les mis fanfics got me into uni

Magical plagues are a lot like regular ones. In the past, they were thought to be one and the same: random acts of divinity or revenge or unseen evils. We only isolated the difference much later between magic and mortal things, mortal weakness and magical fickleness. Witches can’t catch colds, but they can get things like Red Slipper– the illness that makes you dance until you collapse or worse. 

Red Slipper wasn’t something you could catch by breath or blood or all the tiny beasts we eventually witnessed under microscopes. Entire villages plugged their ears with wax when Red Slipper was passing through for anyone who hears the tune will succumb and start warbling the song themselves. And dance and dance while their loved ones watch on and the ground soaks red.

The first plague was carried in the breeze from the People Under the Hill. They were blamed naturally. Bloody feet led to bloody feet, the song spreading from any careless open window or distant gust of wind until a human queen eventually waltzed her way into a casket and the rest of us into a war. The truth was only found out when they pried open the smoldering Hill and found the Fair One’s twisting in place all the same, their eyes streaming and music pouring from their throats.

Magical plagues don’t pick and choose who is felled by them. The Fair Folk gave the first instructions to lock ourselves away from festivals and crowds and gatherings. By then, even the fairy queen was despairing and had given up all revelry down to wine and silks and poetry– which must have unnerved the Kingsman more than anything. It was a dismal gray age which produced such cultural icons as the Tomes of Elion prescribing diets of flavorless oats and monosyllabic speech, and the Nuns of Emptiness who practiced the art of solitude. And then eventually forced others into the practice if they noted any toe-tapping or overly familiar greetings.

We were more sophisticated by the time of the second plague, or at least, that’s what the people liked to say. Two hundred years past Red Slippers’ hold on the land and art and music and culture flourished. The famous author Glibbons gave it the somewhat silophontic title, The Age of Pearled Joy– Pearls being a popular item to sell counterfeits of at the time.

The Second Plague gave way to the greatest mass hysteria we’d seen yet. There were a number of names for the sickness by the time people really started to pay attention, as it had started in the countryside as a thing of whispers. The name that eventually stuck was the Scarecrow’s Rot. The first symptom was slowed movement, any walking and standing and gripping would become jilted and stiff. Doctor’s observed it as a disturbing lurching of the joints, slightly too controlled and loose at the same time.

The second symptom was paranoia. Those who survived the Scarecrow would report an overwhelming sense of being watched. A prickle at the back of their neck, a sense of something just out of the corner of the eye, a certainty you are not alone.

The third symptom was when it was already too late. The whites of their eyes turn yellow and then the people simply … turn off. Newspaper boys stopped mid-strid in the middle of a town square and remained there. Dairy girls would be found in the meadows, arms limp at their sides and staring at nothing. Mothers, fathers, whole families would be trapped in the middle of dinners, fixed in place and unseeing.

They call it a rot perhaps as an oxymoron, the bodies stay warm, their breathing even, and their eyes will sometimes even wander toward any loud noise or sudden movements. Watching. The countryside had been telling horror stories of it for almost a century by then, by the time it really spread.

No one knew how it spread, sometimes it would cluster among families and villages and only spare a few and other times it seemed to strike at random with no clear link from one to the next. The hysteria was explosive, unrelenting accusations of neighbors suddenly moving more stiffly or a family member glancing over their shoulder too much. The Scarecrow was a slow illness and took weeks if not a month to fully develop, whereas the burning of churches and government buildings and expulsion of community members was instant.

Some historians call it the opening notes to the Great Migration. The coastal cities had already been safer during Red Slipper and were imagined to be more tolerant and less prone to frenzies; there was no real evidence of this in the end.

However, all great plagues have to come to an end one way or another. The Witch’s Circles hated magical plagues more than any other Faction because they were the only kinds witches couldn’t cure with their herbs and their spells and their machinations. The true divide between magical people and the rest began at this time too.

The Age of Pearled Joy had seen the explosion of the cities and obsession with fine gems and great adornment. Mining and quarrying began in earnest. Scholars knew by then that while not all trees had souls, the Great Mother Trees had spirits encased who could think and feel and sometimes even move. They did not consider that mountains might too.

