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  • trou_noir 11w

    In the summer of 1905, along the borders of an obscure village in the remote areas of southern bengal, amidst the clanging of temple bells, the dhuno-filled air and small bushes full of red rukmini blossoms, did i first gain consciousness—in the form of a banyan tree. Decades have passed since and today, to break this unbearable silence, have i decided to narrate to you seedlings, my ancient tale.
    The earliest memories i have are of the village ladies, young and old, carrying trays of offerings of flowers and sweets for the local gods in the old temple near me. From the fresh smelling shiuli blooms to the auspicious marigold flowers, from ghee-seeped mihidana to carefully prepared sweet yoghurt—the fragrance of the offerings was mesmerising. The young girls would wear bright glass bangles and giggle as they lithely carried the trays while the older women walked with their bronze anklets ringing softly as they gossiped over the newest piece of information they had obtained from their sources. The village men would gather around me in the twilight to smoke a pipe and discuss events.
    Over time, i attained a sacred status. The women would occassionally offer water and various other forms of pleasing substances and circle around me, tying a red thread while chanting auspicious mantras for the well-being of their families. Birthdays, marriages, funerals—all began to be held under my shade. It was pleasant. Amongst all the villagers, Mrinalini Debi was my favourite companion. Married off to the young Bhawaniprasad Ray, at age 9, she used to spend much of her leisure time under my great branches writing or reciting poems with great passion. Eyes as clear and bright as a young fawn, skin as soft and polished as the earth, voice as enchanting as a cuckoo bird—she was my first true friend, opening up a vast horizon of lands and scenes I could've never experienced, to me.
    From the tales of young sailors exploring new lands to heroic men fighting for the peace of their homeland to the unimaginable palaces of kings and gods being invaded by malignant villains. She would also sing songs in her sweet voice describing heavenly sights and earthly pleasures and devotion and passion. She was the one who added vibrance in my dull routine life.
    Her young husband, Bhawani, as he was affectionately called, was a enthusiastic nationalist. He used to write in the local Bengali newspaper under the pen-name Ishwar. I heard the villagers say that his articles burned with the fire of patriotism and his sleep-deprived eyes filled with the dreams of a free India didn't betray those words. He was a promising lad,and so were his friends, and they tirelessly worked for the causes they believed in, holding meetings regularly under my branches for their future.

