This is not a poem, I just like to hit enter.

I wanted to be a pirate, a fashion designer with a street named after her somewhere in Milan, a freedom fighter. In the least, a cheetah conservationist in the dusty plains of Namibia.

So I study architecture in Jadavpur University (yes, that university whose students monopolize the S9, play 29 in the four facing seats and scream b*r* at least once in every sentence, especially in public places). And the most exciting thing that I’ve done this entire last year is complete a set of eight toilet details in one day during training ( all inspired by Corbusier, Richard Rogers, Tadao Ando and the World War II).

I like to wear black, behave gay and talk about Monumentality, LEED, the character of Kolkata and the dense knitting of its physical fabric in my free time. My free time of course being the time left to me each day after 20 hours of irrelevant work and 4 hours of sleep.

I figure I am going to spend most of my life making houses for the nouveau rich; possibly in this pathetic suburban place called Rajarhat (Jyoti Basu Nagar might have been more suitable indeed). My life will be unhappy, so I intend to be vengeful and take a lot of money from people with a lot more money (who want to flaunt their money to people who understand mostly money and not much of Bauhaus or Brutalism. Lets face it, Corinthian capitals and gothic arches do go so much better with the idols of Lakshmi and Ganesh.)


So the area of the earth is 510 million square kilometres. The area I cover is 0.0000000625 sq km. So yeah, I know whining is stupid and who the **** cares and all the rest of it.
But then I write a little. Sketch a little. Design a little. Speak French, very, little. Read books, a lot. Feel bad about it all much much more than that.

I have not the DSLR that I would wish to have. And if I did I would still not have the patience to throw cats and chairs and water and Dali 28 times around to create this beauty/thing/whooh-what-is-happening.




Even if I did, I would never be recognised.I am sure.
Because I can’t open a page and name it Parshati Dutta Photography India, pose in it with a telephoto lens which I clearly do not know how to use, judging by the pictures. Nor can I send people links in chat and ask them to like the very sub-standard pictures I’ve put there. (Please, please take a hint)

Mediocrity is hard to accept.
And genius is suffocating. Masterpieces discouraging.

Also, 05.48 in a January morning is a bad time to still be up at from a caffeine high.
Plus, this world is not worth living in with Karna and Satyajit Ray both dead.
(No offense Souvik Bhattacharya, I do love you a lot.)

So I am cynical, pessimistic, infinitely frustrated.And fashionably so.
Much like you. So no thanks, to your observations.