They did not predict the splintering of Mount Glory, how the spirit broke into a million pieces once the heart was pierced. The shreds jumped into the query workers first, slowly adapting to their systems to inhabit a warm, wet space, finding their way in, and making a home. They learned, and once they learned, they spread, through the tunnels and the ground and the newly-built metal sewer systems and sought their hosts.

The Witch’s destroyed Mount Glory creating the largest manmade crater on the planet. Then they made threats. No more mining or else no cure. Negotiations and trades and compromises were haggled out, but the bitterness of the intimidation and ultimatums and volleyed insults remained. The splintering would be felt like an echo down the generations.  

The third plague occurred in much smaller, isolated pockets, but is agreed upon to be the most terrifying. A synthetic magical plague, initially created as a weapon in the Age of War and then evolved into something else entirely. Superstitions remain in many places that you must never speak its name.

Scholars have also tried to rename it several times, but most people will know it as The Faceless Masquerade. The original purpose was clinical in nature, practical: if you change the hearts and minds of enemy combatants then you are no longer at war. You take away our differences and bring them over to your side; it was a humanitarian effort. Playing with the hearts and minds of men however goes further down than one belief or one decision to wield a sword or gun or storm. The contemporary poet Cortwin begins her famous work with the line, “We are ephemeral.”

There are no shortcuts to changing the hearts of men. The new Council of Witches called it the most deeply unnatural illness they’ve ever seen, unlike the base logic of a corrupted tune wanting to extend its lifetime or homeless mountain spirit seeking hosts. This one had more question marks than answers all springing from something called The Ringmaster.

They never uncovered what the Ringmaster was, only that its gone now.

By the end of the Masquerade it was the size of a large city, a million people strong. They sauntered and they sang, wept or played games, and anyone brave enough to walk among their ranks would find the rumors were true, masks as far as the eye could see.

They found out early on that prying off the mask would lead to a ripping sound; I never could finish the description of mask removal.

Naturally, the military never meant to make anything whimsical or spreadable, but these things have a way of becoming something all their own. The people wore neon and plastic trash bags and covered themselves in layers of clingwrap, and they were often seen laughing.

They were never sure why some people are drawn to it and others not, survivors described it like there was a string attached to your solar plexus, tugging you forward, and with every step you forgot your name and your mom and your birthday. Then, you are given a mask by the Ringmaster who is neither man nor spirit nor wizard and there is no you.

Outsiders could talk to most of their ranks if you were brave enough to track down the wandering masquerade and walk among their number. The people might entertain you, speak in animated tones or rattle off facts. They’ll ask your name in a few hours and ask again in another few. They weep uncontrollably if you try to give them anything, and they return, they always, always, always if they are removed from the Ringmaster.

We don’t fully understand how the Masquerade died out, which is probably the worst part. Practical minds agree it was most likely a military operation which cleaned up its own mess. Skeptics say it was a few people from within the masquerade itself who slowly grew immunity to the Erasure Magic and made an anecdote using their own names and births and memories. Occultists say the Masquerade is still going on and none of us have ever left.

My studygram

It's been a long time folks

I'm finally back, I had to take a break after I finished my exams.

I will be uploading all the pics I took during my preparations for the final exams.

As it's mentioned that that was the night before my pathological anatomy exam

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Happy to be back on Tumblr after my break

Pulling an all - nighter fueled by a herbal concoction that is one of your family recipe.

Discussing literature with your friends on zoom call over a cup of masala chai and Parle - G.

Having an enviable collection of jumkas.

Visiting the libraries (with appropriate precautions), museums, art galleries, ancient buildings and temples.

Studying in the temples/gurudwaras (if permitted, with due respect and measures). The dhoop-batti infused tranquility transporting you to the ancient times.

Lightening up an agar-batti or a dhoop-batti because scented candles are a bit too expensive and you're broke from buying that recent stack of books.

