im so tired

of love and identity and thoughts of these

Formal Apology for Association with Ekalavya Chaudhuri

I would like to formally apologise for C’est la vie’s association with Performance Poetry, Kolkata and its founders, Ekalavya Chaudhuri, who has harassed women online, offline and physically for an extended period of time, and Janhabi Mukherjee, who led a smear campaign against one of the survivors and systematically, repeatedly harassed and belittled her. I…

Learning with Mozilla: I Volunteered for “Hello Web”!

In the last week, I had the opportunity to be involved with a very unique enterprise being conducted by students in our city. Here’s my account of my experiences with Mozilla’s “Hello Web” campaign and its initiative to spread Web Literacy in India. What, exactly, is Mozilla’s deal? Well, Mozilla, through its on-campus network among…

Guest Post: How Rabindranath helps Me to find Myself

I remember the first time my father sat me down to teach me how to sing. It was in our apartment at Selimpur, almost fifteen years ago. On the first page of a long crimson notebook, I pencilled, as my father dictated: “Alo amar alo ogo, Aloye bhuban bhora/ Alo Noyon dhoa amar hridoy hora”(O…

Guest Post: The Moo-slim Dilemma

When I first heard the news about the Dadri incident, I was too shocked to have an immediate reaction. I never really thought that I’d see a headline like it, not in my country and in my lifetime. At the time I reasoned it out. There are crazy people doing crazy things everywhere. This would…

My Mona Lisa Smiled

Good morning/afternoon/evening and everything else of a similar nature, my lovelies. Are you loving the frequent posts? I know I’m loving these frequent posts. I’ve got one for you today.  (Duh.) For the last three days, I taught History at my school, from classes (or grades or years, whatever you prefer) six to ten. I’ll…

God-forsaken love.

New post! Yay! Wrote this in literally two minutes. Thank God. I needed this. The sorrow was becoming oppressive.  A nominal tribute, but heart felt. God be with you, even as you are God-forsaken, beloved. My heart bleeds for you, love. Alone, unloved, your psychedelic mind throws moving pictures on the wall.Taut nerve-ends stretched to breaking point.Love…

Writer’s woes.

Hello, internet aficionados. I’m not completely sure I ought to be here right now, since I have my board exams in a week (literally) and am making very slow progress indeed in my studies, but I felt the need to get this topic off my chest. I haven’t really written in a while- nothing which…