Posted in Random

The dates are changing. I am not

I do not feel passionately about anything, anybody, not even myself. I remember times when I had to-had to act out on my emotions, write a letter, talk to someone, or just cry, because what I was feeling was too much for my body to contain.

Now, I feel so about nothing. Every day is like every day. The dates are changing. I am not.

There are days when I feel that nothing is taking me forward except time.

Posted in Random

I want to write a letter

I want to write a letter.

A letter to no one but someone very dear.

A letter that says exactly what I feel.

A letter that is full of laughs and full of tears.

A letter that I write without any fear.

A letter that says I love you very much.

A letter that says I want to run away from here.

A letter that says things will be all right.

A letter that makes me feel that things now are fine.

A letter that comes from all my heart.

A letter that does not hold back any part.

A letter that says exactly what I feel.

A letter to no one but someone very dear.

Posted in Midnight musings

I am scared to leave my home

606 days ago I moved here. 676 days ago I decided that I want to pack the five years of my life in Delhi and leave, indefinitely. I knew I would return. Delhi is like that, it grows on you. Much has been written about the city and I do not want to add to the chorus. Delhi grew on me, in my habits, in my sleepiness and sleeplessness, in my appetite, in my orthopedic chappals, in my top knots and what not. I knew I would be back, because I knew that there were better opportunities in Delhi, that my life and my career would only grow if I was there. But, this move was a necessity — for every part of me, mental physical, career-wise, emotional, financial, intellectual, and if I can think of more words then those too. It was supposed to be temporary, like a transition. Oh, I am going back home and before you know it I will be back. I told my friends that by my next birthday I will be in town, why? Because.

By the time I realised that I was home, half a year had passed — not easily, but fast. There was anxiety that maybe I made a wrong decision, there was panic that I would always be stuck here, there was confusion about my future options, but there was also relaxation, and a sense of purpose, a feeling that I have gained real and valuable experience and knowledge, satisfaction that I had people near me who I could bank on completely. And similarly, one year was over. And I started looking for desperate excuses to stay back. I wanted to convince everyone that it was not out of choice that I would stay for another year maybe. However, it started to seem unnecessary… the only person who wanted excuses was myself, and I did not care, because no matter what, I was staying for another year. I had not been able to bask in the comfort and relaxed environment my home provided. So I was staying and I had one whole year ahead of me to make the decision of what next, all was fine for now. Somewhere along the way however, time sneaked up on me and seven months were gone before I knew it. I felt the clock ticking faster and my heart tried to match its rhythm. I knew that anything after two years at the same job in my position would not be a smart move. I was told by everyone that now is the time to explore, so, I intensified my search to look for legitimate reasons to stay back — a business opportunity or a professional exam that takes years of preparation… but nothing clicked, because there was no time, or no heart to do these things.

Now there is this one thing that I have been wanting to do since I gained some semblance in life and actually became a reasonable adult and I am working toward it. But, that would mean leaving home for a long long time. And it scares me. It scares me because I do not know how anything would be better than what it is here. And it is surprising because the way things have been this year the only being I feel connected to is my dog. She is old and is losing sight in one eye, she has become quiet but I know that she loves me more now. I have always taken care of her, but I take care of her more now. I do not know why, but I think she also feels a special kinship towards me.Even though the junctures in our life are completely different. I always feel that she is telling me that we are going through this together, whatever it is, her arthritis pain or my weird emotional imbalance. I know that she understands me and she knows that I do not feel okay many times and she tells me that she too does not feel okay all the time but that is fine. But, other than her I do not know what is holding me back here. I have learnt all that I could from this job and it is time to move on. Maybe another year in the same position and that is it after that I will reach a no growth zone which is already disturbing me. I do not have friends here, on some occasions I miss the feel of being with people my age and “doing things” and what not. A confusing feeling because I am intentionally not talking to all the people I miss time and again.

Then I worry because I have no reason to stay and no reason to leave and I know that all of this is due to the internal drama in my head which I do not know how to solve. I always liked mathematics, you had to put a formula and you would get an answer. But, there is no formula in life, no one can come and tell me oh do this do this and everything will be okay. I am so worried about everything that is about to happen now.Will I be happy in my career five years from now? Will I have the financial independence to do what I want? Will I be successful? Will I have a happy and healthy life?

For every question my mind says no. In school, we had a break after every class and then we were told what we were to do next year. I am waiting for this class to get over so I can get a break and someone can tell me what I have to do next.

Why does everything look so bleak, maybe that is why I do not want to leave home, because I know that whatever happens will be worse than this?

