমি তো ভক্তের ভক্ত হে মহাদেব! লোকে বলে আমি নাকি রাজনৈতিক উদ্দেশ্য নিয়ে তোমার পূজা করি, আমি নাকি মহেশ্বরের চেয়েও গেরুয়া নিশানকে বড় আশ্রয়দাতা মনে করি, আমি নাকি দলে লোক টানতে কাঁওয়ারিয়াদের ভার নিই, জলযাত্রীদের সেবা করি, পুণ্য অর্জন নাকি আমার উদ্দেশ্য নয়, আমার কপালের লালতিলক নাকি আসলে শিবঠাকুরের জন্য নয়, এ আসলে ক্ষমতার বহিঃপ্রকাশ মাত্র।
লোকে আমার জামার গেরুয়া রংটাই দেখে, আমার জীবন সংগ্রামটা কেউ দেখেনা, লোকে দেখে রামনবমীর মিছিলে আমি প্রথম সারিতে, আমার হাতে অস্ত্র, কিন্তু এর পিছনে একটা সুস্থ জীবনলাভের যে কি আকুতি, সেটা কারো চোখে পড়ে না।

গতবছর এমনই এক শ্রাবণ ছিল, আকাশ ছিল ঘনকালো, বৃষ্টিপায়ে হেঁটে চলেছিল হাজার পুণ্যার্থী; হঠাৎই তার সাথে এক পলক আমার চোখাচোখি, তার ক্লান্ত মুখ, কাজলকালো চোখ, লাল চুড়িদার যেন উদ্বেলিত করল আমায়, কথা বলে জানলাম তার নাম লালি; সে বলেছিল এই কমলা কুর্তা, সাদা পাজামা আর কপালের লালতিলকে নাকি খুব সুন্দর দেখায় আমায়; কথাটা কতটা সত্যি জানিনা, কিন্তু আজ ঐভাবেই সাজাই নিজেকে। সে আমাকে শুধুই সাবধান করে আমি যেন অস্ত্র হাতে না তুলি, যেন কোন অপ্রীতিকর কিছু না করে বসি; ওকে যে কিভাবে বোঝাই আমি এক্কেবারে মাটির মানুষ; যেটুকু যা করি ওই দাদাদের কোথায় আর দলে টিকে থাকতে! আর অস্ত্র হাতে তুলছি মানেই এমন নয় যে কাউকে আক্রমণ করব, তা শুধুই আত্মরক্ষার্থে।
সেবার বৃষ্টি নামল, প্রথমে ঝিরঝিরিয়ে, তারপর অঝোরধারায়, আমি তখন কাঁওয়ারিয়াদের পুরি, গুজিয়া, শরবত বিতরণে ব্যস্ত…সেই যে বৃষ্টি নামল, কখন থেমেছিল, আমার আর মনে নেই; হয়তো ঘটনার ঘনঘটা আমায় সেটা মনে রাখতে দেয়নি; একদল মাদ্রাসা ফেরত কচিকাঁচাকে আশ্রয় দিয়েছিলাম আমাদের তাঁবুতে, আর আমার ওপর খেপে উঠেছিল দলের দাদারা। সেবার যখন রুস্তম অসুস্থ হল ওকে রক্ত দিয়েছিল কে? কওসর চাচা অসুস্থ হলে তার পথ্য করে কে? তবুও দিনের শেষে সবাই আঙ্গুল উঁচিয়ে বলে, “লালকমল তো গেরুয়া”। আমার অন্য সব পরিচয় মুছে গিয়ে রাজনৈতিক পরিচয়টাই কেন যে সবার কাছে মুখ্য হয়ে দাঁড়ায় তা আজ বুঝি না; শুধু এটুকু বুঝি মানুষ যখন, কোন একটি ‘তকমা’ তো চাই!

