becoming

oh god, i didn't see this coming.

did you?

i used to mock my mother

i said i see no dust, 

what are you dusting?

why are you changing this bedsheet?

it seemed ok to me

oh god i have become my mother

i spent the first day of my year-end holiday

cleaning my desk

putting my work laptop in a bag

and shutting it down for four days

changing the bedsheets

dusting the bookshelf

i have become my mother

i like cooking nimona

it takes effort but

i don't mind the effort

it reminds me of childhood winters

when we sat in the sun

not alone

with chachis and cousins

and peeled peas for hours

i don't remember the conversations clearly

but i remember the occasional antakshari

and tipi tipi top

there was no rush

there was no desire to see the sunset also

we didn't have phones

to think of taking a photo

there was no gram and nothing gramworthy

we sat till we heard the sound of the motorcycle

coming towards the house

and knew it was time for chai

and pa was home

Note to self: You think while you write. Writing helps with thinking through certain things. So, it's okay if you don't exactly have a subject in mind. It's okay if you don't know what you will write on a particular day. It's still okay to show up here without any anxiety. 

Today is the first day of my four-day chutti and I can't be more excited but in a very relaxed way. There have been many moments in the last one month when I had tried to make a 'new year plan' but then P and I couldn't. Somehow I am glad that we couldn't. I didn't realize the joy of being home with absolutely no agendas and plans.

Saturdays

 You remember as kids we used to have slam books where our friends would fill their favourite colours, favourite city, favourite actor, etc, etc. And as we grow up, we usually grow out of favourites. Either there are many things to like in a category and you can never pick one or you have stopped caring about the category altogether. Who cares about a favourite colour anymore? (I'm sorry if you do).

However, today I was thinking about my favourite day in a week and even though the options are only seven the decision was not difficult at all. My favourite day is Saturday.  

Saturday marks the end of a work week. It's the first day after a series of five days when I am not waking up in a hurry to log in to my work laptop. Even if I wake up early, I still have the time to lounge around and look at the money plant on my work desk being greeted by the morning sun. 

I usually start by making my bed and opening the curtains. The morning sun makes me feel better immediately. On Saturdays, I sit on the balcony and read and then worry about my writing and how I am not writing enough and I keep sitting on my ideas for hours. On Saturdays, I have the time to eat peanuts while looking at the flower vendor or the eagle that Purvash spotted today. 

Saturdays are also distant from Mondays. You still have a day and a night in between, which seems enough. I feel like there is enough conversation about the Sunday evening dread, but hardly any on the Saturday night's chill. There is an entire night and you have no pressure to sleep early. You can go out for dinners (which we rarely do) but you can also be up at night rummaging through random people's blogs and making dosa to satiate your midnight hunger.

You already know about my obsession with rumlolarum, but lately, I have also discovered a few other blogs. The idea of knowing a person only through what they have written in the blog is fascinating. On most of these, it's hard to find a name or social media profile and that's how I like it. It's like knowing a person only through some letter that they wrote. There are no followers or numbers that you can look at to find out where this person might be in life today. Most of these bloggers that I am discovering today in 2022 have been writing since 2008 or 09 and I am discovering them and their writing after more than a decade. Seems like Internet was a beautiful place, once upon a time.

The days that are not overcast

I hardly ever write about the good days. The need to vent and get it out of my system often leads me to this blog. On the days that are not overcast and I can sit and eat rajma chawal on my sunlit balcony without worrying about work, I  feel. I feel a lot but I don't sit to write. Does that happen to you?

It's Monday and I am recovering from a weekend that involved a lot of feelings. Saturday was calm and I wondered if sunlight could make me so happy, why do I need the money? If you can derive pleasure from nature and people, which is the truest kind of pleasure I believe, then maybe capitalism might not be able to weigh you down? I don't know. These are just thoughts. Good to think about them, hard to pursue them. Saturday was also about a cup of coffee during the sunset with a long conversation with Purvash. We talked and talked each other into it and then out of it. 

Purvash and I talk a lot (to each other). Sometimes our conversations are in sync, we are both enabling each other, completing each other's sentences, and understanding where the other is coming from. At the end of these chats, we realize that amid all our differences also, we are quite similar. Saturday involved one such conversation. By the end of it, I had a heartache. I was physically missing TISS; it was a new feeling. I had never felt like that before. 

It was a good day all in all. For the evening dinner, I made triangle paratha for myself. By the end of the day and till now I have also been restless. I want to do so much; my mind is constantly making plans. But I am also scared of failing and making mistakes and just not being good enough. 

Sunday was one of the days when you wake up a little bad and then can't do much about it. By evening, I was anxious. My mum made it worse. The conversation about pregnancy and kids makes me anxious. It's so unfortunate that parents are supposed to be our safest space, but as we grow up we grow so apart from them. 