Draping a shawl that you borrowed from your parent's/grandparent's collection on cool winter months. Feeling like a royalty everytime it flutters with the wind.

Learning a classical language out of sheer fascination.

Reading your notes pretentiously to anyone who's willing to listen.... even if they're your plants/pets.

Getting up super early in the morning to study and feeling like a scholar from ancient times.

Coming up with your own concoction for your favourite beverage but secretly loving the way your mum makes it.

Pairing your Punjabi/Rajasthani Juttis with your every fancy outfit and Kolhapuri Chhappals with your every casual outfits.

Reading The Ramayana, The Bhagwat Geeta, The Vedas, The Mahabharata for the fascination of it or just because you want to!

Mumbling a mantra or a shloka that you used to listen from people around you as a kid, under your breath.

Quoting Ambedkar in your conversations.

Discussing about the ancient Greek, Roman, Norse, Egyptian or Pagan beliefs with your friends or your cousins or anybody who's interested.

Reading about all the scientists and mathematicians from ancient India and thinking about the apparatuses they used to counduct their respective researches.

Putting up the posters of your favourite personalities from the past and sticking tiny notes stating the attributes you find fascinating.

Looking upon the local women who broke the traditional roles and appreciating their valor.

Drinking nimbu-paani/Glucon-D out of the cups reserved for guests and feeling like a royalty.

Sticking up calligraphically written derivations on the walls and desks and the doors of cupboards..... basically any available surface, displaying them like your trophies.

Ditching ridiculously expensive eyeliner for your dadi's homemade kajal.

Swinging your chunni pretentiously everytime you make a valid point in a friendly debate with your "enemy" on whom you've a crush, feeling like a Harry Potter character.

Having a signature attar that announces your presence before you enter.

Downloading banned books and reading them secretly in family functions.

Tucking wild flowers behind your best friends' ear as you braid each other's hair in the school's loo.

Getting into arguments into public transport, in the classroom, on the tea stall and citing relevant points with sources.

Being the "pleasure to have in class" but also "should listen more and involve less into arguments with teachers."

Discussing mantras with your friends and learning new ones together.

Arching one eyebrow and smirking as you listen to an excellent piece of music.

Sharing playlist as you and your love sits under a tree reciting poetries to each other.

Going on a "street food discovery spree" with your friends all the while discussing about the deadly chemical medleys you read about in your chemistry class.

Practicing meditation and yoga as the first rays of sun hit the ground. (taking care of your mental health is a part of aesthetic too)

Borrowing your family heirlooms for special occasions and treating them as your most prized possessions.

Practicing classical dance/music (for people like me, who haven't practiced any and would require to train for a long time for the aforementioned arts, Shankh/conch shell is one musical instrument that is probably the easiest to play and doesn't require any prior training.)

Wrapping yourself in your grandfather's coats and feeling his warmth seep in through that piece of clothing...... also, a slight smell of Vicks.

Visiting the local fair and buying more jhumkas because you can never have enough, tbh.

Listening to Agamani-Vijaya songs as you stroll through the College Street, browsing the books.

Addressing your beloved after the names of uncharted scientists and philosophers.

Dhoti pants and khadi tops are go to summer apparels.

Leaving your crush's favourite flowers in their notes with sweet poetries you wrote for them in the candle light.

Sending magniloquent letters to your best friends and pretending to be pen-pals.

Vibing to Bhatiyali as you walk through the Howrah Bridge, imagining yourself as the protagonist of one of Taslima Nasrin's books.

{ 9-2-17 } 67/100 days of productivity

03.17.21

Good Afternoon ☕️

Trying to be productive today. Had a quiz today and it turned out to be better than I expected! Now am trying to enjoy the rest of my day and hopefully I’ll start my new drawing today.

Also let me know if you guys think I should post more drawings and their steps and some simple grid lines to help!

there isn’t much happening atm but just me watching aesthetic study vlogs all day long. i’ve also managed to accomplish the following:

finished all my pending journal reviews

paid current month’s credit card bill

ordered new bed sheet with floral design

started reading another dostoyevsky story