Bengali-flavored version of "How sex happens"
Arrey bhai... let me tell you something - Bengalis don’t do sex... they discuss it on the verandah with cha and mishti. 😌
Sex in Bengal doesn’t just 'happen'... it’s a whole procedure, like getting a voter ID. 😅
First step - Proposal. Na na... not that Bollywood-style kneeling-down proposal. Bengali proposal is like: ‘Ami tomake bhalobashi… amader ekta beautiful future thakbe… with two kids — one IIT, one Rabindra Sangeet expert.’
Second step - Planning. Now Bengalis don't jump into action. First they’ll read two books by Shankha Ghosh and then Google ‘Best time for conception according to Vedic astrology’… and then make an Excel sheet. 😐
Third step - Execution. Now this is where the drama starts.
Imagine the moment: dim light, Tagore playing in background… “Aaji jhorer raatey tomar abhisaar…” (stormy night and romance incoming)
Then the guy, full of emotion removes specs slowly… Girl’s like: ‘Tumi light ta bondho koro… Ma jodi dekhay?’
Even in that moment, Ma’r presence is stronger than testosterone. 💀
Fourth step - Post-game analysis. After it’s done instead of cuddling Bengali couples lie down and start discussing: ‘Ki bolish? Bhishon bhalo coordination hoyechilo na?’ As if it was a group dance at Durga Pujo. 💃🕺
And finally, if baby happens They don’t name it ‘Aarav’ or ‘Myra’ like other metros… Nope. It’s ‘Subhojeet’ and ‘Madhurima’ and by age 5, they’ll play the tabla and recite Tagore by heart."
“Bengalis don’t make love… they curate it… like a bloody museum exhibit.
https://redd.it/1jv3cog
@rkolc
Arrey bhai... let me tell you something - Bengalis don’t do sex... they discuss it on the verandah with cha and mishti. 😌
Sex in Bengal doesn’t just 'happen'... it’s a whole procedure, like getting a voter ID. 😅
First step - Proposal. Na na... not that Bollywood-style kneeling-down proposal. Bengali proposal is like: ‘Ami tomake bhalobashi… amader ekta beautiful future thakbe… with two kids — one IIT, one Rabindra Sangeet expert.’
Second step - Planning. Now Bengalis don't jump into action. First they’ll read two books by Shankha Ghosh and then Google ‘Best time for conception according to Vedic astrology’… and then make an Excel sheet. 😐
Third step - Execution. Now this is where the drama starts.
Imagine the moment: dim light, Tagore playing in background… “Aaji jhorer raatey tomar abhisaar…” (stormy night and romance incoming)
Then the guy, full of emotion removes specs slowly… Girl’s like: ‘Tumi light ta bondho koro… Ma jodi dekhay?’
Even in that moment, Ma’r presence is stronger than testosterone. 💀
Fourth step - Post-game analysis. After it’s done instead of cuddling Bengali couples lie down and start discussing: ‘Ki bolish? Bhishon bhalo coordination hoyechilo na?’ As if it was a group dance at Durga Pujo. 💃🕺
And finally, if baby happens They don’t name it ‘Aarav’ or ‘Myra’ like other metros… Nope. It’s ‘Subhojeet’ and ‘Madhurima’ and by age 5, they’ll play the tabla and recite Tagore by heart."
“Bengalis don’t make love… they curate it… like a bloody museum exhibit.
https://redd.it/1jv3cog
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Soumitra Chatterjee and Sharmila Tagore talking about Satayjit Ray and his 1960 Bangla film "Devi"
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India cancels transshipment facility available for Bangladeshi export goods at land customs station in India
https://youtu.be/CDsivjH95os?si=ShHqjKh0blFeOsl6
https://redd.it/1jvafny
@rkolc
https://youtu.be/CDsivjH95os?si=ShHqjKh0blFeOsl6
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India Cuts Off Crucial Trade Link to Bangladesh: What’s Behind the Move?