The dinner at Anand Sweets and the familiarity of the food made it better for me. Purvash was kind and accommodating throughout the day. Oh and I forgot to tell you that the weekend was so much feels because it began with us leaving our respective offices early and going to Umesh :)

Tomorrow should be a better day!

Okay, so in an effort to be completely honest with my blog and also to test if journalling can truly make one feel better, I am here again for the second time today. 

I worked from home today so this day shouldn't have ended like this but ah who can predict, right?

I was crazy busy today between 10:30 to 5. In between, I took a one-hour break to cook, eat, and take a shower. I was running in the break though, literally jumping from one thing to another. It didn't help that I decided to wash some of my woolens today.

But somehow right when I was going to finish work around 5ish, Google News decided to show me a notification that talked about B12 deficiency in vegetarians and its severe impact on a particular girl. I was already tired but I started feeling really low especially after looking at this notification.

Can your mental health or how you are feeling at a particular moment affect you physically? I think it does. I feel that my mental health has physical manifestations. However, one is never sure. I can never say confidently that I am tired or puking or pooping because of how I feel.

Yes, it's a common symptom and it isn't new. As a child, I didn't understand anxiety but I understood fear. I either puked or pooped when I was scared. And it's the same even today. So if people are yelling in the house, don't be surprised if you find me in the washroom.

My experiences with my health since 2017 have shaped me in a way that I don't even remember who I was before then. I could use it as my strength. At least that's what the productive-capitalism tropes teach you but it's hard. It's hard because, on so many days of your life, you experience minor health-related problems and if your mind keeps making it bigger then it becomes even more difficult to get through it.

I am always anxious about my health. A minor cut or a stomach ache scares the shit out of me. I am scared of hospitals and doctors. If it was in my hand, I would want a life where I never need a doc.  I think about death a lot. Both mine and my loved ones. It's like I have seen it up close and now I can't let go of that feeling. A moment like that makes you more grateful for life. It's easy for you to see the larger picture. However, a moment like that can also give you lifelong trauma.

Alright. Tomorrow should be a better day. Goodnight!

Rituals

I feel quite uninspired and blank. Before coming here, I scrolled through everything that I could. I don't know what to write about today. I was working and thinking about a piece for months. I sat on it for so long that I kept missing deadlines. Somehow I finished working on it yesterday and sent it to the editor. The default expectation is always rejection but let's see. I am also imagining and wondering what if it gets accepted.

But it feels like that piece has left a void. Last few months, I had something that I was supposed to work on. Now my mind is looking for a new subject. I am reading Mason Currey's book. It has all these stories about women artists and how they worked, what was their daily routine like. I love reading/watching the daily routines/rituals of people. It's strange and weird. This need to be so voyeuristic. But it is what it is I guess. 

Anyway, this book is extremely inspiring. It tells you how despite all kinds of adversities and responsibilities, these women lived to create art. They were constantly at unease, always uncomfortable. Their stories also tell you that most of them prioritised their art, it didn't come naturally or easily to them. It was hard but they kept at it. 

I am quite restless today. So I am not going to write more. I should maybe go and read another story from that book.

See you later.

In my head

Am I honest with this blog? Can we ever be completely honest outside of our heads?

There are thoughts that cross my mind all the time and are so strange that I don't even want to document them anywhere or say them aloud. They are not things I want or think about, but somehow the fleeting thought doesn't care about that. It comes, if it has to. 

Think about the weirdest thought you had today? What is it? Can you say it out aloud to someone?

On my way to the office, in the auto-rickshaw, I often think about me rolling down or stumbling and falling out of the rickshaw. Sometimes I also imagine my head flying out of the rickshaw (something like what Alia Bhatt did in Brahmastra). If we are ever on a quiet road, I think about the driver taking me somewhere else and violating me. When I see an ambulance on the road, I think about the urgency of the siren, of the person whose loved one is on the stretcher. 

The other day I saw a guy standing across the bus stop and it seemed like he was smiling at me. I wanted to smile back but I didn't because I imagined him running towards me and sitting right beside me in the auto. The thought was scary and hence no smile!

Yesterday I saw a young girl holding a man's finger and walking on the road. It took me back to this childhood memory when I was on a bus ride with my father. I don't know where we were going or coming from. Just this image of me having my head on his lap and sleeping. I see construction workers and think about their lives. How do they manage to do such a tiring job? 

I think about my future. What will it look like in five years? Will I be in India? I imagine living in a cold country with no access to Indian food and then coming and telling Purvash to not think about moving to Canada. I think about my fears and how I have so many now. 

I am scared of driving a scooty. I am scared of travelling alone. If I have to, I will. But I don't want to. I think about adventure sports and how at some point I would have wanted to do them. But I don't know anymore. I don't know if I will be able to do it even if I have the opportunity.