    Yet the boy was not favoured by the Lady Luck. At the ripe age of twenty, he and his assembly of nation-loving men were caught having a meeting for joining the nationalist movement, by a few local British policemen and in a bout of commotion, all of them were shot right dead on the spot. Under me. Under my own branches. The policemen left the corpses in the dust below me but i shall never forget the cold air filled with the smell of jasmine flowers and blood, as if silently shrieking, "Murder! Murder!".
    The next day, the entire village was horrified at discovering the bloody sight. Mothers and wives with disheveled hair wailed and sobbed and screamed and weeped bitterly. Fathers and brothers could barely contain themselves as they finished the last rites. The whole village mourned in horrifying silence, at the loss of their young, promising sons. And mrinalini—a young lass of eighteen now—was widowed. Perhaps it was her age, her unfamiliarity with death, her naivety, her uncontaminated mind—that made it impossible for her to accept her loss. She lost her senses, roaming here and there and leaning on my trunk, singing dully, staring into the distance with blank eyes. The villagers had a new subject to talk about and they distracted themselves, whispering of the young madwoman of the banyan tree, to help themselves move on.
    I would never be able to say, whether Mrinalini truly went mad or not. She had an aura of sharpness, like a knife, that had been made blunt with misuse. Perhaps it were her in-laws who drove her out. Perhaps it was the harsh life of a widow being thrust upon her which drove her out. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. I could only speculate as the villagers did. Her face was a book written in a language we had never learnt. It was at this point, on a dull autumn afternoon that a rickshaw stopped a few steps away from my canopy.
    A man stepped out. He had a young face, faded by the worries of the revolution he had decided to devote his life to. His eyes reflected a caring personality and yet a man who could do anything, sacrifice everything, to reach the point he wanted to.A pair of thick rimmed spectacles covered his tired eyes and he looked at his distraught sister, sitting in my shade, staring blankly into the distance. As i would later come to know, he was her brother, Mahendro Chatterjee.
    Even the young swallow birdlings stop fighting at the call of the mother bird, and this was Mrinalini, hearing the voice of her brother after a decade. She jolted awake from her trance.
    Perhaps they stared for two seconds, perhaps for twenty— I fail to recall now. But it seemed to me an eternity passed between us as we stood in utter silence. The air was heavy with unspeakable words, unexpressed feelings, perforated with a silent, bitter, uneffable maddening grief. It seemed to me a silent letter accounting every injustice, every taunt, every sorrowful incident that had possibly occurred that was exchanged between them. And then, they cried. They cried, as the crows on my branches lulled their young to sleep, and i stood in silence. They cried. I would never understand what had passed between them in those few moments, or indeed, in their lives before this, but i believed even God Almighty must have shed a tear at this reunion of two siblings, torn between duties and desires. Mrinalini held his hand and went away. I later heard the villagers speak of her returning to Kolkata. She was gone, perhaps forever, flown away with the autumn winds.
    Weeks went by and then years, Mrinalini didn't return. As time went by, her name faded into an obscure memory, a bittersweet nostalgia, a folk song that lost its tune before being sung. I was abandoned too and declared inauspicious as quickly as i had gained my scared status. The weeds around me grew into a wee forest stage and i grew on, spreading my branches and roots, wider and deeper.
    Mrinalini, never returned. I did hear once, the words of a traveller describing the heroic exploits of a young patriot woman nicknamed Mrinal. She had become a barrister and helped defend the freedom fighters sentenced for trial and had even started teaching in a girl's school. These flashes of stories gave great relief to me. She was safe. She was happy. That was enough for me.
    A few years back an old couple were passing in front of me in a carriage. The woman halted the driver and stepped down. She was wearing a grey cotton saree, gold-flecked bangles on her hand and a light metal-rimmed pair of spectacles framing her deep kohl filled eyes. Her face was wrinkled and her salt-and-pepper hair was loosely tied into a bun and yet when i saw her, i felt a strange affection for her. She looked at me softly and stroked my trunk gently, asking," Do you remember me? It's me. Mrinalini. Do you remember me? I used to hide in your branches. Do you remember me? You used to lend me your shade for my poetry and singing. It's me. Mrinu. My, you have grown. I have become old too haven't I? Look there, do you remember my dada? But really dear, how could they let you alone for all these years?" . She smiled.
    If I were human, I would've hugged her. I wanted to tell her i was proud of her, that she was like my sister, daughter, mother and friend. I wanted to tell her i remembered her. I wanted to tell her that i missed her. But all i did was stand in soft silence, balancing the golden sun rays dancing on my leaves, amidst the two siblings and the bushes of rukmini blossoms beside me. And then, they left.

    All of this moments have cuminated into this point of time, where I sit among you all narrating my story. It is nothing great, and hardly moving. I have merely stood witness to these events and formed an attachment to my memories. Perhaps, since I've seen so much, heard so much, the silence in which i stand today makes me ache. But the Almighty has plans for each of his creatures and every dawn i can only pray for the peace of all his beings as i ruminate on the memories of the temple bells and dhuno-filled air amidst the summer sun and rukmini blossoms all around.

    What do y'all think�� it's been such a long time since I posted here�� honestly feeling intimidated �� it was fun writing this though xddd

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    Assignment for English class

    Autobiography of a banyan tree ig

  • trou_noir 14w

    Hello!!!!! It's been a while!!!!


