It’s been a year…
I’ve missed you everyday.
I’ll miss you everyday.
It’s been a year…
I’ve missed you everyday.
I’ll miss you everyday.
Let’s just say that 2020 was not a year to take a major decision in life. But your girl here did exactly that and the rest is as marvellous as this year has been. While the world went into a lockdown around march, the loser writing this shit isolated herself in January. What can I say, I’ve a knack for screwing up things in an already screwed up world.
Today is not a good day. I’ve spent it in bouts of severe anxiety, hopelessness and panic. I can’t seem to imagine a scenario where things work out for me. Not today, not tomorrow, next month, year or any other measure of time. If you have been reading this blog since a long time, you would say that this has been my life for ever. Like when was I happy about anything. I have always been a cry baby. Well you see, blogging for me has been an anti social media platform. While social media facilitates you to share all the good moments of your life: the trip to a Scandanavian country, your wedding pictures, the first video of your child walking, blah blah, this blog here is the graveyard of my broken dreams. It doesnt help that none of the above mentioned things have happened in my life. I’ve not even been to Jhumritallaiya, forget north Germany.
For years now, I’ve been waiting for my happy ending. Not that I want to die, but you know some kind of a junction, a station from where I could move ahead. But for some reason beyond my understanding, nothing good is actually happening. And while this has been a good way for God/ destiny to keep me on my toes, I am just tired of this shit. Like, I don’t even want to pass these societal goalposts. I’ve no dreams of getting married and having babies. (Yuck) I’ve literally zero material aspirations. I am this close to becoming a monk, like really very very close. But something, something should happen in my life. I should find a way right. Why am I just going round and round. And this rant is not to say that I am sad. Surprisingly, I am not. Except for these bouts of anxiety that creep up sometims. And this fucking hopelessness.
I think, I am just too comfortable in my misery. Like, I am romanticising failure. I am not sad, but I am frustrated. And I hate this. I hate it that I’ve failed so many times that failure is the only scenario I look forward to. Whenever I am planning something, I don’t plan to succeed, I plan for backups, I visualise failure. All I think about is, what if even this doesn’t work out. I am so used to failure that no amount of effort feels enough and then I just stop trying and I am tired of this shit, you know. I am tired of me. I am tired of being a sob story.
They say everything happens for a reason. I can’t find the reason for everything that has been happening to me for almost more than a decade now. I might have been incompetent, unstable, crazy but I should have got a way right. I, of all people, know that however bad things might be, they can always get worse. But, till when? I am not ungrateful or dismissive of my privilege but I really want to end this misery. I know life can’t be without problems, but at least give me new problems bro. Change the syllabus, please!!!
All these pictures were clicked by me in the last two months since the lockdown began. These are all scenes near my home. I didn’t even have to venture more than 500m for these photos. This is how the lockdown looks like when you live in a small Indian village. 😊
ME to the universe: 2019 was horrendous for me, let 2020 be better.
The Universe: 2020 is going to be terrible for everyone. Revel in your miseries.
ME: But I’ve done my time in 2019. Can’t you be a little generous and let me live normally?
The Universe: Hahahahaha…. Suffer, human!!!!!
ME: Okay… 😦
Death has been my constant companion since September last year. No, I didn’t lose anyone close to me except Ak last year but every death, close or distant takes me to that familiar, heart crushing state of grief. The same thing happened today with the passing of the marvelous actor Irrfan Khan. Although it is the most certain thing known to all natural beings, death is really incomprehensible. Even with the knowledge that cancer, particularly the one Irrfan was suffering from was most certainly fatal, none of us were expecting to hear such terrible news. Or does it feel worse, because 2020 has already treated us with so much mess? This does feel like a personal loss to me. So did many things that happened in the past few months, be it the death of a neighbour I hardly spoke with, or that of a plant I looked upon as a symbol of hope. Ever since last year I’ve cried for every person/animal I see dying on screen. I have always been touchy on the subject of death and have shed a tear or two in movies but this sense of familiarity with grief is such a new thing for me. I can’t believe I spent twenty eight years without knowing grief, how incredibly lucky of me!
The world is going through a dark time right now. Every day is filled with news of numerous deaths, uncertainty and a feeling of impending doom. It has been really difficult for me to write anything after whatever happened. Even writing these few lines has been a real pain. I spent lots of time online looking for ways to deal with grief in the past few months (along with several queries on ghosts, afterlife, tarot cards, Ouija boards and whatnot). I found a quote by a user named Gsnow on a subreddit, and I go back to read it several times. I don’t know if it matters to anyone, but I would like to write this down somewhere, more for me than for anyone else.
