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?