India has officially withdrawn a crucial transshipment facility that allowed Bangladesh to export goods to neighboring countries like Nepal, Bhutan, and Myanmar via Indian land and sea routes. The move, announced in a circular issued on April 8, comes shortly…
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Was trying to understand what the lyrics of this song means. Someone sent this to me on IG
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@rkolc
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Forcing others to change their diet
Recently visited the place, Vivekananda Memorial at Kanyakumari. I was just standing in the line to hop into the ferry service after the tour. Then infront of me saw few people from North side were discussing about the food habits of Tamil people. They probably visited Pondicherry before coming here. And the co-existence of Temple, Church and in the same alley non veg restaurants was something unbelievable for them. Their argument was there should be a 10-12 kmn radius, around any temple or school (holy places) no non veg should be allowed. I was in my mind like, if we start putting such radius zone then in India, there are temple everywhere and no place will be left where people will be able to get non veg food.
After seeing the way people are complaining about the fish market in Delhi CR mark, raise this question in my mind that they will try to go any length to impose their ideology. And if you give in with their demand they will demand more. They will force you to be compliant with their beliefs. The audacity of these people to visit a place and discussing to change their culture was beyond my imagination. Salute to the Tamilians for always fighting. And, we bengali people if we want to protect our culture, language and diet, the only way is to develop our state. Because that is when we will be able to boldly fight for our identity. Those people have no respect for others.
Tldr: went to visit Vivekananda memorial and found some people discussing to impose their dietary habits on others. Visiting a place and showing no respect for their culture.
https://redd.it/1jvqyq7
@rkolc
Recently visited the place, Vivekananda Memorial at Kanyakumari. I was just standing in the line to hop into the ferry service after the tour. Then infront of me saw few people from North side were discussing about the food habits of Tamil people. They probably visited Pondicherry before coming here. And the co-existence of Temple, Church and in the same alley non veg restaurants was something unbelievable for them. Their argument was there should be a 10-12 kmn radius, around any temple or school (holy places) no non veg should be allowed. I was in my mind like, if we start putting such radius zone then in India, there are temple everywhere and no place will be left where people will be able to get non veg food.
After seeing the way people are complaining about the fish market in Delhi CR mark, raise this question in my mind that they will try to go any length to impose their ideology. And if you give in with their demand they will demand more. They will force you to be compliant with their beliefs. The audacity of these people to visit a place and discussing to change their culture was beyond my imagination. Salute to the Tamilians for always fighting. And, we bengali people if we want to protect our culture, language and diet, the only way is to develop our state. Because that is when we will be able to boldly fight for our identity. Those people have no respect for others.
Tldr: went to visit Vivekananda memorial and found some people discussing to impose their dietary habits on others. Visiting a place and showing no respect for their culture.
https://redd.it/1jvqyq7
@rkolc
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Sector V er Shosurbari—And The Summer That Tried to Kill Me
Sector V. Summer. AC off. Life ruined.
Meet our hero: Somraj aka Somu. 32. Works in IT. Looks like Devdas. Drinks like Devdas. But writes Python code that breaks more than it builds. Basically, a Tech Mahindra employee with the energy of a dying mosquito.
If you’re in Kolkata summer and you still say,
>
Kolkatar Summer is not a season.
It’s a villain arc.
It’s April. Kolkata’s sun is now a mafia boss. 42°C, UV Index 11, and the air feels like someone farted inside an OTG oven. Still, Somu’s company, “SkyNet Technologies” (which sounds like it sells missiles, but just makes HR apps), decides—“AC should be off. Team bonding ke liye garam hawa chahiye.”
Somu arrives at office looking like the inside of a wet sock. His deodorant gave up halfway through Beliaghata.
Auto ride in summer = Sweaty Orgy Simulator.
Three random dudes, one sweaty bhodrolok with kaajer bag, one aunty who smells like “Boroline + Duronto Ride”.
And the moment your thighs touch — bhai,
That’s not friction, that’s foreplay.
The lift’s broken, so he walks six floors up, sweating from orifices he didn’t know existed. He enters. His manager, Dipu da—who smells like Axe Chocolate and parental disappointment—says:
“Somu, Aj o late?”
