filler

Net is slow. 2nd round results went in vain, searching for shift. Hopless hot summer. Exams r still scratchy. A bit better than last year. Missing a laptop. Aircel connection is hopless. Nights r quite turning sleepless again. And a hopless occasion to write a blog post. Gym remains closed ten times a year. Still wishing for a miracle. Yeah its better to call it a miracle only. One year of self isolation. Relatives fuck my head. Kolkata buses are a big mess. Get a window side seat and enjoy a long ride. My bicycle travels faster than buses here. Just the cycle handle should be shorter. Kinda like the movie Premium Rush. Still wonder how levit gordon did it without brakes, I can't imagine that. Dad forbided me to do so. Can't help, dad rides the same with his affected knee. Cycles don't agree with traffic rules. And my thighs are doing good. Lots of leg extensions. Just a wish to set free and take a try at pro body building. No bike. No alcohol. No gossips. Girls do gossips. This year ipl, Kkr okie okie, Dd and Mi just spoilt themselves. Punjab big turnover. And... Another trip to chandigarh day after tomorrow. And.............. 

It seems whimsical, yeah whimsical should be the word, taken from the movie Elizabeth Town, so its bit whimsical when someone all of a sudden turns up on your fb inbox - "I got to know about it from your blog.." Bit better compliment - "you got a knack of putting pen on the paper, don't stop it." And that tuned up the David Bowie song from Flashbacks Of A Fool, and my poetries were resurrected. Kinda more dangerous vocabulary. That was some years ago. Some people's every act ring an everlasting bell. The visits do indicate the possible people visiting blog, although annonymous. Its always good to see more visitors on posts without pics. No poetries as of now. Huckle buckle shift over shift fucking bullshiting mind grunging fucked up hearted shitting stories with shitful life events with hopless prayers gone wrong dangerously with hapless turnovers. I don't know whats going on. Loneliness does turn up the mind to write. But when writs go wrong, then comes the problem. So take my advice, always write with heart. Nothing will go wrong

Again study. Why can't it be a turnover like last year counselling damn it..

Restless heart. Yeah boy you are alive. But too much restlesness can be dangerous.

Want to give proper rest to my joints. Waist belts and knee guards have turned up. Am aging. Hopless again.

But I never had thought I will get sleepless nights again.

Too much heat outside 

Jaded December

A morning post, and I crave to scrawl;

with these jaded thoughts, I long to yodel it all.

My versing clouts citing molds

Owing to the bouts of subjection;

as my aesculapian tomes and assays,

look to butcher me for another duration.

For another juncture, I suffocate;

over some reasons I try to speculate.

As of what by now I might have been

had not divulged in trey spells preceding.

Another December folds in for another turnaround

I try to frame another writ as I sit around;

With these dearth of initiatives to write down

or maybe its hard for a jaded mind to bend around.

Perhaps a bottle of beer could have shaped up my habitat

or a glass of rum to swing a magic wand like it did three years back.

But with these folks so near, its formidable to run over wine

so I lay jaded in the city with grumpy musings of mine.

No doubt is different this bengal city,

buzzing with people and their ideas so artistry.

The culture of this place bore literary poets of the century;

and they said it isn't a poem unless you have a wild fantasy.

The city chirps and sings way too much,

Wearisome to feel for breeze whisper here as such.

So is hard the psithurism needed to sing the right verse.

Once in hamlets for days my hallowed rhymers plopped down,

epitomizing how paddy fields with cloudy winds swung around.

And here I hanker to scribble same, sitting in this sardined crosstown.

Although I walk through the city lanes as a stranger,

a walk through the crowdy turns and corners;

the vicinity always bothers me so not unreal,

makes me make a wish to walk so invisible.

The lambent lights tell there's a festival around the square,

always too much to clock here.

They spot me, try to find out reasons for my stare,

I beam at them, mean no tear.

The winters aren't that raw, nor are the summers that parch,

although am an alien around I am aware of their cultures.

It pours here a lot, maybe that's the reason

why people here find comfort on each others shoulders.

Be it the green esplanades, or the creek sides or the rivers,

always find lovebirds lightning up some ashes till they flounder.

As some glances of some pretty silhouettes,

some smiling, some at you, some for other rosettes;

some swivels of their shades beneath the dark thick curls

again remind me of the past someone special; 

And I sulk into another year wondering whats vain . 

as I bend to scribble, I discern I am jaded again.

But neither do the rightful days reflect ideas worthy to author, 

nor do you ever recall the nights you had a good slumber. 

As I dig to pen down the finishing lines,

I realize again the lack of fantasy of rimes.

Being Physical 2

Brothers In Arms, Dire Straits, softcore, thats what my uncle used to call these songs as. He mentioned that my tastes were hardrock ones. Metal was just out of the topic then. Yeap. Am kinda like pissed up with the hard tracks, especially for the gym. Another soft stuff - Louis armstrong, you know, what a wonderful world.

Never had thought that I will come back to the ramp in 09 gathering. & fuck that motherfucking bitch tayde. fuck the whole family infront of streetdogs. Fuck it off.

