aparajitabhattacharya

[aparajitabhattacharya]

[aparajitabhattacharya]

Chapati Champion

Everyone has something which they like. It may be solely one thing or multiple things. For instance, some like doughnuts, while others like cats. They can like anything they want. They have the whole wide world to pick from. And like others, so did I.

Of course, I never put much thought into my choice, like everything else in my life. Hence, the one thing I truly really like, without any biases and with all my heart (excluding my dogs), is chapati. Or roti.

Naturally, as a kid, I also loved chapatis. Most kids around my age liked stuff which was supposed to be liked by kids. 

As for me, I not only loved chapatis but also was quite creepy when it came to them.

Then again, I probably was creepy regardless of context.

I would patiently wait till dinnertime, till my mum would commence the chapati rolling, and then would slyly pull up a chair next to the kitchen platform, my eyes fixated on the raw dough being converted to hot chapatis the entire time.

I suppose you could say it gave me a sense of satisfaction and calmness, kind of like meditation, ignoring the fact that my mum kept pushing me away to avoid my drool getting all over the dough. I would stare at it with every ounce of concentration, which could otherwise have been pretty useful for my grades. 

I would then snatch up the first chapati that came hot off the flame. Every day the staring and snatching of chapatis would occur. 

Then one fine evening, as my mum left the flame for a few seconds to attend a call, I watched in horror as the unattended chapati was left wilting. Few more seconds passed, and the chapati was still there. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I quickly stood up and with my bare fingers, flipped the chapati, juggled it a little and then cooked it directly on the flame, still just using my fingers. It was as though my fingers were burn proof in the presence of the chapati. 

I turned around to see someone gasping.

My mother.

Now, keep in mind that, up until this event, I was more or less considered a nuisance pretty much everywhere. You see, I was more of a nuisance in the kitchen, ever since I had debuted my dough-to-chapati staring act.

But now, my mother saw me in a new light. She discovered that I finally had some talent. I, her chapati crazed daughter, had great talent in chapati making.

From that night onward, I kept offering to make chapatis. It was as though it had consumed me. I was straight up wacked up about making chapatis and everywhere my mother took me, if there was ANY chapati making involved, I’d volunteer.

People would initially decline, of course.

But then, I probably even terrorised a few into letting me make chapatis.

I soon enrolled myself in chapati making competitions. I turned 11 when I participated in the first contest. I won. Obviously. I was easily the best. As I received my first trophy, I could see my mum wiping tears in the front row. It was one of my proudest moments.

Once I turned 14, my friends started to find issues with my chapatti making. They argued about feminism and about how regressive my act was. They spoke of how men must also do housework, that it should be equally done and of course, the fact that I made expert chapatis did come up.

But I didn’t care. I just really really really loved making chapatis. What could I do?

Over the past decade, I kept churning out perfectly cooked, proportionally correct, seamless circles. I was like a robot, a machine, obsessed with the action of creating chapatis.

I also progressed onto other shapes, starting from triangles and squares to complex buildings and animals. It was beautiful. *

* (contact hireme@chapatimaker for business inquiries and commissions)

[aparajitabhattacharya]

It’s wonderful day to curl up and die

But since society won’t permit that, next best option is to curl up and stare at walls. works just as well

[aparajitabhattacharya]

My Hair

Let’s talk about my hair. Now, you’d think, what a boring topic – someone else’s hair. Well true, I do agree with you. But hair is hair, isn’t it? Curly, straight, wavy or annoying, it’s just abominable, yes?

My hair is something I worry about occasionally. Some might argue that I worry about it too much. In fact, I don’t. I don’t worry that much about it; I just hate it. More than my hair, I hate how my face looks with it. How the hair frames my face. 

Because, if being truthful, it doesn’t frame my face at all. It looks awful. And that’s when I spend a lovely amount of money to snip it right off.

Now, of course, what’s there’s to hate? It’s just hair! It’s going to grow back! Yes it is! Also, did I mention that it’s going to take over three years to grow back to its original length, when I looked sort of respectable? Oh, I’m forgetful like that.

I peer at myself in the mirror, wondering how, at 20 years of age, I still look like a child. 

I try to flatten my hair, especially at the back, where it’s all matted and weird…but. It won’t flatten. It’s stubborn; it refuses to look anything close to flat.

Giving the ol’ finger to the hair. Always works. 

Now I’m angry. Oh because what a tragedy.

At this point, my brain gives in. Remember, it’s just hair. Nothing else. But my brain brings in all the things associated with hair – social life, friends, personality, confidence, being overwhelmed and etc and five minutes later I lie on the bed, staring into space. 

What went wrong? Since when did hair, PUNY HAIR, have the power to ruin my day? 

Let’s do a little math here. Remember, I failed at math, so my calculations are PROBABLY wrong.

Hair looking good = confidence. But if hair not looking good = low confidence. Our constant here is overthinking. Try it sometime, it’s really fun. And we all know overthinking = everything bad ever. 

If you’ve ever had trouble with hair, I understand that it’s a big deal. Hair is not the problem in itself, it’s everything around it. I know. It’s okay. Yes, it sucks. No, don’t go bald, it’s going to make it worse.

Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to go and look at my hair.

Much love and disappointment,

A

[aparajitabhattacharya]

Overthinking and Over and Over and Over

The stuff I think about a lot is the stuff which doesn’t come very handy in life. It’s the stuff you reflect back upon and wonder - oh I was this stupid. How come?

There’s no answer. You were just that stupid.

Anxiety is something I’ve always dealt with all my life, but it only worsened as I began college. Bills, living alone...jobs? 

No jobs. Let’s not talk about jobs at this moment, my anxiety might act upon again. But then again, isn’t that what we’re talking about? Take a look at this list. You’ll probably get an inkling of what goes on in my head.

Getting overwhelmed is like a hobby now. I often play the game “Who can get overwhelmed in an extremely short amount of time”. I usually win.

But deep within me, I still do believe that I was born to do something incredible, something absolutely crazed up.

“You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one.”

What do you know, Lennon? You’re dead.

Let’s consider the second point on the list. “How to get from Point A to Point B”. Seems simple enough, yes? Now, let’s consider this lovely diagram.

From the diagram, you may conclude that there’s a direct correlation to proximity of wrong location, that is, Point C to heightening of unnecessary anxiety which concludes to the increasing ‘what the fuckness’ of the situation. It’s simple if you see it like that.

Let’s continue with the list.

And finally, of course I worry about real things. I’m not a terrible person. Well alright, maybe I am, but I’m not truly terrible. I do care for others 10% of the time that I breathe. It’s something.

Oh, okay, I’m a terrible person, fine.

To be fair, I had dreams of contesting for elections once upon a time. 

Much love and more disappointment, 

A