Nupur Chowdhury's Blog, page 3

The Problem with ‘Problematic’ Fiction: A Defence of Vampiric Alpha Billionaires

(Image Source)Why is fantasizing about being in a semi-abusive relationship with a hot billionaire any worse than fantasizing about being an orphaned Chosen One hunted by a dark wizard?
That was the question I was faced with yesterday, while browsing the Goodreads comment section for a run-off-the-mill billionaire romance/erotica. Now I am by no means saying that this book was an outstanding work of literature. I haven’t read the book, so I have no way of knowing what kind of quality it has t...

On Writing the Novel I’ve Always Wanted to Read

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I wrote my first novel in the last two years of high school. I started it in the first month of class 11, and completed it exactly one month before my higher secondary exams the next year. Now it was a relatively short novel – barely touched 65000 words – with a linear storyline. Today, I could probably finish a similar project in less than six months. But I was sixteen and confused – not an unusual state of being – and full of doubts about my ability to actually complete a full...

Poetry: An Elegy on the Death of My Fake Leather Sandals

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Starry-eyed, I peeked at you through the shop window
The salesman’s toothy smile was nothing to your new-polished glow.
Your fake leather belts and stiff rubber soles
Made me dream of journeys sans mud, debris, and potholes.

The salesman whispered the ‘discounted rate’ delicately into my ears, 
I glanced down at my slender wallet and blinked back my tears. My feet slid into your gentle folds, a warrior coming home, I was fifty short but in your embrace, the world I wis...

An Elegy on the Death of My Fake Leather Sandals

(image source)
Starry-eyed, I peeked at you through the shop window
The salesman’s toothy smile was nothing to your new-polished glow.
Your fake leather belts and stiff rubber soles
Made me dream of journeys sans mud, debris, and potholes.

The salesman whispered the ‘discounted rate’ delicately into my ears, I glanced down at my slender wallet and blinked back my tears. My feet slid into your gentle folds, a warrior coming home, I was fifty short but in your embrace, the world I wis...

Poetry: In Honor of the Late Electric Kettle Martyred on the Promise of an Elusive Education

This poem is dedicated to:Kirti, Pallavi (roomie), Khushboo, Priyanka, Kanchan, and last but not the least, my darling dead kettle. I miss you all!! :*
(image source)
For nine months we were RapunzelsLanguishing in the tower of redundant educationBidding civilization a teary farewellTo buy a degree with the currency of isolated frustration.
And through it all, you were thereBy my side, when the world seemed dark and bare.Oh, beloved companions of my embittered soulMy electric kettle and my Magg...

In Honor of the Late Electric Kettle Martyred on the Promise of an Elusive Education

This poem is dedicated to:Kirti, Pallavi (roomie), Khushboo, Priyanka, Kanchan, and last but not the least, my darling dead kettle. I miss you all!! :*
(image source)
For nine months we were RapunzelsLanguishing in the tower of redundant educationBidding civilization a teary farewellTo buy a degree with the currency of isolated frustration.
And through it all, you were thereBy my side, when the world seemed dark and bare.Oh, beloved companions of my embittered soulMy electric kettle and my Magg...

Poetry: An Ode to Rejection

It’s good, but not what we’re looking for right now. 
Oh, but it stings. And how! The position’s closed, better luck next time Your lips are bruised purple from that smile. 

We loved it, but it doesn’t fit with our current line-up 
You take a bitter sip of the salty tea-cup It’s good, dear, just not for me You nod, you understand, ‘cause it ever is. 
Your throat stings from not screaming loud enough, Frustration the itch of a swallowed cough. You’...

An Ode to Rejection

It’s good, but not what we’re looking for right now. Oh, but it stings. And how! The position’s closed, better luck next time Your lips are bruised purple from that smile. 
We loved it, but it doesn’t fit with our current line-up You take a bitter sip of the salty tea-cup It’s good, dear, just not for me You nod, you understand, ‘cause it ever is. 
Your throat stings from not screaming loud enough, Frustration the itch of a swallowed cough. You’...

Poetry: On Seeing the Sun on a Weekday

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The frosty LEDs flicker overhead, Dispersing monotone rays of white on beige I feel a fresh migraine approach Sip the stale coffee cooling next to my keyboard. 
The girl beside me in the rainbow dupatta, Leans over empty staplers and stained manila To whisper: ‘The boss is going on a holiday,Wouldn’t be back before salary day.’ 
I’m told this is cause for celebration The best you can make of a bad situation. And I suppose I’d feel some...

On Seeing the Sun on a Weekday

(image source)
The frosty LEDs flicker overhead, Dispersing monotone rays of white on beige I feel a fresh migraine approach Sip the stale coffee cooling next to my keyboard. 
The girl beside me in the rainbow dupatta, Leans over empty staplers and stained manila To whisper: ‘The boss is going on a holiday,Wouldn’t be back before salary day.’ 
I’m told this is cause for celebration The best you can make of a bad situation. And I suppose I’d feel some...