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.