I am scared of doctors and hospitals. The thought of falling sick gives me anxiety. I think about death a lot. I imagine who will read this blog after I die and what will they discover. I think about the death of my loved ones and how will I be without them, what would my life look like without them. Would I cope or would I collapse?

Sometimes I get scared of my thoughts. It seems like if I will allow myself to even give a moment to this thought, I will manifest it and then I will be the one responsible for my miseries. 

I have kept secrets all my life and still continue to do. I think about the lives of people who completely fit in and hence don't have to hide anything. 

In Fleabag she says, would I be a feminist if I didn't have smaller tits? I also wonder would I be a writer if I didn't have secrets?

Sunshine

I always take too long to come to this. I don't know if it's the fear of a blank page or just the usual habit of procrastinating everything. Even the feeling of accomplishment and the so-called 'joy of writing' which I genuinely feel every time I write is not enough to push me to be here sooner. I had dinner, switched off the tv, cleaned the house a little bit unnecessarily, played music, scrolled through my phone, and a couple of blogs that I follow and when finally there was nothing more to look at, I decided to open the blog.

It's been a weird day. Work was tough, although I was working from home which always makes it better. I have told you how much I like the sunlight. My work desk at home is near a window and the light was falling on my face while I was on a video call. It was making me look a little better haha. There is also a mirror right beside my work desk so I was peeping and looking at myself in between and what that sunlight was doing to me. I know my description of work right now does not seem that bad. But it was bad. I think nostalgia just makes everything slightly better. The toughest part of work is not often work though, it's the people.

I watched a really nice interview after a very long time. Linking it here and won't talk about it much. It's just nice to see someone being so honest about their work and life. It also hits you differently now because of how rare it is. I am obsessed with Bollywood, no doubt about it. But art and artists have also always inspired me. And now that I know what cultural capital is and what 'low brow' and 'high brow' art is, I am unapologetic about the kind of things I like. 

I remember as a kid, there used to be this dance reality show on TV, and Isha Sharvani was a participant. Every week she would come on the stage and get the maximum points (often 30 on 30) from all three judges. She was perfect. Extremely hard working and so good at what she was doing on that stage. I remember as a young girl I was inspired by her. Not in the sense that I wanted to dance like her or be in a reality show. But just be better in life, at school. Maybe I am justifying my obsession with all things Bollywood, who knows?! 

I like the flashbacks though. These old childhood memories crawl back on the surface from somewhere deep down and leave you with a strangeness. Honestly, my biggest realisation of growing up has been that we don't really grow up, at the core we all are still the same 12-year-olds with a lot more battle scars. 

I am reading Mason Currey's book. It's unimaginably exciting how someone could write exactly what I am always seeking. The book is a day-to-day account of women artists. What they did, their routine, how they worked, how was their life, the mundane things. I can't obviously have a vlog of Louisa May Alcott's life but I am glad I got this book. :)

My life right now - yes the one that I am living - is a dream that I imagined and lived and aspired for growing up. To be able to live in a home with lots of sunlight, plants, freedom, safety, space, and love. I feel free here like I have never felt before. Thank you, universe!

sunshine on my sunshine

Sun-Day

 I was watching an interview series yesterday that talked about violence and cinema and was hosted by Varun Grover. At some point, Grover said that all Indian parents want their kids to make Baghban. 

His comment took me back to the day when I watched this film with everyone at home. As I grew up, and my parents grew older somehow their interest in cinema deteriorated. Maybe adulthood and responsibilities did that. I am not sure. However, the memory of watching certain films is still fresh in my mind. Like it happened yesterday. Baghban is one of them. Amma, papa, mummy everyone was crying by the end of it, as expected. I don't remember how I felt exactly after the movie. What I remember is that my father (being his very own self) asked both Prakhar and me to write a movie review of sorts. 

I wrote a three-page essay I think. However, I remember wanting to write a lot more. I was reading a story at that time (I think it was a comic book). In the story, a girl was asked to write an essay by her class teacher and she wrote a long 300 pages essay or something. When she submitted it, the teacher asked her to reduce the number of pages because she can't read so much. The girl went back and reduced the essay to some 100 pages and submitted it again. The teacher again politely asked her to reduce the number of pages further as it was still a lot for her to read. The girl went back, wrote a one-line essay and submitted it. That's it. That was the story. Somehow the younger me loved it so much that I wanted to be this girl (from the story) and write a 300-page essay on Baghban. Obviously, that didn't happen but yesterday when I remembered this, it made me realise (once again) that my desire to write and my fascination with writers isn't new. It's been there for a while.

We didn't travel much as kids. There was enough money for the needs but it was never enough for the indulgences. Whenever I travelled though, my father always asked me to write about it, and I did. I still have some of those writings in my diary. I wrote in Hindi at that time and these writings are titled as - Yatra Vrittant. 

