u/ByomkeshBeyond

I’d be lying if I said I’d never used PinkIt, Jhepto, Suzuki, etc. I probably have, like, once or twice. But the conversation was about the “perfect date.” A surprisingly serious and complicated subject.

I have a theory: the way to the heart is through the stomach. Cooking for someone is one of the purest forms of love. So my idea of the perfect date is this:

At the end of the day, both of you are in loose, comfortable clothes, hair completely messed up, carrying grocery bags, wandering around a supermarket and buying way more food than you actually need.

There has to be some impulse buying. Otherwise, what’s the point? And you absolutely have to have ridiculous debates about the health credentials of everything. Marie Gold has 12g of sugar? OUT. WellBe Namkeen has 12% less fat? IN.

The menu for dinner should be decided inside the grocery store. Then you shop accordingly. This is also where you get to flex your completely unsolicited knowledge about cooking, different cuisines, obscure culinary techniques, and whatever food-related trivia you’ve accumulated over the years.

After spending an excellent evening doing absolutely nothing conventionally romantic, you pay the bill, go home, and enter Phase II: Cooking.

But that’s another story. I’ll save that for later. In the meantime, take your girlfriend grocery shopping. I hope to do so, soon.

Me. You.

Sitting together. Looking at each other. Have nothing to say. The silence isn't uncomfortable. It's warm. None of us feels the pressure to say anything. The mere company of the other person is the comfort.

Sharing silence. Being able to share silence. This is top-tier intimacy in my books.

Badhon bhanga preme porte chai, ki boi pora jaay bolun toh!

What is the obsession of the masses with the "-est" words? What are they trying to prove? Who are they trying to prove? What will happen to them once they've proved?

Manosh from Mohestola said, Zing Zong is the b'est' chinese restaurant in Kolkata. How? How many Chinese restaurants are there in Kolkata? Has he visited all of them? On what basis are they scored? Who decided the evaluation structure? Who's auditing all these?

Bhobotosh from Bhowanipur said, Chomkila Raat is the great'est' movie ever made. How? How many movies are there in existence? Has he watched all of them? On what basis are they scored? Who decided the evaluation structure? Who's auditing all these?

Lokesh from Laketown said, Srabon Kumar is the great'est' Kabaddi player of all time. How? How many Kabbadi players have been in existence? Has he watched all of them play? On what basis are they scored? Who decided the evaluation structure? Who's auditing all these?

Satarup from Sealdah said, Lalon Rusk is the smart'est' man alive. How? How many men are alive currently? Has he evaluated all of them? What is even considered smart? On what basis are they scored? Who decided the evaluation structure? Who's auditing all these?

Master's korar somoy college er film club er president chilam ebong ei game ta amader saptahik somabesh e regular khelatam. Setar ekta modified version ajke try kora jak.

Game tar naam ami diyechi - Plot Roulette

Rules holo, apnara jekono ekti random object comment korben ebong tar sathe ekta genre likhe deben. Bakira sei duto jinish diye ekti fictional plot er logline likhbe.

Example:
Object: Toaster
Genre: Horror

- "Ekti purono toaster e bread sekar por, tar theke pora bread berole byaboharkarir mrityu ghote"

Object: Newspaper
Genre: Sci Fi

- "Barite hothat purono newspaper ashte shuru kore, kintu bornito ghotona gulo bastob er cheye alada. Newspaper ti ekti alternate prithibi theke barite asche."

I'm currently working on an Audio project in the Bengali Audio space. See, to be upfront about a few things... The idea is to create a prototype and test it out before going on full scale production, so currently we'll try to make things as frugal as possible. No elaborate setups. Just raw voices and mixing.

If this is something that excites you and you want to try your hands on, hit me up. There's no monetary compensation involved (as of now). However I think it'll be a good opportunity to learn and master this craft.

I've been a host and emcee and have done voice work for quite some time but mainly in offline circles. That's why wanted to do something in the digital space.

It can be anything from the Birendra Krishna Bhadra days to Manosh-Pollob to Mehtab-Subroto to modern-day Varun-Arnab.

I'l| start: "বড় লোকের বাউন্ডুলে ছেলের মতন হেলায় সুযোগ উড়িয়ে দিলেন গোল মুখ থেকে" - Rajat Ghosh Dostidar.

It can be anything from the Birendra Krishna Bhadra days to Manosh-Pollob to Mehtab-Subroto to modern-day Varun-Arnab.

I'l| start: "বড় লোকের বাউন্ডুলে ছেলের মতন হেলায় সুযোগ উড়িয়ে দিলেন গোল মুখ থেকে" - Rajat Ghosh Dostidar.

For example, in the new Daredevil show, New York is portrayed almost as a major character in the narrative. Or if you've read Japanese literature say, the Kyosuke Kindaichi mysteries, you'll notice that every story is deeply connected to the contemporary social structure, politics, and geography of its time.

I'm looking to read some thriller/mystery novels that are similarly rooted in their contemporary history, culture, or politics.