  • trou_noir 67w

    1. To all those posting "repost this if you're against rape or else I'll lose my respect for you" and putting up pitch-black profile pictures— good. This is your first step, of showing solidarity. But don't stop here. Move on and improvise. Speak up about real-life situations and inform people. Put your effort into educating people about the female oppression you may witness in your lives. We still have a long long way to go.
    2. To all those guys who squirm at the word "feminism". Why? Why do you do so? We aren't here to torture you, overtake you and establish matriarchy,you know? Stop running away from this word. Stop cringing. Stop making fun. Realise the truth and importance in it. Accept its need in this world. We do not hate men. We simply want the freedom to go out on a walk in the night without fear. We simply want the freedom to smile at strangers, to sit fearlessly beside men we don't know, fearlessly ask for help from men we don't know, we simply want the freedom to be human. We want feminism because we still face huge pay differences for the same job than our male counterparts. We want feminism because the world thinks girls aren't good enough for STEM fields but only till they succeed remarkably. We need feminism for a lot more reasons. We need feminism to give every single human the right to be weak and the right to be strong.
    3. To all parents who buy their girls dolls and khelna-baati, and their sons toy cars and bikes, what are you accomplishing? Toys are toys. Stop teaching your sons khelna-baati is not for them, stop teaching your girls playing with toy bikes is strange for them. You are their god. Open their horizons. Let them explore. Give them the choice of everything. Same for cartoons. If your son wants to see a barbie movie or your daughter wants to buy an omnitrix inspired by Ben 10, support them. Please. I beg you. And i promise you your children will grow to be mature understanding adults. Please let go of the old thinking your parents taught you. This is a new world. Allow your children to embrace it in a kind way too.
    4. To all those people who preach "girls mature faster than boys", i apologize. Girls don't really mature faster than boys. We are rebuked for our mistakes much earlier. The same mistakes that boys make but are indulged to a much later age. We are expected to understand,to be mature, to be good obedient girls and so we mature. And yet I've never seen anyone point us out to boys and say "see, she's a girl, she's more mature than you, respect her and try to be more like her". No. Because that's a default female virtue. Maturity. Huh. I see.
    5. To all boys who say "not all men are like that". Yes i know. And i also know that not all men are serial killers. Yet we have laws for murders. We put criminals at trial and hang them. Rapists aren't anything different. We don't destroy their lives, they do. Calling them out doesn't damage their reputation, it only makes it more accurate. And if a girl ever falsely accuses someone, she deserves punishment too, for no crime must go unpunished, whether it be committed by a male or female.
    6. To all boys who think why we demand equality if we cant even match them in strength and fight as equals. Well. I pity you. Don't equate equality with who you can or cannot abuse. It reflects primitive thinking. And we expect you to behave rationally.
    7. To anyone who thinks dressing "inappropriately" makes a girl characterless, to say that "yeh toh hona hi tha" well. If clothing was the problem, girls wouldn't have been raped over the past hundreds of years even when they dressed from head to toe. No, the cases weren't fewer. The number of cases that could manage to get reported, were fewer. Instead of criticising the girl, drown the criminal in contempt. Teach your sons an example, teach them the importance of consent and teach them to respect girls. And teach them not to respect girls because "she's someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's mother" but because "she is a human being. Her social standing has nothing to do with the respect she deserves as an individual" . Teach them this. And i promise you you'll be proud to have raised a genuine human being.
    **Allow boys and girls to exist as equals, let everyone live their life to the fullest, let's cherish every moment on this planet by starting a change. Change yourself sweetheart. Maybe the world might follow your lead. Let old ideas die. This is a new era. Either embrace it or die on the other side of history**

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    Because I'm tired. Of this shit.