I listen to Amit Varma's podcast and often wonder how privileged these folks are. They grew up reading. Their grandmothers read, and they published poetry in magazines. I don't come from such a family. My grandmother was struggling to make ends meet. She did pretty well, but reading and writing were a luxury that she could never afford. My parents also had a similar life. However, if I recall carefully, my father liked to read (at least when we were young). He encouraged us to read and write and archive. He encouraged me to cut and save snippets of newspaper articles, the ones I liked. 

Maybe I don't give my folks enough credit. They did well and I didn't become a reader and writer out of nowhere.

***

It's a sunny Sunday. Sunlight is good for my mental health, I think. I can never get enough of it. I love to watch clothes drying in the sun. A weekend like this has come after a long while. There is no rush. I could wake up leisurely. We had idli for breakfast. Ghee podi idli is the usual Sunday breakfast here. It's easy and comforting. 

The instinct is always to keep yourself occupied. Last month passed by in a blink. I was consumed by work and then GoT. There was no space to think or be. Then we went home for ten days. 

After a long time today, I am sitting and my mind is blank. There is no agenda. I am not binging on anything. As much as, having this space makes me restless, I also like it. I am not great at it though. I am too eager to quickly fill in the blanks. It's hard for me to be by myself. It's hard for me to be with my thoughts. How do writers cope with this? How do they learn to be okay with the emptiness and the loneliness? I hope I figure it out. 

I plan to write more regularly from hereon. Wish me luck!

Unfinished

I leave drafts unfinished

Sometimes I don't find the words

to write the story

that's been coming to me for months

Often, I get scared

and delete the four lines that I wrote

I hated the four lines anyway

How does it matter

The idea still lives

in my head, it doesn't leave

I moved on to something else

Something that's easier, that's passive

in a hope that I will come back someday

and write without the fear of a blank page

and without deleting the beginnings

Bad days are too bad 

I can only manage to finish work 

and eat and sleep, sleep a lot

Good days are too good

make me happy and jumpy 

takes away the motivation to write

how do I find the medium ones, 

the days I can write on?

I remain restless with words

still struggling to come out

Bad Dreams

 [7:05]

I have been up since 6:30. A bad dream mimicking the past reality woke me up. My full bladder didn't let me go back to sleep. 

My past, my childhood never leaves me. I often wish there was an antagonist there. Someone I can blame, who had no context, no backstory and neither a good intention. It would have made my story easier and simpler. I would have had someone to blame for the bad dreams.

I wish I found it easier to blame people without looking at their context. I always end up thinking about their context, how did they grow up, what they didn't have, and why they behave as they do.  

I have a fear of people screaming and yelling. When I see someone yelling, my mind automatically starts imagining the far worst things and situations possible. I don't know how I am able to imagine those situations because I have never really seen them unfold. I might have seen them on TV or imagined them while reading/watching the news. News is the worst.

I remember the term dushkarm used in the Hindi daily that came to my house. For the longest time, I didn't know what it meant. But there was a pattern in how those columns were headlined or their placement or size in the papers. It somehow normalised it. It seemed like it wasn't a big deal for the people writing it, or for the folks who were reading it.  It did become a big deal for me though. The childhood me vividly imagined those stories when she read them.

There is a woman who used to live right in front of my childhood home. She lives in a joint family with a lot of people. I remember her as a regular timid homemaker as a child. I moved to Delhi in 2013. And somehow in the years after I moved something changed. I started hearing that she isn't mentally okay. I heard someone say Itna daba diya unko. People whispered about how her husband is violent to her. There were also whispers that her sisters-in-law aren't good to her. I don't know what happened. What appalls me though is that it isn't a big deal. It does not make anyone's heart ache to see her like that. Her husband still has a social life. He isn't questioned. No one asks him what happened to his wife.

My maternal grandmother is also not mentally okay. She also does not have anyone to blame. There are no antagonists. The antagonists are also now good and kind people taking care of her. Maybe because they were never the antagonists and their situations were. My mother tells me that nani was the first graduate in her village. She wanted to become a teacher but couldn't because she was married off in a joint family. She liked wearing watches. She told my mother to not get me married until I start earning my own money. People only talk about how difficult she is to live with. No one really bothers to talk about what happened to her and why did it happen. 

I often wonder if this is my mother's future too. Does she also have a lot inside her that needs healing? I also wonder if this could be my future as well. I mean it's not like I am taking therapy or doing anything actively to let it out. I don't know. 

Someone said the other day that patriarchy does not affect women like me like it affected our mothers. How do I explain to him that it haunts me? How do I explain to him that I have lived with the fear of violence all my life even though I have never really seen it unfold? How do I tell him that the unhealed traumas of women who came before me are inside me too? Can I just hate men? It would have been easier to do that. On some days I do. But mostly it's hard for me because my mind starts understanding their context too. 