Well, I saw an entire World Cup unfold in my own city. And what makes it crazier is that when I was sitting in the stands, I didn't know what I was watching. Phil Foden wasn't a treble winner. Takefusa Kubo wasn't "the Japanese wonderkid." Marc Guehi wasn't an England international. They were just kids.

Then years pass and suddenly you realize: "Wait... I watched these guys from 50 meters away."

That realization gets more valuable with time. The older I get, the more I think dreams are strange things. We imagine them in one very specific form. "I want to see a World Cup", "I want to make a film", "I want to travel the world", "I want to fall in love."

Then life gives us a distorted version of the dream and we don't count it because it wasn't the exact picture we imagined. But sometimes the distorted version is real enough. I might not have watched a senior World Cup final in Rio, Berlin, or Madrid. But I did spend weeks immersed in a FIFA World Cup atmosphere in Kolkata.

I think there's something beautiful about the fact that my World Cup memory isn't Messi lifting a trophy or Ronaldo scoring a hat-trick. It's sitting in Salt Lake Stadium, watching a bunch of teenagers run around, only to realize years later that I had unknowingly witnessed the future.

Well, I saw an entire World Cup unfold in my own city. And what makes it crazier is that when I was sitting in the stands, I didn't know what I was watching. Phil Foden wasn't a treble winner. Takefusa Kubo wasn't "the Japanese wonderkid." Marc Guehi wasn't an England international. They were just kids.

Then years pass and suddenly you realize: "Wait... I watched these guys from 50 meters away."

That realization gets more valuable with time. The older I get, the more I think dreams are strange things. We imagine them in one very specific form. "I want to see a World Cup", "I want to make a film", "I want to travel the world", "I want to fall in love."

Then life gives us a distorted version of the dream and we don't count it because it wasn't the exact picture we imagined. But sometimes the distorted version is real enough. I might not have watched a senior World Cup final in Rio, Berlin, or Madrid. But I did spend weeks immersed in a FIFA World Cup atmosphere in Kolkata.

I think there's something beautiful about the fact that my World Cup memory isn't Messi lifting a trophy or Ronaldo scoring a hat-trick. It's sitting in Salt Lake Stadium, watching a bunch of teenagers run around, only to realize years later that I had unknowingly witnessed the future.

I was thinking... I have actually seen a World Cup.

In front of my own eyes. In my home soil.

Every single match in this city. Group stage, knockouts, finals. Top quality of football. Unbelievable stadium atmosphere.

Marc Guehi, Phil Foden, Jadon Sancho, Hudson-Odoi, Gibbs-White, Smith-Rowe, Connor Gallagher, Takefusa Kubo, Ferran Torres, Eric Garcia... Watching all these stars in Jubo Bharoti.

I think I've already fulfilled my worldcup dream in some way and... If I'm gone tomorrow, I'll have one less regret.

Ajkal jekono boi tule nin, prothom 4 te patar por bujhe jaben ki hote choleche. Swornojug er por aar prokrito unnotomaaner sahityo khuje pawa besh dushkor hoye poreche.

https://preview.redd.it/e2nwbnd2tf6h1.jpg?width=4096&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4bdd73f516fecbdc8fc7006b596f82d3dfe4bf9f

https://preview.redd.it/13ia7nd2tf6h1.jpg?width=4096&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f088061aea6d0156b2912b87727245e3272fce44

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https://preview.redd.it/xjay6mb5sf6h1.jpg?width=4096&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=194a69d38a362b17437825a712c89184cd8e07e6

https://preview.redd.it/wwwb9ka5sf6h1.jpg?width=4096&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=65e5721eb008f854fc6b440e0d576ddfa616af97

Ek nimeshei aandhar

You and your homies get in the heavily modified SUV, drive through the highways, spot another SUV and pick-up immediate road rage, exchange gun fire, destroy your car, then tow the vehicle to Rakesh Motors Works to fix it.

• Step 1: Watch every western slasher and creature-horror films in existence
• Step 2: Study about all the different forms of Dashamahavidya. Brownie points if you read about Vajrajān Bouddho Tontro.
• Step 3: Find any maath (field) outside any random village or random township in Bengal
• Step 4: Build a random Temple of whichever god you draw from the lottery on that maath.
• Step 5: Introduce a huge number of characters in that village/town which must include a newly wed nobo-bodhu.
• Step 6: Start a series of random killings in that area with no explanation but heavy gore, use all that knowledge from step 1.
• Step 7: Make the husband of that nobo-bodhu the conscience of the story who figures out whatever is happening.
• Step 8: Create a situation in the climax, where the husband is coming face to face with the entity who's orchestrating all the killings.
• Step 9: Make the nobo-bodhu get possessed by one of the forms of Dashamahavidya, who will come and kill the entity.
• Step 10: The entity is defeated. The nobo-bodhu doesn't remember shit. The husband is in love all over again.

If you have followed these 10 easy steps, congrats. You have mastered the art of writing like Avik Sarkar... Potrobharoti and Deep are drowing in cash because of you, you have 17 missed calls from Porombroto Chottopadhyay and next time you go to the Bookfair, make sure you carry some bouncers with you.