Somu, mentally on a ghat with Rabindrasangeet playing, replies:
“Bolchi, ami jibon e ektu bhalo thakte chai.”
Everyone laughs.
Because this is corporate. And crying in the open is only for farewell speeches and layoffs.
Lunchtime. The office canteen serves boiled rice, mushy alu-bharta, and chicken curry that tastes like regret. Somu takes a bite and whispers:
“Eta chicken? Na life-e ekta bhool?”
Meanwhile, Sudeshna from HR, a girl who puts "Summer baby ☀️🌸" in her Insta bio, is sipping iced Americano like she isn’t dying inside.
Somu looks at her and wonders tomra kon galaxy te thako?
He remembers once He saw a guy fainting in front of Lake Mall.
Nobody helped.
People thought it was a new Zomato marketing stunt—“Fall for our food.”
And then comes the breaking point.
3 PM. Power goes off.
UPS fails.
Sudeshna’s ring light dies.
The whole office becomes a Bengali horror film where the only ghost is Somu’s will to live.
In the heat-fueled delirium, Somu opens his secret desk drawer—where there’s no code, no vision doc.
Only—Old Monk. Half bottle. Blessing of the gods.
One sip. Two sip. He sees Jesus. Jesus says “Bro, I’m melting too.”
Suddenly, Somu starts preaching like a madman:
“Summer pashbalish-er moto—thake shorirer pashe, kichui kore na, just gorom lage.”
Dipu da stares.
Sudeshna asks, “Somu, are you drunk?”
Somu replies: “Drunk on truth. You summer babies are psychopaths. Toke jodi 2 July r dupure Howrah station e niye giye feli, tuio bolbi—‘omg such a vibe.’"
The office gasps.
Somu is sweating, ranting, shirt half open like a Govinda fan on TikTok.
“Eta Season na. Eta punishment. Bro, even Feluda wouldn’t solve cases in this heat.
He’d just be like:
“Topshe, ami bhabchi… eta suicide e chhilo.
Je Kolkata e gormo e beriyechhilo... sei bhule giyachilo jibon er mullo"
He throws a fan at the wall and shouts:
“Monsoon ke boro korbe na, kintu Ice Americano kheye bujhchho tumi aesthetic?”
Dipu da tries to stop him. Somu points and screams:
“Dipu da, tumi shei dhoroner manus je chhuti dineo mail kore!”
Sudeshna is crying. HR logs in to Teams to file an incident report.
But then… something magical happens.
The sky darkens.
A single thunder roars.
It starts raining.
Cold. Clean. Apocalyptic.
Everyone runs to the window.
Somu stands near the AC vent, arms stretched like Shah Rukh Khan in DDLJ.
Tears in his eyes. Sweat now holy water.
“Nature heard me,” he whispers.
A pigeon flies in and shits on Dipu da’s shoulder.
Poetic justice.
Later that evening, Somu gets a termination email.
But he walks out like a king.
Because tonight, he wasn’t just another IT guy.
Tonight, he was Kolkata’s unofficial Rain Summoner. A drunk. A legend. A martyr of summer.
And as he boards the auto from Sector
Sector V. Summer. AC off. Life ruined.
Meet our hero: Somraj aka Somu. 32. Works in IT. Looks like Devdas. Drinks like Devdas. But writes Python code that breaks more than it builds. Basically, a Tech Mahindra employee with the energy of a dying mosquito.
If you’re in Kolkata summer and you still say,
>
Kolkatar Summer is not a season.
It’s a villain arc.
It’s April. Kolkata’s sun is now a mafia boss. 42°C, UV Index 11, and the air feels like someone farted inside an OTG oven. Still, Somu’s company, “SkyNet Technologies” (which sounds like it sells missiles, but just makes HR apps), decides—“AC should be off. Team bonding ke liye garam hawa chahiye.”
Somu arrives at office looking like the inside of a wet sock. His deodorant gave up halfway through Beliaghata.
Auto ride in summer = Sweaty Orgy Simulator.
Three random dudes, one sweaty bhodrolok with kaajer bag, one aunty who smells like “Boroline + Duronto Ride”.