A couple of years ago, when I was home for the holidays I heard the aunties gossiping on a cold winter morning. She got some from her husband today. I heard it. The news or the gossip didn't make anyone sad or alarmed. It seemed normal. Like they have heard it before, might have gossiped about it before. It might have even happened to them before. It seemed like a normal regular thing.

--------------

Seems like I only come to writing when I have had a bad dream. 

I have had weird past 3-4 days, and have been struggling to keep it together both mentally and physically. Yesterday evening was good though. We bought a few plants and I couldn't stop staring at them after. Especially the one that's right outside my kitchen. Hmm, so I don't know its name. But it's big and so beautiful. I also kept a small plant on my work desk and suddenly it looks so much better. I really like the house that I am living in now.

If I really like it so much, why can't I just live here forever? Because I will find something better. It's always about finding something better and no feeling is final. I sometimes wish though I could pause life on a good feeling. My head immediately tells me that it won't be a good feeling any longer if you pause life on it. Ah. Whatever.

Have a good day! (I am telling this to me, in case you were wondering)

Distracted

Shampooing my hair seems to be one of the biggest struggles in life. Some women shampoo alternate days, some twice a week, I wait for the entire week to wash my hair. I wait till it becomes greasy and unbearable. I have thought about breaking this pattern but I am not sure if I have made enough effort.

Yesterday while watching someone's vlog, I suddenly decided to spend (or waste?) some money on a fancy conditioner, hair oil and a face mask. I am not a face mask person. I have never used it. But it seems like a good idea suddenly. I was happy when it got delivered. I have not used it till now though. It claims to remove blackheads and whiteheads and help with acne-prone skin. I mean why not! I hope I start using the hair oil I have bought.

I haven't been able to write. That half-written piece will choke me it seems but I still won't be able to finish it. Let's see.

After two days, yesterday I woke up not feeling tired. My throat was feeling better suddenly. The day went quite well but suddenly something happened in the evening. An argument, and an unnecessary phone call both of which were not a very big deal. But somehow it triggered me. I came to bed and I was feeling so exhausted from life in general. It felt like I have no control over things. Life seemed pointless at that moment. 

In moments like this, P's intervention annoys me at first but ends up making me feel better. That's what happened yesterday too. He did make me feel better. 

I also did something which was very unlike me. I don't regret it though. At least for the first time, I did something about how I was feeling so it's okay.

This week seems longer than others. 

I get easily distracted and this picture is a reminder of that. I had sat down to write, it was a quiet moment, but then puff it was gone just like that and I could only write two sentences. 

Mundane & Banal

 [11:12]

I can't believe there is a dear diary situation going on here. I maintained many diaries growing up. Didn't know will end up replicating something similar in an online blog.

The Sunday evening dread has set in. I have to go to work tomorrow. I feel tired thinking about it.

There are a couple of blogs I visit every day in a hope that there might be a new post. I like reading about other people's anxieties and the mundane details of their everyday life. It's comforting.

I had a dream last night. I was in my in-law's place. My mother-in-law's mother had come to meet me and I didn't have sindoor in my bag. I was freaking out. I don't remember what happened after.

This phrase was ringing in my head after coming back from work on Friday - The banal worries of a woman's life.

In the auto, while coming back from work, I was thinking about how will I dress up when his folks come to my place here, how will the routine look like, what will we eat, and what will they think about me if I do this etc etc. Many many thoughts on similar lines.

I spend a lot of time thinking about people, friends family. Mostly family. It bothers me that I can't be myself with most of my family members. It's also extremely sad that so much of my mind space goes into things that in an ideal world shouldn't matter. 

I don't feel like writing anymore. I am sad that I am not able to finish my article. More anxious than sad. Writing is fucking hard. I don't know why I want to write so badly when clearly I am also not able to. 

P is sitting in front of me reading. He is finally reading again, and I am happy about it. I am grateful for his existence. 

Friends?!

I finally spent some time researching and writing today. 

Still managed to waste a lot of time watching videos and scrolling through Twitter. However, also happy about some progress. I want to finish the piece by this Sunday, at least the first draft.

Writing gives me less time to overthink, which is a good byproduct for someone like me. I have been quite anxious lately and a lot of times there is not even a trigger. My breathing pattern changes. I start taking shorter breaths. I get restless and irritable.

Apparently work is going to increase this month. Hoping that it doesn't but let's see. 

As an adult, it's sometimes hard for me to find out who is a friend and who isn't but it often feels that the people I consider friends are not really encouraging or aren't happy for me. This makes me question the entire point of friendship!

I have also lately made peace with the idea of not having friends. Maybe Purvash, work, writing, and books are enough to keep me busy and happy.

I have been watching a lot of Peekapoo vlogs lately that make Purvash cringe. But then he ends up cringing at a lot of things lol.

