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.