The Aroma Of Self-Cooked Meals

Now that I can finally say it out loud, here is a tiny-little change in my life. An itsy-bitsy change. I am now living alone, in a flat, where everything is done, managed, arranged by me. (Tiny change.)

I was never one to socialize. Ever. So the silence in the flat is like music to my ears. The solitude is comforting as humans make me anxious. The noises around me are just the ones in my head and I am loving every second of it. But my taoist soul knows that to every yang there is bound to be a yin.

The silence is a double-edged sword, it makes me queiter too. And one of the things which I really really miss, is the excuse to laugh.

When we are surrounded by humans, we find out reasons to smile or to laugh so frequently that we tend to ignore about them. The opportunity to smile loses the face value that it holds the more and more it is shared. While being on the same page, I finally realize how much I love to laugh, despite being accepting and embracing of the fact that I have a goth side that tends to come out so often that we cannot say that it “comes out”. And now I was living my life, in silence.

Until recently, there has been a tiffin service that I was reaping the benefits of and just two days back, I got my gas stove. So I can finally cook my own meals, more on that some other day.  I am not a chef. Hell, I am not even a cook! I have been preparing meals for me before this solitude too sometimes, but that was entirely different.  So when I cooked my entire meal for the first time yesterday afternoon, I came to a realization which strengthen over the 3 more meals  I made after that.

When I chop my vegetables, I often hum a tune alien to me. When I am using the rolling pin, I am almost always smiling. And when the veggies finally hit the flavored, crackling oil, and the aroma of food cooked by my own hands, hits my head and takes me to the meals my mother makes; I laugh out loud for two entire minutes.

There is something about cooking food that is so entertaining! You know what I mean? Something so powerful that it drives me to places unimaginable. The aroma of freshly cooked food has for the last couple of days has amused me so much that I secretly look forward to cooking.

Just to have my nostril drive my thoughts to home and the meals that my mother cook, which is now the only thing I call food.

With love,

Adwitiya

Recycling, Reusing and Repurposing

Nostalgia. I remember when I was in school, a few days before the seeming freedom a friend of mine dropped all his friends a text. A few days before the final exam, the message read, “Coming to School tomorrow?” And in that instant, the reality of the situation hit our bellies like a wrecking ball. The bittersweet aftertaste, matured for 12 years had finally indeed hit our heads. Intoxicating us.

Today as I write this seemingly absurd contemplation, I am reminded of the same. Nostalgia.

Nostalgia for the blog I began and reshaped so many times. Nostalgia for the similar yet ever evolving *tap-tap-tap* of the keyboards I have used. Nostalgia for the flat that I am in. Where I shall be in sweet solitude for . . , let’s say, a while now. Nostalgia for my parents, with whom I lived for so long! And nostalgia for myself and what has become of me.

I can’t write a lot as of now. I have to pick the minds of the greatest weavers of the history. (Much more than you have you eat mine!) But all that I can say right now is, I am recycling this. I am going to reuse this website.
And this will be repurposed, yet again.

For at this very moment, on the 5th of July 2017, 2:51 am I sit half-naked, under a fan in a nearly empty flat. Feeling nostalgic and cathartic.

But at this moment the tonic is not matured for 12 years, but 20.

To your good health!
Adwitiya

My eBook Is Available!

I know I promised all of you an Angel and Al eBook when I stopped writing Angel and Al on the blog. I said that I felt that the stories are a lot close to my heart and that sharing these stories is like having no pants on in a hustling market. I felt as if I am being exposed and that I am revealing secrets.

It was because they are so cute! “Angel and Al” is like my pet project which I have grown so fond of that I don’t want to share them with the world anymore. That I want to keep them with me forever and never share with the world

But it was also my most successful “series” I ran on the blog here. And I finally decided that not sharing the story of Angel and Al is selfish of me and that it is in fact, an injustice to Angel and Al that I am not propagating their beautiful legacy with the world. I felt that it is my duty to spread the joy and happiness which reflects in the stories and the sense of satisfaction I got when I wrote them.