I am super grateful that I get to live with my best friend every day. You can't beat that, can you?

Writer?

Have you watched the show Girls?

If you are a woman reading this and have not watched the show, please do. I think it's streaming on Hotstar. 

There is a scene where Hanna Horvath finally gets a writing job in a famous magazine. She soon realises that it's not a real writing gig. She would not be a staff writer but would be writing advertorials. The perks of the corporate job, free snacks, and a good chair, all seem a sham now. She cries. Talks to some of her colleagues who were also writers in college, before they got this job. They won competitions, wrote poetry, and drama but have not written anything for years now. One of them tells her that even though he has not been able to do it, it's still possible. He says, you only have to go home and write for three hours before going to bed. Hanna agrees, comes back home with a plan, but ends up falling asleep on the sofa itself without writing a word.

The scene hit me hard. 

I have also been doing jobs that are not real writing gigs. I call myself a writer. It looked weird when I wrote it on my Twitter bio but I did it anyway. I desperately want to be a writer. Sometimes I think maybe I just love the idea of writing but I don't have it in me.

I know I am not a gifted writer. My sentences are not lyrical. I didn't grow up reading a lot of English books. In fact in school, I used to write in Hindi. My English teacher was not interested in teaching much. People around me have much better vocab than I do. But I still want to be a writer. I don't know if the desire is real. There is no way to know. Is there? Maybe I am just in awe of Ayesha Banerjee and Carrie Bradshaw and now Hanna Horvath.

I have not been writing. And I feel guilty. All the time. I have to work on a piece and I am just procrastinating. Every night I sleep thinking I will wake up early to write. Days pass but I never do. Weekends just go by. Whenever the guilt is too much, I console myself by reading. I am reading a lot these days. I also listen to podcasts where people talk about books and writing. I have all the inspiration. I have ideas bubbling in me. Why is it so hard to just sit down and write them down? Ughh.

Finally, at least I came back to my blog after weeks.

Ramblings

 [8:24 AM]

After writing the last blog, I got inspired to declutter my notes group on Whatsapp. I read about this app on Twitter (Notion) that allows you to make lists and immediately downloaded it. Then last morning, while being in bed, I reorganised my reading list. The list that I have made from the book mentions in some of my favourite blogs, a few Twitter threads, etc. Today I downloaded a few of those books. A couple of months ago, I was not able to read at all and I was mostly spending my time binging and scrolling through. Then somehow Deborah Levy pulled me back and just like that I am reading again. It makes me happy.

I am travelling for work today. I will be spending the next three nights at three different locations. The thought doesn't excite me though. It actually bothers me. I am most worried about toilets. So now you will hear from me next week, I think.

On some days, I like the silence of mornings, it calms me down. While on others, it bothers me and I start spiralling about things. Although I think the people I speak to matter a lot. Family, friends, colleagues and anyone who I am talking to on the phone or through texts/emails affect my mood more than they should.

I think I have grown more comfortable with this blog also. When I started, I was most worried about the point of all this. What is it going to give me? How will I benefit from this? What will I learn from this? However, somehow I am not thinking about any of that at this moment. 

Often I think about the digital footprint of people and what happens when they die. Someone I knew of in my grad college who would have been 27 today just like me died two years ago. She suffered from acute Leukemia. Her death was too sudden. She herself didn't see it coming. Every year, now on her birthday, I get reminded of her because people start posting on her Facebook timeline. Every year, then, I go back and look at her old pictures/ posts that she uploaded on Facebook. It makes me feel a certain way, although I can't describe that feeling. It's strange.

My experience of visiting gynaes since I was 20, my two surgeries, and numerous health checkups, have shaped me in ways I can't define. I am scared of hospital visits, I am scared of death (I don't know if everyone is). More than scared, it's better to call it anxiety. Shaheen Bhatt's book validated how I feel. I could relate to her when she said that she has visited hospitals for panic attacks thinking that it's a heart attack. I go to the office in auto and I think about toppling down the road and dying in a road accident. When I went to Chamba last year, my first thought was how and where will I get a hospital in such a remote location if I need one. So now you know I think about death quite a lot. I also inevitably end up thinking about my loved ones, especially P, reading this blog after my death.

Although I don't want it to happen anytime soon. I feel like I have just started living. I have built a home for the first time. I also truly believe that my 30s and my 40s will be a lot better than my 20s. I am looking forward to life. 

Okay. I have rambled enough. Bye, see you soon!

Phoebe-Horvath

[10:20 PM]

I changed the name of my blog today. It's named after two fictional characters that have influenced me the most. 

Phoebe Buffay, I loved watching you in my early twenties. Hannah Horvath, you made my late twenties more interesting. 

There have been so many more women who I have loved watching on screen. I have wanted to become them. Maybe in my pursuit, I also imbibed some of what they had. From Jo March to Anne to Lorelai Gilmore and Carrie Bradshaw even Jules Ostin and Ayesha Banerjee. 

