P's Notes

There are certain things out there in the world, in books, in movies, in memes, in poetry that we don’t understand or relate to. One of those things, for me, has been the  love for chai  (tea). I have never understood that uncle who asks for 10 cups of tea in a day, never understood friends who attach tea with nostalgia and limerence. It’s not just people, books and movies are also filled with romantic anecdotes of tea. Tea breaks at Tapri and tea dates at Irani cafes were sacrosanct in college. Some people paired it with  Brun Maska  and some with cigarettes ( chai-sutta ). At times, tea became the glue that gelled people instantly. They said tea can be a comforting company on a lonely day or something that one turns to after a tiresome schedule. Long-distance friendships were also rescued by tea; tagging each other in  chai  related memes became a thing. Sigh. I was never a part of this party. I have had tea but only to give company to people. I have even been borderline irritat

Are there days when you feel a lot like a little too much. Days when things feel more painful or happy or frustrating than they actually are. Or maybe these are the days when you are not able to brush your feelings away under some numb activity like scrolling or Netflixing. You close your eyes for some respite and suddenly see yourself sitting on a bench with someone you knew seven years ago but don't want to know or remember anymore. Memories are persistent and stubborn though. They stay. The bad ones sometimes longer than the good ones. Or maybe I am just self-pitying and cribbing here. Maybe, all memories are equally persistent.  It is difficult to write coherently on such days. Your mind is full of so many thoughts. One can say that why not write all of them. But it is still difficult, you know because while you are writing about one thing, the other thoughts start hitting the walls of your brain. Wanting to come out. I am not sure if they want to come out or if

reading a poem has lately been difficult i read a line, the first line and then the second and then again the first  to make sense of it i still don't hear the poet i don't get it. what is she trying to say the metaphors take too long to unfold i feel an itch on the nose read the second line again drink a glass of water come back to the poetry read the third line while thinking about  the image of that hungry man drinking milk from the road with the dogs read the fourth line about the blossoms i get that it reminds me  of the rain flowers and the rain and  the muddy feet the phone vibrates and i scroll  through flowers and skies and empty roads some random numbers talking about death i come back to the poem go on to the next stanza the metaphors ask  for my attention but my mind wanders art heals? it does. who does it heal, though?

A couple of weeks ago I had to go to the hospital at around three in the night because a health supplement that I took after dinner did not suit my body. I went to a good private nearby hospital. Contrary to my imagination, the hospital was not at all crowded. I met two nurses in the casualty and they asked me to sit, saying that the doctor will arrive soon. The doctor came and after listening to me said that he will give me an injection and after that, I can go home. I am not scared of injections but the moment he said that my mind was filled with horrifying thoughts. What if this injection makes me unconscious and the man standing in front of me in the white coat violates me? I created a whole scene and inquired about the injection as much as I could. I googled everything before I let him give me the injection. The doctor and the nurses obviously got irritated but, fortunately, I reached back home (hostel) safe. Often the white coat or a uniform is not enough assurance for