Angel & Al have grown up. The stories are like my children and to see them grow from individual stories to the anthology is an absolutely amazing feeling. Writing Angel and Al was never “work” for me but I always wrote them with a silly grin on my face. Without further ado, I present to you all Angel & Al.

These are a collection of 30 stories (blogs) from this tiny little blog I have. It is free of cost and will be free forever. It is available on Kobo and Smashwords at least and many more retailers. Just so you guys know, I love you all for all the support you gave me over the years. Thank you so much my dearest readers, for all the support.

A special thank you goes to my personal Angel for whom all of these were written initially. This wouldn’t be possible without you.

You can download the book from Smashwords here. If you prefer then click here to download from the Kobo website. Once again, thank you my lovely blog readers for all the support. Do download, I insist. It’s free and very short. Leave it a review and send me your honest thoughts!

P.s. I know that I haven’t been active on the blog lately. It’s just that I have been receiving no feedback from you guys and I got upset and called it quits for a while. But I promised myself that I will be here for you guys, even if I reduce myself down to a single blog a week, even if you guys aren’t here. Stay awesome!

A New Beginning

I know. I promised a schedule of 10:30 but I am not punctual. I apologize and accept my fault. But it’s celebration time as I am about to give you A New Beginning today.

Once again apologies for ending Angel and Al so abruptly and I once again promise that I will give you a complete book about them till the end of this year. Consolation and compensation for your loss is a must to be provided by me and this new concept is my gift to you.

What is love?

Love is an emotion between two people? No. Love is Cupid. Cupid is born out of chaste but is a naive baby who is blind. Cupid has wings and it flies high in the sky. Cupid has a bow and arrow. Love is Cupid. Love is blind and many mistake it for a physical attraction. But the high is higher than a drug and is pure and innocent like a child. But it also carries weapon of mass destruction and pain.

Love can happen to anyone with anyone. Literally. We love our pets! We love everything. Some people love violence but that I their love!

In this regard, with a serious tone, I present you a new series of blog. I have titled it “But…”

A man falls in love with a girl half his age. His journey through his eyes. His journey of self discovery and change. An emotional rollercoaster. Dynamic with emotions oozing out. His self doubts and his inhibitions.

Come be a part of this journey. A step everyday at midnight.

Yours,
Adwitiya

Change Is The Only Constant

Yes. Change is the only constant and it’s true. Okay so a confession. I… I… I am possessive over Angel.

It’s true. Writing Angel over and over again has made me closer and closer to her. (It’s a character you’d say but trust me, Angel is someone special to me.) I honestly don’t want to share my Angel with anyone now. So sorry. But I don’t want to. Angel’s mine.

But don’t worry. The other constant is equilibrium. Equilibrium will always be maintained. If I am withdrawing some characters from you, I will be introducing more characters. I have cooked a rainbow of characters for you to have and I am sure you’ll lick your fingers!

I apologize for discontinuing Angel and Al but I feel too personal about those two little gems. I might be sending them your way in a little book though, compiled and some extras till the end of this year.

Announcement: I am going to add a micro blog, The infamous Six Word Stories on Twitter. Follow me there, TheQuotesGuy @Adwitiyadixit for these tiny little stories. And 8 am IST will be a poem on the blog and 10:30 pm IST will be a story.

With loads of affection to you guys. I blog for you and I am here cause you are here. Thank you for all the support.

Yours truly,

Adwitiya

The Cure

The cure was a sweet tasting bliss,

The cure was to the ill that can’t be missed.

The cure was not subdued due to another fragility.

The cure was to get down with another disease.

Connecting

Greetings human,
This is Adwitiya Dixit taking a bit of time to apologize and thank you. Apology because I have not been blogging properly. I’ve been under the weather for a while. And yesterday I wanted to blog but I hyperbolically swooned.
Thankew all (yes ew. I love ew.) for reading and liking. I’m really happy that you are like with what I am experimenting and you’ve been given me the ease in the tension of my leash of populace pleasure by liking he new experiments I’ve been itching to do. All new followers, thank you. All the readers, thank you. All in all, thank you all for your time that you are investing here.