I grew up in a small town watching YRKKH on StarPlus and so much of what I thought at that point was because of these TV shows. Much later, when I moved to Delhi and especially when I moved to Bombay for TISS, I was exposed to content that had real women. Women that I was looking for. Women who I could relate to. Women who made me feel less alone. Women who taught me what no education could ever teach me.

I wish and hope that someday I am able to write about these women and also those who were ridiculed in my extended family and society in general because they chose themselves. Or sometimes only because they lived and they wanted to be happy.

 It's annoying how much I think about writing and feel guilty about not writing than I actually write. I think about writing all the time. Sometimes I form the sentences and paragraphs in my mind but then either sit in front of the TV watching something passively or take my phone and scroll through mindlessly.

The last few days have been good. Mostly. There are restless anxious moments when I spiral for no particular reason, or when a family member's words trigger me. But it's mostly been okay. I have been working from home so that helps. 

I am so so much grateful for the house that I am living in right now. It's been four months and I still can't get over the sunlight that comes into my bedroom around dusk, the skyline, the clouds and the view I can see from my balcony. The fact that I hear no traffic noises in the street. There is no rush of any kind. We keep spotting snakes on our evening walks. The continuous breeze, the freedom to be me, the solitude, and the companionship that this place has given me is something that I have never experienced before. 

There are still things and moments that bother me, the shadow of my roots won't leave me easily but I am trying to be immune. I read somewhere that 'Freedom is when you are okay with disappointing people and I want to be okay now.

I am fucking 27. The only person I should be making happy and living for is me. That is the best thing I can do for myself and everyone who truly loves me. 

If you are reading this, and you know more women characters (in books or in movies) who I will love who are somewhat like Hannah Horvath or Lorelai Gilmore, please recommend them. 

Guilt

It's been 18 days since I have written here. I was supposed to write every day. In the last 18 days, I have thought about writing every day though. I am reading a writer's (Deborah Levy's) three part memoir. I am watching this show called 'Girls' where the protagonist is a writer. I think about writing and the struggles of it all the time. However, it still took me 18 days to come back here.

Today was also hard. It was a long day. A lot of it was spent in the auto going and coming back from work. I don't particularly hate travelling for work. At least on most days. Especially when the podcast episode that I am listening to interests me. The long auto ride seems worth it then. 

A friend asked me yesterday - 'Are you writing'

I said no. 

I wanted to explain her, tell her why I am not writing. But in, my head all of it seemed like excuses that I didn't want to say out loud. It been almost a month since I have received an editor's response over an idea that I shared. She wants to hear where my research has led me. I feel guilty all the time that I have not responded to her but I still haven't. I don't know if I am being lazy or this is called procrastination or is it just life.

Today while going to work I was listening to a podcast where a writer was talking about books and writing and life and observation. I feel like my mind works at it best when I am in the auto watching people and buses and traffic and just everyone looking as lost as me. 

I was remembering all these things from my childhood and I was surprised how vividly I remember the details of some of those memories. I remember it so clearly that I can almost see it in front of me happening right now. Most of those memories are not good though. Most of them are terrible, the worst. I don't know if I have any good memories that I remember as vividly. I hope I do.

It's been one of those days, when I have been in my head. Thoughts come and go fast, I don't know how to keep a track of them, or archive them, or focus on one of them. I feel like I lose them. 

I was also thinking about the kind of things that I write. Can I write words like boobs, pussy in my writing? Can I explore uncomfortable feelings? Can I write things that are true but necessarily not pleasing? I am having trouble even writing examples here. It's so hard for me to be truthful to my writing.

I know that my personality of constantly thinking about people and feeling their gaze is not doing me any good but today I realised how bad it is for my writing too.

I can't even blog or journal if I can't say the truth. If I can't say my truth. 

Shit Show

I had weird last 24 hours. I witnessed how two women turn on each other because of one man. And how the entire world blames either of the two women but the man still gets away. The women blame each other. The world blames them and calls them names. They become the hysterical witches who are paranoid and insecure and unnecessarily possessive. While this man who grew up in a sexist setup, and was never taught how to be with women is in a position of power and influence now. It's a shit show. This man's world is a shit show.

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I have realised that if I want to write this blog consistently, I will have to make sure that I take out 30 mins for this in the morning. The day just goes by and in the evening I don't feel like writing. Sometimes I feel that I seek too much comfort.

I am watching a lot of silent vlogs these days. Especially House Number 26. It's weird but I find it calming to watch women on the screen do mundane everyday activities. I want to create vlogs too. Although, I am not sure if I can really do it.

Anyway, I am too distracted to write more today. If I do create a vlog this weekend, you will know. The chances are bleak though.

Bye!