• Step 1: Watch every western slasher and creature-horror films in existence
• Step 2: Study about all the different forms of Dashamahavidya. Brownie points if you read about Vajrajān Bouddho Tontro.
• Step 3: Find any maath (field) outside any random village or random township in Bengal
• Step 4: Build a random Temple of whichever god you draw from the lottery on that maath.
• Step 5: Introduce a huge number of characters in that village/town which must include a newly wed nobo-bodhu.
• Step 6: Start a series of random killings in that area with no explanation but heavy gore, use all that knowledge from step 1.
• Step 7: Make the husband of that nobo-bodhu the conscience of the story who figures out whatever is happening.
• Step 8: Create a situation in the climax, where the husband is coming face to face with the entity who's orchestrating all the killings.
• Step 9: Make the nobo-bodhu get possessed by one of the forms of Dashamahavidya, who will come and kill the entity.
• Step 10: The entity is defeated. The nobo-bodhu doesn't remember shit. The husband is in love all over again.

If you have followed these 10 easy steps, congrats. You have mastered the art of writing like Avik Sarkar... Potrobharoti and Deep are drowing in cash because of you, you have 17 missed calls from Porombroto Chottopadhyay and next time you go to the Bookfair, make sure you carry some bouncers with you.

On the 6th day of the 6th month, I was born. Some people said, " Wow, this kid was born on a special day." I'm on the other side of 25. With each such recent 6th Junes, I get a certain breathless feeling. Tons and tons of existential dread.

Growing up... is difficult. Looking at white hairs on your beard is difficult. Looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing your skills and potential getting destroyed with your eyes is difficult. Losing long-standing friends is difficult. Looking at the rapid radicalisation is difficult. Looking at the rampant xenophobia and racism against your creed within and beyond the borders is difficult. Looking at soaring temperatures is difficult. Looking at strong anti-immigrant sentiment across the globe is difficult. Looking at yourself getting distracted after reading 4 words of a book is difficult. Looking at yourself using all your mental fortitude to sit and finish a TV show with great difficulty is difficult. Looking at yourself not creating art is difficult. Looking at yourself living in a world dictated by algorithms is difficult. Fighting numerous battles in the household... in society, is difficult.

When I was a kid back in 2010, the world that I dreamt of growing up in was gone. With each passing day, the world changes so fast... It's damn hard to keep up. Since my past few birthdays... I realise how lonely and isolated I'm gradually getting. I feel like that song from Django: Unchained, Freedom.

"Felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders

Pressure to break or retreat at every turn"

How many years do I have left? 30? 40? 3? 4? Who knows? In this vast cosmos, who even the fuck am I? Why would my thoughts and feelings matter? Why would my voice have effect and authority? Did I add any value to society? Did I add any value to anyone? Did I add any value to even myself? Why should I exist? Who am I serving? What am I achieving?

But then, the blue oceans stretch far, the morning daffodils spread their scent, the sky becomes a canvas with the aurora... life goes on, the plant keeps revolving. Does my existence create a difference? One drop from the ocean gone, does it make a difference?

A life of frustration and difficulties, and an incredibly uncertain future ahead.... No choice but to march on. Because I was born on this beautiful blue planet. Until Mother Nature calls me back.

On the 6th day of the 6th month, I was born. Some people said, " Wow, this kid was born on a special day." I'm on the other side of 25. With each such recent 6th Junes, I get a certain breathless feeling. Tons and tons of existential dread.

Growing up... is difficult. Looking at white hairs on your beard is difficult. Looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing your skills and potential getting destroyed with your eyes is difficult. Losing long-standing friends is difficult. Looking at the rapid radicalisation is difficult. Looking at the rampant xenophobia and racism against your creed within and beyond the borders is difficult. Looking at soaring temperatures is difficult. Looking at strong anti-immigrant sentiment across the globe is difficult. Looking at yourself getting distracted after reading 4 words of a book is difficult. Looking at yourself using all your mental fortitude to sit and finish a TV show with great difficulty is difficult. Looking at yourself not creating art is difficult. Looking at yourself living in a world dictated by algorithms is difficult. Fighting numerous battles in the household... in society, is difficult.

When I was a kid back in 2010, the world that I dreamt of growing up in was gone. With each passing day, the world changes so fast... It's damn hard to keep up. Since my past few birthdays... I realise how lonely and isolated I'm gradually getting. I feel like that song from Django: Unchained, Freedom.

"Felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders

Pressure to break or retreat at every turn"

How many years do I have left? 30? 40? 3? 4? Who knows? In this vast cosmos, who even the fuck am I? Why would my thoughts and feelings matter? Why would my voice have effect and authority? Did I add any value to society? Did I add any value to anyone? Did I add any value to even myself? Why should I exist? Who am I serving? What am I achieving?

But then, the blue oceans stretch far, the morning daffodils spread their scent, the sky becomes a canvas with the aurora... life goes on, the plant keeps revolving. Does my existence create a difference? One drop from the ocean gone, does it make a difference?

A life of frustration and difficulties, and an incredibly uncertain future ahead.... No choice but to march on. Because I was born on this beautiful blue planet. Until Mother Nature calls me back.