Khushi, lights, pollution

I don't do anything systematically. Not even pouring oil into diyas. I just pour it randomly and see which one I have missed. I am weird.

I didn't make a rangoli this year, for Diwali. We didn't light up our home with colourful electrical lights. Neither are we bursting crackers. No, we are not mourning. We are just lazy and environment friendly. And maybe a bit lame for not celebrating Diwali properly.

Anyway. The point is. Happy Diwali. Etc etc. May this Diwali bring prosperity in your lives. Just go read facebook status updates for joyous greetings. Don't make me type all this.

P.S: Please make sure you don't call woman "bomb", "pataka", "fuljhari". She has a name, call her by that name. And if you don't know it, you have no need to call her. Period. 

Faith

I am a Hindu because I was born in a Hindu family. Being a Hindu is of no consequence to me. Believing in God is. My faith does not depend on rituals.

Around a year back I had gone to the Kali temple in Kalighat, with Kaniti.  It was my first visit. We went there to buy a pair of shakha, pola(bangles that married Bengali woman wear) for my bhabhi. And it is an experience I am not likely to forget. For all the wrong reasons. We were buying stuff outside the temple when we decided to visit the Goddess inside.

There were more than several pundits trying to lure people in. One of the pundits told us that he will help us offer Puja for Rs 22. We decided to go with him. He made us buy some stuff. Flowers, sindoor, a red cloth, red thread, some bangles and prasad. And then he took us to a place we could keep our shoes. We took off us shoes and followed him. He took us for a darshan through the “V.I.P” entrance so that we young girls could avoid the crowd. We saw the idol and then he took us to another room where we could offer our puja.
He made us sit separately because we are not of the same caste(Kaniti is a Brahmin which I am not) All my life I have never been asked my caste as if it’s such an important thing. That was the first time.

We sat for a while and he called us in turns so that we could perform puja. And then the something we were not expecting happened. He asked for 1500 bucks. He said it’s an offering to Kali. I was shocked. I told him I didn’t have the money and that he had said the puja could be done in only 22 rupees. He said that was for the things we had bought. Both Kaniti and I were shocked. He kept on arguing with us and at one point turned nasty. For a moment I was really scared.

I explained to him that we had no money and offered a Rs.50 note. He looked offended and then said we could come back to the temple and give money when our wishes came true. We nodded in agreement and went outside.

When we went to the place our shoes were kept, we were in for another not-so-pleasant-surprise. The pundit asked for his service fee. I don’t remember how much we paid him but I think it was around 100 bucks.  After that I just about had enough money to go back home.

As soon as I got on the bus I rubbed of the red “tikka” from my forehead. I was feeling so sickened. As soon as I reached home I recalled the story to my Mom. I was so disgusted I tore off the red thread from my hand and went for a shower.

Religion is made ugly by such people. To them it’s just business. A money making scheme. I would rather to stay away from anything which holds no meaning for me. And certainly not something that involves mixing worship with money. The pundit was trying to fleece us in the name of God. We, as educated young girls were feeling victimized. And I don’t ever want to feel that way when it comes to my faith in god. My faith remains unshaken and my stance against  rituals is stronger now.

April

Exams are not the best host for The Muse. May will be better. I miss this place. And my notebook. Fiction, in general. Reading and writing. 


A very tiring time, this. Tiring And trying. I hate exams, if you must know. My finals. College life will then be truly over. After exams, that is. 






I sometimes talk to myself. I often talk to myself. Aloud. 




Sigh. April 27th. 


Come back soon, Muse. 


With love,
you know me

Alive

The muse has been visiting often these days. Writing wise I am on a new high. I wish I had the guts to share my fiction on this blog. 


I am not a blogger who aspires to write. Or a girl with a blog who has a huge fan base that convinces her to write a book. Because, she is good enough.


I am a yet to be published writer who blogs. 


I don't need people to tell me to write. 


I write. It's something I did ever since I was twelve. It started with school essays that were read out in class. Then came poetry. 

                            "Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason."

                                                 Novalis

I started creating fictional people much before I started penning down my words. When I was in Kindergarden I invented a fictional sister. My class teacher asked my parents about her. They denied having another offspring. 


Even when I was in 2nd standard I had told one of my classmates about a sister who had been away for a long time and who had suddenly come back home. I kept on this act for months, regaling the antics of my long-lost sister. Her disappearance was as sudden as her arrival. 


(She appeared again in Jan 1999, but that is another story) 


Writing was my anchor. The only thing I thought I was good at. ( By now I know what else I am good at) It pulled  me through tough times. 


I write when I have to. When pen and paper pulls me. ( The memo feature in my phone comes in handy when pens are not available.)


These days I am more disciplined. I am on a deadline, you see. Self created. 


If I close my eyes and imagine my life without writing, I get a sinking feeling. If for some reason I have to stop writing I may survive, I will not live. 


This is why I write. This is why I am. 

August was dry but September seems good enough

The whole of August was spent away from this blog. Not that I didn't write, I just didn't write for the blog. Sometimes I write stuff just for myself. I am quite selfish that way. 

a crappy introduction

Yeah the first post is always difficult, the baby steps you know. I like to start with memories but I need to explain why I named my blog pigeonheadophobia not because it matters but because  I like to explain things. 


In simple words "pigeonhead" is someone with a very small brain and the phrase is used as an insult. Sometimes some situations have a sort of pigeonheaded essence in them. Sometimes people are pigeonheads. Sometimes I act like one.


Nothing wrong in pigeonheadedness. 


Basically really like this weird meaning less word. No other reason. 



That's all with the explaining I suppose.