“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
I don’t know how many shipwrecks I am yet to face in life but love will see me through.
You would have turned twenty seven today. We would have celebrated your birthday at work,clicked pictures with you, laughed with you. We don’t have a single picture together. Almost a year working together but not one photograph with just you and me. In the last few months I spent liking you I never even thought of taking a photo together. Who knew we would never get a chance again!
You are gone. I am here, mourning you, coping with the loss of a person who was never mine. One day we were laughing together, studying the difference between meteors and meteorites, India’s moon mission, the origin of marriage, the father of history, and the next day you were history yourself. Your cut up body was kept in ice, your insides removed, you were hollow, nothing but hollow. The guy I saw smiling every single day, the guy who laughed on my dirty jokes, who I thought was too nice to understand that I am flirting with him, nothing but hollow. I still can’t imagine that you are dead. Your eyes were half open and I waited for all this to be a long, bad dream. I hadn’t seen death before, not a mortuary, not a hollow person kept on ice and you dear friend were my first. I am sorry for talking about the gory details. For reminding you of my grief, a grief I never thought I would experience. We were nothing and yet we were something. People talked about us while you were alive, while we spent all our days together and laughed over how they thought we were a couple. Some of them talk about it now, how they thought we liked each other, but what do I do about it now. I wish I had told you how I felt. And another moment I thank my stars that I didn’t. It would have been so much more difficult. Not that it is easy now. I miss you. I miss you so much. I wish you were still here. You were my friend, my secret keeper and even though we spent only a year together, we were happy. I don’t even have a single bad memory of us. I can’t believe that I’ll never see you looking stealthily at me again. Why did you leave? I didn’t even look up when you told me goodbye the last time. I thought of seeing you the next day, to ask you why you were so tensed that day. But there was no tomorrow. No next day. Nothing. I didn’t see you again. I didn’t have the strength to see you dead, to look at your face one last time but I had to. It was my only chance to say goodbye. It didn’t look like you were gone. Your eyes half open, your face still beautiful, your beard, the one you were so proud of still so intact. You were the most beautiful boy I liked. You were the reason I felt like a teenager again, the one I started writing poems for,the one who helped me to get over my biggest heartbreak. And now, you are gone, giving me a pain, I had never experienced before.
You always wrote your name on all your things. All your drawers, your chair, your books, pens, pencils are untouched since you left. I took one pencil from your drawer and kept it with me. It is one of the two things I have that once belonged to you. The other one, a stupid wrapper that I saved is now buried at my favorite place in this world. It is a stupid gesture, and you would have probably laughed at it, but somehow it was my way to mourn you.
Your name meant “sky” and now everytime I miss you, I look up and think about you. I don’t know what happens after death and trust me I am giving it a lot of thought these days but I just want you to be happy wherever you are. You were having trouble sleeping in the last days of your life, I hope you have had a good sleep. That was the last thing you wished for. If reincarnation is a real thing I hope you get to live a fulfilled life someday.
You were a good guy, however cold hearted you appeared to the world, for me you were my only support at work, my reason to face Mondays, my saviour,my crush.
I miss you. I know, you know.
…in crumpled sticky-notes in old textbooks,
in rusted old lockets hanging by the mirror,
in a promise ring, you forgot all about,
in all my conversations about food,
the nine year plans and broken dreams,
the thukpas at MT, the kormas at Kareems,
in songs Taylor writes about all her ex-lovers,
from everything has changed to the last time,
in the melancholy of a river flowing down,
in the bus stops of unknown small towns,
inside this hollow that was once my heart,
in the words of my poem, in every piece of art
with a shiver and a long drawn breath
I lose you,
all over again.
MT: Majnu ka tilla, a cool place in Delhi with great food.
Everything has changed, The last time: Songs by Taylor Swift.
Good girls get married.
They go from one house to another,
Coyly smiling with their bright red lips
and mascara stained eyes,
because only shameless girls
don’t cry during vidaai!
Good girls get married.
They never speak loud and
Always cover up their heads
With a saree,
They apply red bindi, sindoor
And a chain around their neck
To be a sanskari naari.
Good girls get married.
They don’t date random men
they meet on the internet.
They wait for their parents,
to set them up with strangers instead.
Good girls get married.
They remove the tattoos of past lovers
from their shoulders,
And dye their hands with henna,
they tame their curls and tie them up in a bun,
They keep fasts on Fridays,
Praying for a son.