আমি অস্ত্র ধরি, আমি রাহাজানি করি, আবার ভালোও বাসি। অপরাধ করা আমার জীবিকা বটে কিন্তু আমি একেবারে নিরপরাধী। আমার সব অপরাধ তুমি ধুয়ে দিও। আমি উড়োনচন্ডী, বাউণ্ডুলে, আত্মভোলা, আমি কষ্ট ভুলতে গাঁজা টানি। কিন্তু লালিকে ছাড়া আমি বাঁচব না! হরগৌরীর মিলন যেমন চিরন্তন, আমি আর লালি যেন সেভাবেই চিরকাল একসাথে থাকতে পারি! তুমি একটু দেখো।
পুনশ্চ: লালপাঞ্জাবি আর সাদা ধুতিতে আমি তো সেই পাশের বাড়ির ছেলে, যে পাড়ার পুজোর মধ্যমনি, যার মধ্যে আছে হাস্যরস আর অন্যের দুঃখ দেখলে ঝাঁপিয়ে পড়ার মানসিকতা; তার তো আলাদা কোন ধর্ম নেই, ভেদাভেদ নেই…সে যদি রাজনীতিতে জড়িয়ে পড়ে, তার কি অন্য পরিচয়গুলো মুছে যায়?
ব্যোম্ ভোলে! ভোলেবাবা পার করো !
ইতি,
তোমার বখাটে ছেলে লালকমল

©জয়ী

‘A Walk to Remember’ in Calcutta

“I am the man with the tambourine…”

It was a steamy summer night. The humidity level reached a new high and Calcutta was all wet in sweats. Everyone was praying for rain.
Suddenly I got a call from Esha. She is my childhood friend and my friend Asmit’s fiancé. When she said, “Let’s go for a walk” I was quite surprised.

“Is he busy? Or you guys had a quarrel once again?”

“We called it quits” She chirped.

“How dare you?” I was astonished!

“Just for tonight, let’s forget that I have a boyfriend, let’s forget that you just broke up with Emilie; let’s forget the outer world and chat like there is no tomorrow…as we used to…before this Asmit thing happened.” I used to know her crazy nature, so I had to agree. I came out from my ‘uncle’s cabin’ and she came out from her ladies’ hostel.

We didn’t go for sophisticated ice cream cones or tubs decorated with chocolate bars and Oreo biscuits. We simply slurped our desi “Kulfi malai” and it was truly my own ‘A Walk to Remember.’

“You are still a mental.” said I.

“You must appreciate me for being a mental.” she chuckled.

And we talked and talked; we gazed and gazed at each other with a smile on lips and glitter in eyes. I saw the city lights less lucrative than her eyes. For once, I forgot she was not mine.

She described how she loved watching the sunsets and blowing the dandelions, how she adored Chinese cuisine, how she took weeds to get rid of frustration, how she watched clichéd romantic Hollywood movies to believe in love, how she matched the steps with a Latino dance teacher, how she spent nights reading Paulo Coelho, how she spent days reading erotica, how she spent nights at Park Street bars, how she met a handsome Irishman at the Irish pub, how she tried to make a documentary on Armenian culture of Calcutta, how she rode bike in full speed and how she kept her boyfriends totally unaware of these.

I felt she is a silent scream; I felt her really addictive. I didn’t want her stories to end.

“Thanks for sharing things with me” I greeted.

“And you didn’t interrupt a single time.” She poked my nose.

I poked her belly, “One should not interrupt the storyteller.”

“The kulfi is tasty, isn’t it?” She chuckled and I came back to reality; I saw my kulfi has already melted a lot and I forgot to slurp.

“Now it’s your turn”

“My turn? No way”

“Yes…you have to.”

She pleaded like anything but I didn’t agree. I just loved to look at her without a blink and she twittered the whole time. I was flooded with emotions and words. Before leaving, she gave me a ‘goodnight peck’ on the cheek. I was happy and startled!

“You are not mine, but I’m a bit yours today!” I murmured myself and returned home.