I have heard about taking the leap and giving into life and all crazy hakuna matata theories, but who are these people who follow this? Is this the “millennial” depression syndrome, everyone seems to be having? I have more questions than I can handle. I do not even need an answer.

All I know is that I want nothing to change but I am bored of this, I do not want to be stuck here forever but, I am scared to leave home.

Posted in Finding Inspiration

Finding Inspiration Once Again #5

I am sitting in front of the computer looking for words to write. I do not want to talk about myself. My mind is blank. Nothing comes to me. This image of me sitting in the cab on way home at night is the only thing. The road is empty and long and we are driving on it. Even though it takes only 15 minutes for me to reach home at night, sometimes even less, the journey seems the longest. During the drive, I do not know what to do. It is the only time when I am actually alone with my thoughts. I share the cab with three other people and sit in the front. I sit silently. I am conscious that they will look over my shoulder at my phone, so I do not use my phone. I have nothing to do then. Just sit and wait for my home to come, so that I can switch on the screen of my phone and feel a connect with something other than my brain. It becomes scary. Two things happen — either my mind is abuzz with weird scenarios and anxiety or my mind is vacant. I have been told that meditation helps clear the mind, but mostly my mind is clear. Clear is a misleading word now I realise. It is empty. I cannot think of anything. I know before I used to play these possibilities in my head, 99% of them uplifting, happy, ambitious. Now, I do not. I blame it on realism, when I know that it is cynicism. Sometimes I wish I could do that again, drives would be especially more enjoyable then? I tried to do that, imagine of a time 2-3 years from now. I am at some beach with my college friend, we are on a holiday. It is after long that we could afford this break and I am wearing a white dress and she is wearing black. We are eating an open-air restaurant aglow with yellow lights. We run into someone and sparks fly. But, I stop. One because it does not come that naturally — things being handled by serendipity is something I stopped believing long ago, even things going exactly as planned is a long shot for me. Second, I do not want to be disappointed because I know that things maybe never change. So, sit blank-faced, blank brained — feeling caged in my own vacant mind. I do not know what to wish for negative thoughts or silence, each is worse than the other. These 15 minutes every day make me realise just how much I am dependent on my phone. It is my safety blanket. I hold on to it when I want to avoid a person, when I want to slip away from a gathering, when I want to remain hidden, when I want to dodge a conversation, when I want to escape myself. I have cut everyone else for the fear of tripping into bouts of anxiety, but I could not cut off myself. But, I do not want to speak about myself or make it sound like things are nothing short of a disaster. They are good, they get better, they get worse. I handle, I do not. But, I want to. I want to be maybe someday have rosy if at all loser-ly dreams. I need to meditate not to clear my head but to fill it with something nice. Something childish, something red, something that feels like the open sky, something that smells like the forests, or something that makes me go back to those nights when I would lie in bed listening to radio and all the while in my mind dancing to the song at some party, laughing and having a good time. Until then, I will continue to sit in front of the computer and think of words to write…

Posted in Midnight musings

Can I leave?

The room is dark, there is a wooden chair in the middle of it. The walls are grey, there is little light. I am sitting on the chair. It is not uncomfortable but, it’s not comfortable. I tap my right foot against the chair to fight this feeling.

I don’t know why I am sitting here? But, I don’t even know where else should I be. I can’t remember what was I supposed to do? I look around to make sense of something. Why is my hair untied. I hate when it comes over my eyes. There is nothing to tie it from.

I don’t understand why am I not getting up from the chair. I can’t see any doors or windows so I know I can’t get out, but I can at least walk around the room? Nothing/No-one is holding me against my will? Yet, I am sitting here, confused.

I am not sure whether I want to keep sitting or move around. Both options seem like a lot of effort. So I don’t do anything. But, now it’s getting stupid. How long do I have to be in this room? What is this? It’s getting annoying. Plus, why am I dressed like this. I never wear jeans if I can help it. I never wear t-shirts outside — it’s too casual. I know this isn’t home, because it’s not peaceful as home. So why am I not doing anything?

Should I shout? What’s the purpose? I know no one will hear. The walls seem so thick, and I don’t feel the kind of afraid you feel when someone is around. I feel the unease you feel when there might not be anyone. How long do I have to sit here again? As long as I want? Can I leave ? I can right? There must be a way.

The two walls on my left and right seem like they can close on me. Nothing is happening, there is no movement. There is no draft in the room, but the temperature seems okay. That is something that is not uncomfortable. But, I am very aware of the two walls on my either side. My brain shows me how it will look when they try to close in on me. But, even in my imagination I sit and do nothing.