Good girls don’t swear,
complain or question
old, illogical traditions,
they follow rules-
neither love nor lust,
Good girls don’t laugh out loud,
Or write out poems on their oppression.
Good girls just get married.
Alas, I am not a good girl.
P.S. Well… Hello People!!!
Me to the universe: 2019 is going to be a great year. Its the year where I reclaim my awesomeness and finally achieve the life of my dreams.
The Universe: It is only the 9th day of this year but you are gonna fall down the stairs, fracture your spine and spend several days on bed. Enjoy!!!
I am not sure whether this is a comeback post or just a culmination of all the posts I am trying to write in the past several months. I can’t believe that I started this blog with the dreams of becoming a writer someday but somehow it ended up being a graveyard of my sorrows and broken dreams.
I know I have written some pretty intense things here, my struggle with depression, my failures, my heartbreaks and if someone who knows me in real life right now ends up reading this, he’ll be in one hell of a shock. That is the thing with people, you never really know them in entirety but only bits and pieces of what they want you to know. But this blog is where I feel whole. The internet is usually a place to show off your best life but for me blogging turned out to be a journey to find myself and be true to my own beliefs. If this means I have to share my not-so-great life with others, I am okay with it.
I started working three months ago. It isn’t exactly a “job” but I get paid, get a chance to do something at a reputable place, and also see new people, talk , laugh, have tea or lunch with them, which is unlike what I’ve been doing since the past two years, that is sitting on my bed and contemplating my future.
The good part about this thing is I am working in my own town. For a long time now, I was really worried about my parents living alone. They are in their 60s-70s and although I am more of a liability than an asset but just being here with them calms my mind. I’ll admit, it is sometimes a pain to live with your parents when you are an adult and have tasted freedom before but I would rather spend time with my mom than on random “social” things.
It was the second week of September when I came to know about your untimely demise. It was much more difficult to accept that you took your own life. I have only known you through our blogs and the little interaction we had over comments but you were always a positive influence in my life. It is hard to believe that you aren’t around anymore. I’ll miss your motivating comments. I’ll miss seeing the world through your blog. You were such an enthusiastic and motivated individual. I wish the world wasn’t too hard on you.
I don’t know how many times I’ve opened WordPress to write you a proper goodbye, but it is just too difficult. I can’t imagine what your family is going through right now.
Goodbye my friend. I hope you find peace wherever you are.
I am okay. And I may not be in a state to write about this right now but I am okay. Sometimes, the things that you have worked for almost a third of your lifetime don’t work out but still feel worth it. I know nothing makes sense right now but someday it will. Love, like many other things is about how hard you work to make it work. And it doesn’t always have to end in a good way, or end at all. You could be in love without being in a relationship or feel unloved in spite of having someone to hold on to.
Everything comes to an end in this mortal world. It hurts, but this is what grief does. It makes you feel alive and even when something doesn’t work out the way you always imagined it to be, it doesn’t mean you have to live with regrets.
You’ll be okay one day.
It has been almost six years since I’ve been writing here, on and off. There are times when some people (and by some I mean you Nomadosauras) dig up my old posts and comment on them. I have a pretty bad memory and sometimes I don’t even get the context of what people are commenting on. So, I go back and read my posts and it feels amazingly weird. I feel like I am reading someone else’s words. Sometimes it doesn’t even sound like my life. Sometimes it does but written from someone else’s perspective. Just so weird. I don’t know if I am able to put words to my feelings but it is just surreal.
And boy, have I grown in all these years!!! I was such a stupid girl. Well, I am still pretty weird and stupid but I am happy, in spite of the zillions of problems in my life.
Just the other day I was telling Vishnu that happiness to me is contentment. I don’t think I am content with life, not yet and probably not ever. And there are days, or even weeks when I cry my eyes out but generally, in a normal kinda way, I feel okay.
For several years, I have had this feeling that I wasn’t rich, intelligent, or pretty enough. Everything felt inadequate. I looked at friends, with jobs, with life partners, with money, property and a “life” while I had nothing. I have almost none of these things even now but I have stopped looking. Not to sound too “enlightened” I still have my “days-of-doubt” but my feelings are a little controlled. I feel blessed… with all “the little” I have.
2019 is going to be a great year. I don’t know how or why or what am I going to do then but I have this belief that it is gonna be AWESOME.
I want to believe this.
I have to believe this.
To quote John Green, I’ll be on a roller-coaster that only goes up my friend.
HAPPY NEW YEAR.
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