©Joyee

A letter to the guy who doesn’t return home

To the guy who doesn’t return home at night,

You are the typical bad boy. You return home if you wish, you don’t if you don’t feel like returning. The world thinks you have gone nuts, you have nothing to achieve, nothing to accomplish, nothing to look after. Actually they think, you will not listen anything, will not take anything seriously and do anything properly. So they easily jump into a conclusion that you are a bad boy!
Believe me, I do get you. A pros, a drink, a puff, a party, a crime…whatever engages you at night, is actually a hallucination to keep you away from reality; and you are weak enough to fall prey to it. A hallucination becomes your fad when reality tears you apart over and over. There might be a storm inside you, there might be rainstorms or sunshower or something very poignant trying to come out of you. But you don’t realise it, sadly. So, you make yourself believe in cheap pleasures…a bottle of rum, a porn, a street prostitute, a powder roll, women, smuggling, gambling or whatever exists in the world. These things only intensify your senses and you go away from dream, love, sunshine and soul. You forget to look inside, you forget to show your soul, forget to appreciate little joys of nature. Then, one fine day, the real you dies to the drugs, to the crime, to the humanity. You stop feeling for home, for mom.
I do believe in your past. You once were most softhearted, soft-spoken human alive in the world. But I do trust you. I know, there is still a person, a child inside your dusky heart who tremendously needs love. I know you will enjoy the sunset more than dark smokey nights. I know you will enjoy the bright days more than the gloomy drug-stained nights and lipstick-stained shirts. You just need to believe, you are a good boy…you’re just a good boy with bad thoughts and worst past. You have to believe that life is new as day and old as time. You have to look beyond your hallucination. If you look beyond, you will see the melting sunshine, it has nothing to do with alcohol or your idea of enjoyment. Life is a love letter long enough to beat the paper rolls which carry powdered drugs.

Yours,
A person who understands your pain.

©Joyee

A break-up story

To my girl,

You are the love letter, I can’t read anymore, the same I hate to throw away
You are the broken nest, I can’t stay anymore
You are the melted eyeliner because of heavy teardrops, I can’t blot with my shirt or handkerchief
You are the story of broken home, I would die to rebuild…
Girl, you are the story to tell, notes to take and wishes to pin; but sadly, you are not someone to keep inside the pocket of my soul; you are always happy to be pick-pocketed. As long as you are with someone, they have most valuable gold coin in the world; and when you go they are pauper, penniless…a parasite. Still, you are someone to paint the days with brightest shade of yellow. I will always adore the afterglow of the sun when it sets rather than mourn over the coming darkness. I will appreciate the day even after sunset. I will admire you even if you go. You have made me believe in building castle in the air. You have made me realize how it feels to be in the storm and still feel like dancing. You have made me watch the beauty of a flying feather. You have made me realize the beauty of fallen leaves. You are a wildflower, you energize everyone to be wild.
Even if we part ways, even if we may call it quits, still the journey with you is a legacy. Guess what, even today when I stand at the window of our “ready to collapse house of love”, I only see “love”, still left in us. I don’t see future, but I see the finest sides of life. You are the cuckoo of the spring, no matter how many springs I’ve already spent inhaling other flowers or watching the other birds, I will still fall for you. And you will make me realize, what a life changing experience it is to listen to cuckoo’s song for the first time at the advent of the spring!

Sincerely,
Your man!

©Joyee
Pic courtesy: Fanpop

 

An open letter to the guy who is a mess

To the guy who is a mess,

I cleanse my room, decorate the walls, cover the floor with carpet…and wait for you to come over and make it a mess once again! You scatter everything of its place, rumple the bedsheet, take down my favorite posters, erase my written words from the wall, you attempt to make coffee or omelette just to make my kitchen a mess, you feed the whole milk to our pet cat, you polish the fish off plate and keep rice as it is, you bring cauliflower when I ask you to buy broccoli, you spill the ‘Bourn Vita’ on my freshly prepared bed, you leave the half eaten biscuits on the table and ants come to bite me, you make airplane tearing my notebook page, you fill the washing machine with your old dirty jeans and my favorite jacket, you replace my face wash with your shaving cream, you open the window amid storms and dusts come to puzzle me; you open the window amid rains and the sudden splash makes my things wet…
Still I open the window and wait for you. I see two people in the same umbrella and imagine us; I watch the colorful cars on nearly empty rainy streets and imagine us on a road trip. I enjoy our midnight conversations, drunk confessions and fights over a bar of chocolate or a tub of ice cream. I miss the passionate kisses. I love it how you skip the dinner and eat all the cookies at 1 am. I love it how you save the last cookie for me. I watch you as you fall asleep on the floor like a baby. I truly wait for you to come and make my room a mess once again. I find messy things really attractive when the reason is you. I inhale you from those messy things, I touch you through them. You are my mess.

Sincerely,
The girl who waits for you.

©Joyee

Pic courtesy: pt.depositphotos.com