If You Receive This, You Make Somebody Happy! Go On Anon And Send This To Ten Of Your Followers Who Make

Shubha Bibaha (1959) | dir. Sombhu Mitra & Amit Mitra

CHOKHER BALI (2003) Dir. by Rituparno Ghosh

Raima Sen and Prosenjit in Noukadubi (Bengali, 2011)

Lmaooo... Lemme think for a sec! Umm.. Uchingre lmao..

🥺 that's too embarassing,titli

Titli?? You named me titli lmaooo

আসলে ভালোবাসা দেখতে না পেলে কক্ষনোই বলতে পারতাম না ভালোবাসা সুন্দর।

হয়ত শুধু আমারই জন্য ভালোবাসা পৃথিবীর সবচেয়ে জঘন্য জিনিস।।।

" দূর হতে আমি তারে সাধিব

গোপনে বিরহডোরে বাঁধিব." — This line♡

“Everyone deserve a person that can make their heart forget the trauma in the past!!"🌻

okay, attention bangali!!!, saraswati pujo and valentines day are on the same day this year.. Saraswati pujo is basically the valentines day of bengalis.

Now, to all those bacha bacha couples, bad luck- karon tomader bedsheet ar bedcover hoye ekdin e berote debe.. ar berote parbenaa.. Because you cringe couples aka doodh er sishus are the only cause of deflation of my sanity (karon toder dekhle amar gaa haath pa jole jaye). Uronto bike e duronto mamomi’s, ektu aste gari chalaben tar karon apnader mrityo shigrohi ashche bole amader moto paaye chola public dero mrityor karon hoben na..

To all the "parar kuchute kakimaas" jodi dekhi apnar meye OYO te giye anjali dicche, tobe amio kintu shonate charbona.. (Ami school theke karor sathe fhirle toh ekebare semi-mahabharat shuru kore phelen) Beshi barabari korlena cheredebona....

Ekhon anek day ashte choleche... ami just slap day tar jonyo wait korchi.. Rastaye jake dekhbo takei chor mere happy slap day bole cut marbo...

Okay koekta bangali der tag koredi

@enigma-the-mysterious @punamc @choppedphilosopherharmony @dopebanditlightpie @zindagi-se-darte-ho @hashi-thatta @janaknandini-singh999 @jukti-torko-golpo

Ei koekjon e ache i guess

Tumi shondharo meghomala

Tumi amar sadhero sadhona

@callonpeevesie @medusasprotegedaughter @beingdevipdf @shaonsim @mitraavarunaa hehe check it out.

DESH TA TAKAR KACCHE BIKRI HOYEGECCHE!!

Really ? So many advocates recruited AGAINST the rape victim ? And there's female advocates too ? What has happened to the people ? They're really gonna fight for the rapist.

People of West Bengal, specifically, the young generation present in West Bengal, we either have to fight our best to change this state or leave this state and go somewhere else.

Our freedom fighters did not fight for this.

I get in the car with him. I’m meeting him in person for the first time and his smile warms my heart. “You said you’ll wear a pullover” he says. “Actually, the pullover got stained”. I look over to him and his eyes are on the road. He looks like a new beginning. Hope blooms shamelessly in my heart. We stop for noodles by the road. It is his favourite spot he mentions. I mentally thank him for sharing a favourite with me. We talk about poetry and he asks me why I like Sylvia Plath so much. I start telling him expecting disinterest to mar his face. But he looks at me like I am a language he wishes to be fluent in. No one has ever looked at me like that. The shopkeeper calls out suddenly, breaking the moment. He goes out to bring the noodles. He hands me my plate and says, “Be careful. it is hot.” and I look at him like he just said ‘I like you’. It is raining outside and we sit in the car in the comfortable silence, eating. The moment feels almost magical. The steam from the noodles clouds the air, blurring the world outside. I look over to him and our eyes meet. My cheeks heat up. “I love the rain”, I say hiding my smitten expression. “Oh me too. It is so romantic”, he agrees. The RJ of the radio agrees too and a romantic tune fills the car. The conversation flows like a river from books to movies to politics to spirituality. He laughs like a kid at my jokes and it takes all of my self control to not reach over and squish his cheeks. He is just so adorable. He feels like the other half of me. The other piece to my puzzle. I let myself hope of us together. But he talks of everything, never us. I plead in my head, “Tell me that you want to meet again. Tell me please, this is just the very first page.” He never does. He drops me at the bus stop. The sinking feeling slowly contaminating the high. “I’ll call you”, he says painting the blue of despair with the yellow of hope. But he never does. He never calls.