I look both ways, yes, but only to see how far it is from my chair. The chair is small. Kind of like we had in school. But the colour of the wood and pattern is just how I like it. It’s a nice chair, but seems like it will not move. It’s comfortable but uncomfortable also. My head feels like I have just taken an exam. It hurts but I have been sitting here for so long. Doing nothing. I don’t know why I am here, but then again I don’t know where I should be rather. Should I leave? Can I leave?

Posted in Finding Inspiration, Midnight musings

Somedays I cry

Somedays I am so sad, I don’t know who to talk to. I try and think of names. But, I can’t talk to anyone. At that point I just want to bombard all the unhappy thoughts at them but, it has to begin with a hi or a hello. Usually when I reach the brimming point. I have no energy left to say anything. I also do not have the strength to be snubbed my someone when I am so vulnerable so I don’t say anything. I cry. I lie down on my terrace or I sit outside among the greens. If I can’t do that. I lie on my bed and wait for the crying. Sometimes it takes time because it feels stupid. Just imagine sitting in a room staring at the wall waiting for tears to pour down and expecting some sort of relief or a poignant experience when it just feels like a big drama. Sometimes the crying comes easily, sobs followed by bawling. Sometimes I catch (read: force) a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And that image too feels so pathetically funny. I want to laugh looking at myself sitting alone in a room and crying but I know if I do so. I’ll lose the momentum. Sometimes I forget why I thought of crying in the first place and just sit there watching videos on my phone, oddly irritated and at peace at the same time. Irritated because I have this elaborate plan of emotional release and at peace because the internet videos offer me some recluse from reality.

When I cry, I make sure I am alone and I don’t make noises. I am quick to wipe my tears and blow my nose and wash my face, so that no one finds out. I find this perfect spot that is well hidden but within the range that I can return quickly if someone asks me to – to avoid suspicion. I have a back story ready, in case someone catches me, usually very thorough ( I am good at making up stories). But, secretly I wish someone should be able to find my secret spot or hear it over the crack in my voice over the phone and come and talk to me. They would be suprised and sad looking at me crying all alone. I want them to ask me what’s wrong, I’ll say nothing is wrong ofcourse for the first 2-3 times but then I will say, without any inhibition of being judged. I’ll try and clear the ocean inside me with their help maybe, but, it never happens. I am so good at hiding. It is one of the many things I learnt from Indian cinema that if you are a heroine someone will see you crying and your pain and what not. So, I wait until someone finds me crying and helps me maybe. Because somedays I am so sad, I don’t know who to talk to. So I sit in a corner stare at something and wait for the unhappiness to engulf me.

Posted in Finding Inspiration, Midnight musings

Finding Inspiration Once Again #4

I am sitting in front of the computer thinking of words to write. I know what I want to talk about. Sexism. But, I don’t know how to talk about things that are important to me and everyone. I fumble, I misspeak or I give foolish arguments to make a point, even when I know what I want to say. There are times when due to shyness or fear, I just don’t say anything at all. But, I thought with writing, I can really think hard and frame exactly properly how I felt all those times, and especially in the last few weeks being a woman. And no this is not a ‘boo-hoo letter’. This is no ‘victimisation’ – this is just knowing that you can never really be sure from where prejudice will be thrown at you. It hurts more when it comes from someone who you thought was above all this.

I have been working for two years now and I have seen enough sexism in the workplace – already. I already think, that this is too much for me to see in 2 years. I am not scared or weak. I am just disgusted that these things happen still. More suprising is that this is so deep set in journalism – a place that is expected to show a mirror to the society.

And people say we should move past this? That women make an issue over unnecessary things? I am now beginning to sound fake maybe because I can never make very strong and intelligent arguments. So, I’ll just ask one question, why is the best compliment for a woman is that she is not like a woman? What is so wrong about being a woman that doesn’t make her good enough. Today someone in a ‘compliment’ said – she is not a woman, she is a don. Why? Since when is it better to be a don – something that in common parlance is associated with crime than to be a woman. And the sentence continued. ‘She is not a woman, she is a don. She is smart and….’

Why are they not womanly qualities. I know some super smart woman, so good at everything they do. But everyone would much rather want them to be Dons?

This is one of the many incidents that I have experienced in only the last 3 days. I know I’ll forget about this tomorrow. Day after there will be another thing to be angry about. But, someday someone will tell a child that so and so person is great because she is not like a woman and they will believe it. And they will think of it as the truth. And the age old cycle will continue

I wish there is a brake somewhere. I wish I ‘really am giving it too much importance’. I hope that things change. I hope that things change sooner, until then I’ll sit in front of my computer and think of words to write.