Didn't want to write today

 [11:55 PM]

I didn't want to write today. I am just here because they say that showing up every day is important. I had a lot of work. I did some. Went out to have dinner with a relative who was in my city by chance. Overthought. Overshared. Felt vulnerable and tried to not overthink it. Drowned the voices in my head by watching a Youtube video and now I am in bed. 

There is too much food in the fridge and it is bothering me. I also don't like most of it, which makes it worse.

I read my last two blogs and cringed. It felt so unnecessary and self-indulgent. What's the point plus it's not even good writing. On most days I don't like what I write, or how I write. There is just this desire to write like those few people who I like to read. Sometimes it feels like I don't want it enough.

I have an editor's response to a pitch I sent two weeks ago. I need to work on that but I am not doing it.

Okay, going to sleep now.
Bye!

Who are you?

[7:18 AM]

It's hard to form sentences right now. My thoughts are all over the place. I woke up at 6 and then slept again only to see a weird dream. I don't know what it means.

I met my school friend who recently got married in my hometown. She told me that she and her husband are living separately because it was good for her career. She also said that she was becoming dependent on him a lot for her happiness.

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I was an obedient child. I was raised to be one. I always thought that if my parents are giving me freedom and letting me study in the best school, I should be grateful to them. I strived to be a good child and consistently sought their approval. I thought I needed to do that and only then will I be allowed to go to a big city and follow my dreams.

I didn't have dreams though. Apart from moving to a big city and earning my own money. My only motivation to do well in school was that I didn't want to be one of the women I grew up with. 

Even though deep down maybe I am?

As an independent young adult, technically I should be very comfortable doing my own thing. But I am not. I constantly feel the gaze. I still subconsciously seek their approval.

I read somewhere that - 'You can only be free when you are ok disappointing people'. It seems simple but somehow it's not. At least not for me. I know how hard I work on it every day. I am hoping that someday all this work will finally accumulate and show. 

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Last weekend I was talking to another school friend who said that among all the people she knows, I changed the most when I moved to Delhi. I also think so.

I was completely different in college, especially during the first two years of graduation. I was doing everything that I judged girls for in school. I won't say I became my own person. But I was not the person that I used to be at home.

As a 27-year-old, when I think about this, it gives me an identity crisis. How will you know who you are, when you are constantly trying to become what others want you to be? The voice that keeps telling me things in my head. Is it really mine? Did I not like dressing up and decking up as a young girl or did I not do it because I was a 'good daughter' and this made my folks happy. There are hundreds of examples like this. I don't really know who I would have become if I didn't follow the gendered code of conduct that was passed on to me. I don't blame anyone for this. Because there were still girls around me who didn't conform. They were ridiculed, mocked, and scolded. And I was happy being a good child until I wasn't, which happened very late.

Everyone rebels in their teens but I didn't. I never understood 'rebels' like I do now. Because I am a rebel, maybe a silent one most of the time, gathering the courage to speak up.

Rebels don't fit it, no matter how much they try but they don't. Once they realise this, they have two options. One is to live a life that's a lie and pretend to fit in. The second is to defy the norms, be a 'rebel', and be someone who is not liked by most. This must be difficult but I feel it's especially difficult for women.

It must be hard to be a bad woman but it must also be extremely freeing. I want to feel that freedom. One day, hopefully. 

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Time to go. I have to go to office again today.
Bye!

And it begins!

[7:24 AM]

It's a Monday morning. I have woken up like a zombie. Didn't have a good sleep. But turns out, that it's a good day to start something that I have been wanting to start for weeks now.

Julie and Julia + Rumlolarum + Atomic Habits + My own desire to call myself a writer led me here. It took me so much time to start this because I was terrified of failing. It's not easy to do something consistently. I didn't want to add this one to the list of unfinished things that I wanted to do but could never do. But now I am here. 

I am going to start blogging. Everyday. Yes. Why? I will tell you:

1. I want to write every day even if I am not getting paid for it. I think if not better, it will at least make me a more disciplined writer.
2. The idea of having a ritual or something that you do every day, on good and bad days fascinates me. It's extremely challenging but also exciting. 
3. I have a lot of thoughts. Too many thoughts I would say. And a release might just do good to me and my mental health.
4. Obviously, I want to be Julie and Carrie Bradshaw. I might not be as interesting but I can try.
5. No one is going to read this blog but I am still scared of putting myself out there. I want to get over that fear.
6. I love archiving my life. I love the idea of being able to go back and see how I felt in the past.

That's it. I think that's a good number of reasons.

Generally, I work from home on Mondays but today I have to go to the office. This is the first time I am spending two hours every day travelling for work. And surprisingly, on most days I don't hate it. 

Although today might be an exception. I need sleep to function. A lot of it.

Now, before I start rambling in the first blog itself, I need to end this. 

Bye! See you tomorrow.