Urban Design and the Need for Absinthe

She had neon red nails,
He could dream in her eyes.
That dreams u can’t own, is
A fact rarely known,
When he harnessed them one day,
Came the lies, the goodbyes.


She kept the neon red nails.
But bit her lips before she talked.
Smoky was her past tense,
The green fairy promised more sense,
Downwards she was rising,
And imagine how surprising,
To see the clouds compromising,
One day to hide her absence.


A neon red non-existence.

high there!

from the top of the lake to the bottom of the tree
i can see
the big bad wolf came for you
sniffed for you
but chose me
instead


in bed
i wept
and held my kitty fat paws close
the sun rose
and my woes were washed away
with the fresh smell of the clay
in the damp color of the grass it lay


awaiting the calf to nibble it from its stem
and though the feeble clouds passed
they left the air moist
with tears from all around
surrounded by sorrow
i found

i could stop trying
enact surviving
the go getter
will feel better
without highs
and white lies.


because though sorrow is over rated it might
tomorrow be berated
and glum faces are not pretty
petty, you will say
but them you wouldn't have dated!

Because

I lie here in the sand and see
Gold and red becoming one, and then the darkest blue…
The sound the sea makes trapped inside a conch shell.

Feeling only the obscurity of the coarse sand,
Missing the certainty of the ocean, edging closer,
Had you been here..
We would have made love now.

Not savouring the salt in the air…
Not noticing when the gull broke a wing …
Or when the crabs breathed under the waves…
But you are not here.

And in this starless night,
I feel you more than I ever have before.
I love you like I never have loved.

As the foamy sea creeps up to my toes…
Up my body and as it wets my hair…
The need for survival ebbs away…

I die tonight.
Revelling in the beauty of loss.

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.