One thing more, if you have any complains or critical accusations or technical faults that you want to report feel free to comment them here.
Want to connect with me, then follow me on Twitter, @adwitiyadixit mail me maybe, dixitadwitiya@live.com
And soon I will be adding some more here because I’ve been having some ideas about adding the bazzam to the blog. Trying to provide more time to it too.

Stay connected, stay healthy. Keep reading. And be you.

“I am that I am”

Your’s apologetically,
Adwitiya Dixit

Frog Commoner

There was the frog prince,

Who the princess kissed and transformed.

Then there is the frog commoner,

Who no princess kissed in the first place.

Left Out

I got my wish,

What I asked for everyday.

Estranged from my kin,

Apart from the crowd not a part of the crowd, now I am.

(P.s. Trying my hand out at Sheila Sea poetry, follow her blog, she’s awesome.)

Epiphany

“Enter the key… Twist it towards your right.”
*Pause*
“Towards the hand you write with, and voila! You’ve entered your apartment once again! Made through another day!”

The lad took off the knapsack off his back and threw it towards “the hand I don’t write with” and took off his shirt and threw it in some direction and turned the lights on and took his cell out of his pocket and glanced at it; all this within a time period of 3 minutes. “Shall I … ?”

Battery low. Insert charger now.

“Okay, so… have I got something to eat now?”

The lad then took off his lemon yellow high tops and threw them in some direction and made it to the fridge without hurting himself. He opened the fridge and closed it in one swift motion.
“I’m not hungry.”

Somewhere at the back of his head he heard his mother coaxing him into another serving and his throat went dry.
By this time he was half was back to his mattress which was his make shift bed. He turned went once again towards the fridge and took out a bottle of water. He took one swing and the tiny trinklet of water grazed his cheek and went down on his chest, giving him a shudder.
“Oh winter dear, I miss you already too!”, he said.

He came back to his bed with the bottle in his hand and dropped on his bed knee first. By now he pretty much forgotten about the phone. So when he once again felt the cold metal body of his cell on his back he picked it up and this time the message read:
Less than 2% battery remaining.
Connect charger immediately.
I’m extremely hungry, gimme food or I die, dum dum!

A little irritated and frustated he ttok hold of his phone and hurled it over some direction.
He fell on the bed and covered his face inside his palms and let out a pipsqueak wail of frustation.

After 3 seconds precisely, he got up in a flash of thunder and screamed “My PHONE!” and ran in the direction where he threw it. Or what he could make of it.

He ran as fast as he could in the direction he thought he threw his phone in. Tripping the open-and-half-empty bottle in the process and spilling loads of water in the process, tripping himself first over his knapsack, then on each of his shoe and then he tripped from his shirt right on the socks he threw in some direction. Nodding his head on his own recklessness, looked up into the face of his phone, for the final message:
You no give me food.
Too late, too bad.
I die.

He heaved a deep breath which was then morphed into a sigh, as he watched his phone consume itself in a black void of nothing.

“I will at least let this out of my stupid brain or this will drive me crazy.”

He then once again ran into some direction in search of his bag. (Don’t ask how many time mi amiga tripped) Then he turned the lights on and took out a sheet of paper and his pen with green ink in it this time.

The following was what he wrote:

“My dearest arthopod,

This is a letter that I am writing to vent out what has been inside of my head, for you know well enough how things eat my brain like a termite infested wood. Thereby at least here I can, I will, and I have the authority to term you dearest.
Insect-winged, sometimes a decision is not yours to make. You would wish that it was yours, and you’d do anything to be able to make at least a single decision in the whole process. Similarly, you flew like a kite and all that I did was holding on to your tailing thread. You decided where to go. I was there holding on to you.
You flew farther and farther and I was still holding on.
You then, one day asked to let go. And I said that I will. You flew away then.
And everything was a decision of yours. I was just holding on. First it was you, then your tailing thread. Then you just flew away.
All the kid wanted was to fly a kite and recreate, rather immitate the flight of the bird. How was He supposed to know that it would flew away.
So you went away. Far far away. So far that I could not even see you.
But maybe I’m still holding on to you, arthopod.

-The one you didn’t want,
8-legged-Spider”

The lad read and re-read it and then added it to the collection of letters he had written and never intends to send.

The same that line the wall of his studio apartment.