And the moment your thighs touch — bhai,
That’s not friction, that’s foreplay.
The lift’s broken, so he walks six floors up, sweating from orifices he didn’t know existed. He enters. His manager, Dipu da—who smells like Axe Chocolate and parental disappointment—says:
“Somu, Aj o late?”
Somu, mentally on a ghat with Rabindrasangeet playing, replies:
“Bolchi, ami jibon e ektu bhalo thakte chai.”
Everyone laughs.
Because this is corporate. And crying in the open is only for farewell speeches and layoffs.
Lunchtime. The office canteen serves boiled rice, mushy alu-bharta, and chicken curry that tastes like regret. Somu takes a bite and whispers:
“Eta chicken? Na life-e ekta bhool?”
Meanwhile, Sudeshna from HR, a girl who puts "Summer baby ☀️🌸" in her Insta bio, is sipping iced Americano like she isn’t dying inside.
Somu looks at her and wonders tomra kon galaxy te thako?
He remembers once He saw a guy fainting in front of Lake Mall.
Nobody helped.
People thought it was a new Zomato marketing stunt—“Fall for our food.”
And then comes the breaking point.
3 PM. Power goes off.
UPS fails.
Sudeshna’s ring light dies.
The whole office becomes a Bengali horror film where the only ghost is Somu’s will to live.
In the heat-fueled delirium, Somu opens his secret desk drawer—where there’s no code, no vision doc.
Only—Old Monk. Half bottle. Blessing of the gods.
One sip. Two sip. He sees Jesus. Jesus says “Bro, I’m melting too.”
Suddenly, Somu starts preaching like a madman:
“Summer pashbalish-er moto—thake shorirer pashe, kichui kore na, just gorom lage.”
Dipu da stares.
Sudeshna asks, “Somu, are you drunk?”
Somu replies: “Drunk on truth. You summer babies are psychopaths. Toke jodi 2 July r dupure Howrah station e niye giye feli, tuio bolbi—‘omg such a vibe.’"
The office gasps.
Somu is sweating, ranting, shirt half open like a Govinda fan on TikTok.
“Eta Season na. Eta punishment. Bro, even Feluda wouldn’t solve cases in this heat.
He’d just be like:
“Topshe, ami bhabchi… eta suicide e chhilo.
Je Kolkata e gormo e beriyechhilo... sei bhule giyachilo jibon er mullo"
He throws a fan at the wall and shouts:
“Monsoon ke boro korbe na, kintu Ice Americano kheye bujhchho tumi aesthetic?”
Dipu da tries to stop him. Somu points and screams:
“Dipu da, tumi shei dhoroner manus je chhuti dineo mail kore!”
Sudeshna is crying. HR logs in to Teams to file an incident report.
But then… something magical happens.
The sky darkens.
A single thunder roars.
It starts raining.
Cold. Clean. Apocalyptic.
Everyone runs to the window.
Somu stands near the AC vent, arms stretched like Shah Rukh Khan in DDLJ.
Tears in his eyes. Sweat now holy water.
“Nature heard me,” he whispers.
A pigeon flies in and shits on Dipu da’s shoulder.
Poetic justice.
Later that evening, Somu gets a termination email.
But he walks out like a king.
Because tonight, he wasn’t just another IT guy.
Tonight, he was Kolkata’s unofficial Rain Summoner. A drunk. A legend. A martyr of summer.
And as he boards the auto from Sector
V to Baguiati, he looks at the sky and says—
“Next bar monsoon e joining nebo.”
The city wept.
Just like Sudeshna did… when her cold coffee turned into room temperature betrayal.
Summer in Kolkata isn’t a weather.
It’s divine punishment for people who post “Good Vibes Only” during load-shedding!
https://redd.it/1jvszp2
@rkolc
“Next bar monsoon e joining nebo.”
The city wept.
Just like Sudeshna did… when her cold coffee turned into room temperature betrayal.
Summer in Kolkata isn’t a weather.
It’s divine punishment for people who post “Good Vibes Only” during load-shedding!
https://redd.it/1jvszp2
@rkolc
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