  • trou_noir 68w

    // All my wolves begin to howl
    Wake me up, the time is now.//

    I guess I do love sleeping.
    It's like I'm dead and alive at the same time. Lol. You replied that it's like death without the commitment (woof. Death with benefits)
    Life's shitty. I wake up, open the curtains and see dust and old bricks lying at the corner of the street. The day's dull. I wash my face. It's 5:02 on the clock. I put on my hairband without combing my hair and go out to unlock the main door. There's a fat brown dog, spotted with red rashes sitting on the lawn. The newspaper is late as always.
    Then I brew up some tea and sit down on the balcony floor but it's too bitter and I spit it out clumsily. I'm wiping my mouth with my tee-shirt.
    The sun's out now. It's too harsh already. 7:12 AM. I wanna die.
    I open whatsapp and see you've written something. "Good morning babe", you say. I type it back and send lots of goofy smileys. I'm not smiling. We won't talk much during the day anyway.
    I stretch. I pull the curtains again. I wanna be in the dark. The light's too bright. 10:42 AM. There's a van outside with a mic blaring off. There won't be any electricity and water upto 5 in the evening. I'm still in my pajamas. I'm lying down on the bed, my feet dangling off the edges.
    So does the day go on. It's hot and humid. I'm tired of existing. I just wanna sleep. My head aches. There are cobwebs in the corners of my room.
    8:36 PM. I'm spamming you. I'm telling you about the stars, my name, my parents, my dreams, my fears, I'm crying and asking you if I'm okay, if you're okay, if your mum hugged you today and if your dog ate. You're silent. You're just telling me you wanna kiss me. I'm broken inside. I loathe you. Perhaps.
    10 PM. We make up. Video call. I love you too. Perhaps.
    11 PM. I choke on my food. The milk's burnt. I have to clean up. I'm still in yesterday night's tee. I reek of sweat and despair. I'm happy. I guess.
    11:11 PM. I'm in bed. You're calling. But I switch off the phone and fade away.
    I like sleeping. It's death without the commitment.

    ....ummm.... I have zero explanation 😂😁 @cheerfulmadwoman weird???
    @kugelblitz teko bhi puch hi leti hu

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    "Revolution" by The Score.
    Completely unrelated btw.

  • trou_noir 68w

    I am a flower.
    A venus flytrap to be more exact🙂

  • trou_noir 68w


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    I know a paper plane can't reach as high as a rocket.
    But I just have this paper plane...and I'm still gonna shoot for the moon.

  • trou_noir 69w

    Soorrry my dear chirps it's not temporary just getting it off my chest love y'all

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    Science aesthetics because let's romanticise these too lol

    Notebooks filled with scattered calculations,terms and theories, small pieces of flora and miscellaneous clippings stuck hastily on the paper, eureka! moments, wild eyes and chewed lips, feeling of puzzle pieces fitting together, oh the coffee rings on the desk and books and sheets, scrapbooks filled with well..scraps, cryptic notes, solving problems at midnight, "perfect i want it perfect how quickly and efficiently can i do this" , google and youtube(hail), fresh boost of motivation after doing practicals etc etc😂

  • trou_noir 73w

    Wtf is realism?
    WTF @writersnetwork (sorry i dont swear often i promise) but 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

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    Moon drunk wolf-girl,
    Why do you howl so softly at night?
    Kissing the marble statue,
    Stained with my blood,
    Why do you whisper in it's ears?
    Foolish monster fearless child,
    Have you not heard the ancient songs?
    Darling monster sweetest child,
    Have not learnt your lessons from those songs?
    Careless monster heartless child,
    Why do you run to catch the stars?
    Summon the goddess
    Take her soul,
    Kiss me a final goodbye.
    Moon drunk wolf girl half insane,
    I still hear you howling foolishly at night.

  • trou_noir 80w

    Hey guys are monsters aware that they are monsters and also does being aware of being a monster have any effect on dealing with monstrosity lemme know in the comments

  • trou_noir 80w

    Monsters. Random. Temporary shit. Idk why i chose this POV

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    Speak to me. Don't you avert your eyes. I have stood here for the past seventeen years waiting for you. I have spoken. I have waited. Now you must answer me. Face me. Look at the sea, look how the sun is drowning in it's depths. Look at the last rays escaping the clutches of those vicious waves. Tell me. Who are you really? Why are you running away? What do you see in my eyes? Why are you afraid? This sword you see,does that scare you? But it was forged to slay the monsters i met. These blood stained nails,are those disturbing you? But they are the witness of all the fights i survived. Or is it my face full of ugly scars? No. Do not run away. I demand an answer. Do you not love me? Are you unable to love me? But i cannot let you go. I love you. Stay. No. Stop. Stop i dont wanna hurt you. Stop! Stop i say! You fool! It's the cliff! Stop! No! I beg you stop no! No! No!
    I wonder. Did i love a monster? Or you?