It was 15th january, when diptanu approached me - sir u have to walk in barechest. As baghel would comment me as - u can never surely say no to a body show. Baghel was partly right. On 15th jan  my waist line inched 33, with infra mammary fat hanging giving it a gynaecomastic look. The side belly fat was also too much, stuff which mohit made fun off. I couldn't have gone back on stage with all that. The last bare chest, 07 Lycans show, I had enough fat on me then, I literally hated that look. Part of the reasons why I walked into that round, yet so unprepared. One part reason - suicidal. So tattoo came in, with long hairs & the base ball stump, which I might have lost now, it was just for show only, truly. All the extra stuffs were to divert the attention away from my body cut. 06 bare chest body - too thin, too less fat, too less bulk. One reason, Nupur shouting - give the Ghajini look, I needed abs. Knew that low fat & high bulk wasn't everyone's game. But guys did it. Sunny & Supratim. With their 16-17 inches biceps. & Supratim's abs. Sunny hit back with his definitions & cuts. So it was possible. But wasn't much possible in 1 month.

So diptanu said the show was on 7th feb & I was in gym on 15th jan. Surely I wasn't in much mood of spending after the manali trip. With no other way out, I took upto Muscletech. Muscletech, a stuff created by God himself as if. 2 days, my trapezius were soaring. I started running on the 4th day. The gathering got postponed to 15th feb. Now I had whole 1 month. It was 6 days I started running, that my abs started showing up, my waist was down to 30 in just 10 days. Oh hell yeah, I had experienced such a catastrophe earlier too, december days of 2010. Just that it was a different story. So, this time, my abs line were showing up really high. I was happy. What I didn't realize was my biceps were hitting below 15. I wouldn't have surely gone on stage with a biceps below 15. People always knew me for my bulk. Baghel, Mahajan sir, Pavan sir were different. Me, Supratim were the other sides of the card. The ectomorph endomorph story of Arnold.

So my transformation this time, was partly inspired from sunny supratim's 08 act, sunny's tips. They worked whole 1 year. I had just 1 month. I just mixed up with British nutrition, GDYNS, Muscletech. Bit like 4000 rs. spent after supplements in one month. & I became a rabbit literally, reffered by my neighbor Vinamra. Carrots. Bananas. Carrotts. Supplements. Dal. Water. Bananas. Carrots. Supplements. & Muscletech gave sleepless nights. Reminded me of Supratim's statement - 3-4 hrs of sleep will be enough. Rejoined was the mood instability.

Come 15th feb. Whole day dehydrated. Not a drop of water, not a pinch of food. What showed up was a evening show wasted by rains. Frustation followed by chicken tandoori. The last 2 scoops of BN were perhaps left by God for me. "Just one more day" told myself & hit the gym from morning 6;30 am next day morning, injuring myself at 9 am, to return back to bed till, 12;30 pm, when the strains disappeared. Fit to hit the gym followed by the ramp. 2nd day without water. The abs showed up like anything. The bulk did drop a lot. But enough for a double biceps pose. The chest was the best I ever made. A combination of my lower chest and upper chest. The cleavage line didn't show up much. & my beauty - my lovely trapezius. The shoulders were shining like a knight's armour. Triceps were ready for a posedown, ready as always, as if by birth only. he he he. I was ready.

Something different this time. 1st time I went down that ramp. Just a jeans & woodland. I ran like anything. Amateur.
2nd time. Triple H act. Water spilling act.
3rd time. Tattoos. Hairs. Baseball stick.
4th time - Water dipping from top to bottom. Pants wet. Shoes wet. The oil just disappeared.
Everytime I remember the girls back stage oggling at us oiling & pumping. That used to be the days with Mahajan sir. I still remember Mahajan sir's words - "forget who does what on the stage. when a bare chest comes on stage, the public goes mad. The cheerings are the best for the bare chests only."
This time back stage, one bucket splashed over me & the '10 girls went awe. ha ha ha. Loved these reactions.

One thing to end with. If anything ever accompanied me in my all times, that was gym. Everything to prove. Everything to build up. Everything to let the world know. Everything to show. Strong like hell.
I will hit again. Stronger than everytime.

The Song Remained The Same

One eventide my wishers ran to me to comprise an ode,

I said mate, going into lines ain't ever that elementary.

But we wish one for the rag, one for the broadside;

I gave them absolution without being assured of any copy.

A rhythmical expressive literary piece, epic surely;

The reciter will leer for rhymes, or no poesy certainly.

Yeah, since cradle, did write verses of sundry sense,

Though brought forth few years back of embodied veins.

And now, I can't harmonize anything of variant sort,

For every tune would strike the very same old chord.

The motif may change its pitch but song remains the same,

Every song would sound the very half daffy and half sane.

It craves for adroitness to coin songs with colored senses,

as is needed skill and practice to live life sans contriteness.

Some regrets are also sweet, eventhough all got withered,

A man knows part life breathed and part smiles feathered.

Ain't no Avon bard, Tennyson or Milton sits here,

Here is seated me, and one of my kind.

They rhymed words and verses like Arcadia rained,

I just need the constant hum of my trifled mind.

She bestowed the strings of right note into the amateur's arms,

And now the virtuoso kept fiddling tunes of deserter charms.

Its been trey reigns,

That the winters felt harsher than the frosts,

As the springs felt drier than the riots,

And the summertides felt warmer than the first muggy seasons,

while sleeping in the daylights haunted more than the darker ones.

Unless you were acquainted with John 8:32, the truth shall make you free,

Alpha Omegas and Lucifers, destinies and rites were all for lifeless bees.

Or this core was never versed with constraints of yearnings,

Fringes came with blessing in this mortal mold

Or the heart wished to be Lord by the cues of these understandings.