Miss. Eloquent

  "এমন দেশটি কোথাও খুঁজে পাবে নাকো তুমি।" The air I am breathing today is the same old one. But there is something new too, yes the smell of freedom. The birds on the trees are cooing, there is a sweet silence prevailing amidst the clouds, and our freedom can be heard decibles louder than the heartbeats of the leaders wading through the crowds. Today feels like a Kishore Kumar's song your father sang to you as a kid but now you only remember the faint tunes of it.  Today is India's 77th Independence Day. So, we have a very special guest accompanying us in this auspicious day--- our beloved Maa aka Mother India. *throws rose petals* Adrika:  It is my privilege to interview you. Let's start with the questions. But before we dive into the topics, may I ask – how are you feeling today, Maa, seeing your daughter take an interview? India: Oh, dear Adrika, you've touched a chord there. It's like watching my little girl put on her grown-up shoes for the first time

I had this conversation with my bestie. So I had to write. But yeah, I missed my blog too. She: You literally have written poem about a chalk to our teachers, but NONE ABOUT ME? And you still dare to use my Victoria Secret?! Me: *unable to process the magnitude of the sentence* Uho . I'll surely write one. *sprays some more in the bag too* She: *intense glaring..trynna be the sasta version of my mother* Better hurry up otherwise you can't touch that perfume ever. I  "literally" mean it! And weeks passed and passed. I finally wrote it. Not because of her, obviously for my precious Victoria Secret. Lame me. So here I present you that piece of poem which have every strings attached. The sun shines again after the storm outside the little apartment in Kolkata,  windows wide open, I stand in there, filling my eyes with first shower of sunrays,  I see that windchime making a soft tune,  “forever” etched lightly in it.  And memories flushed.  Do you remember it?  Two hands

This Women's Day, I thought of collaborating with a kindred spirit and a wonderful writer herself, Anurima Bardhan.  Two poets, heart beating with myriads words.  I hope you will love the two contrasting portion of our poems, one showcasing the eternal colors of women and another elucidating how darkness inside a women is a beauty too. Savor the poem, share it if you like and spread some love.  (Today my brain is all about positivity so expect less of positi-witty from me XD) *Drum rolls* I have seen the woman laden in lilac in the fields of lilac  vines cradled by the windy days      Unfurling her airy aura I have seen the woman decked with the red lacy dress scaling the lengths of the floor stealthily just as the bouquet of roses, maneuvered with care and not trampled with A mystery with the touches of bold sensualness surrounding her I have seen the woman flaunting her beauty in the hues of monochromatic pinks, cherished like the dainty petals of the peonies A delicate beauty ta

  T/W: a not-so-poetic rant ahead. The shrouded hope flows in our cascade of life. This world has people like heartful poems and hurtful elegies. Together, growing like twins where one occupies more space in the cot and the other fights to gain some space. Ever since your birth, you see this world fight. People consider their life a war but when they lose, they blame their fortune and not their believes.  People ask "How do we fight pain, wound and trauma?" But how many of the people answers with a "You don't fight them. They become a part of you."?  Maybe its just a handful of people, far lesser than a teen's hair fall.  Hope itself is a big word. Sometimes, it is just like the surname of a girl. You never know if it remains the same. And, when grief replaces hope, it just becomes another of your school notebooks, wrapped in royal brown, but inside, homes your poorly written classwork, for which the world blames you and your parents and never themselves for

Of the total population of 7.9 billion, only 1834 people read me(well, the germs around, read me too) and this gives me so much happiness. When I first started blogging, I didn't have any idea how to do that, so I decided to post my poetry. But still, I felt something was missing. I couldn't find myself on those posts. (don't assume that my earlier posts were written by ghost Adrika. It was me only ^__^) And then all of a sudden, my little grey cells stirred up and I asked it, "hey brain, would you collaborate with me to spice up my posts?" Luckily she agreed, and tada I'm here trying to entertain you guys with my rotten humor (lol). You may wonder, why this girl is making us bore by talking about this. My friends, please don't think that cuz I don't have an answer for it myself. Maybe that is what happens when you forget that your bookmark section has something called "Blogger". You forget how to blog. You start rambling. You start using emo

 NOTE:  This post is inspired by Cadbury and from it's tagline.[I said inspired, not sponsered] CONTENT WARNING: If you suffer from the jolts of CHS(Cold- Heart Syndrome), consult your doctor before reading this post. It has an overuse of love fuel! (don't worry, it won't pollute our environment) which can vex your jolts to the extreme.  In this post I'll talk about all the things I'm blessed for. All the things I  love.   “Dear old world, you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you.”      Ah! you see, Anne Shirley just expressed my thoughts in these beautiful words. (Um...okay! I used her quote to express myself.) We all are blissful to be a part of this world, to be humans who can express their thoughts, imagine and submerge themselves in the blanket of togetherness. Happiness creates s tories and we share our happiness through stories. We live upon stories and breath the words. I love my eyes twinkling over the empty screen, yet to be filled with word