P's Notes

If I die today, everyone else’s life will still go on. My husband might go back to work a week later? Or two weeks later? Maybe a month later. But he will go back. His days will fill up again with emails and work calls and presentations and deadlines. He will sleep in my bed. He might have trouble sleeping. But eventually, he will go to sleep. My side of the bed will be empty. I don’t how that would make him feel. It’s a large bed for just one person. There will be two kindles in the room. One won’t be used anymore. He might give it to someone else. I don’t know what he will do with my clothes. So many of them. We plan to learn French together and join dance classes too. I don’t know how he will do that. He might eventually learn French. But I won’t be there to see him speak. If I die today, everyone else’s life will still go on. My parents will still look after my younger siblings. My mother will wake up and make breakfast for everyone else. She might miss me while making bhindi par

This post is long due. It has been 9 months and 26 days of being home, of leaving Bombay. And in these nine months, there has hardly been a day when I have not thought of the city, of my college, of friends who I had to leave behind in a haste. Despite posting umpteen number of pictures on Instagram, doing so many 3-hour long video calls, I somehow don't seem to get enough of the two years that I spent in TISS.  I wonder if things would have been different if we had not been asked to leave the way we did.  On 17th March 2020, I booked my tickets for home after being told that we have to evacuate hostels. Amidst packing, I went to tapri with friends for some chai-maggi. My father called to discuss the logistics and I started crying. I don't know if it was the fear of the virus or the uncertainty of the future or just this forced rushed up good-bye that I was supposed to say to my college that has given me the best two years of my life.  The plan was to submit the dissertation an