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177: Alone

27 Jun

A’s at work and I find myself alone at home, and with myself, after a good 26 days. That’s a long, long time. I don’t know what to do with myself, to be honest. I still have a few days of summer break left and I’d love to cash in on them as much as I can. However, wherever I look, there’s a house that’s screaming to be cleaned and looked after. The one thing I despise is unpacking and resetting my life to its routine. If I know myself, I will let the bags be till I really need to keep them away or till I can’t stand the sight of them anymore; whichever happens first. I suffer from a not so rare form of laziness that just does not permit me to act swiftly in these matters. The sight of an unkempt house irks me no end, however the inertia to do anything about it is always greater than this feeling. Therefore I do the inevitable – turn a blind eye towards the suitcase and the bags that are lying in an almost askance fashion,


But heyyyy tv shows and tandoori chicken, I’ve missed youuuu.


172: Of Boredom

22 Jun

I’ve been telling A that as much as I love sitting at home and cozying up to a book, I can’t sit at home anymore. I’m beginning to get a little antsy just being at home, and don’t get me wrong, I love it. It’s just that there’s only so much of it I can love. Whenever I come to this side of the country, I find myself both happy and sad because it has dawned upon me that I am a complete city girl. I love turning to the mountains when I need a break whereas the mountains are home to A. It’s quite a juxtaposition, this. He doesn’t understand this and cannot fathom anyone not loving the cleanliness of mountain air and life. Maybe I’m just being difficult, but sit at home anymore, I cannot.

Let’s hope for a change tomorrow.

Ho hum.

128: Wisdom

8 May

Sucking on this ice lolly rather whimsically, I can’t help but think of this prayer that I once used to begin my workday with back while working at a rehab.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

This Serenity Prayer was just another routine thing I mumbled back in the day; a formality, a must-do, a not so crucial thing that didn’t really make a difference to my life. I didn’t know, and I couldn’t have cared less. I was there to do my work, get the job done, and get my ass back home from that all-male rehab which wasn’t the most pleasant of settings I imagined spending my summers in. But it was the need of that hour, and it was to be done minus much preoccupation.

Today is a different time. It’s seven years later, a long enough period for a lot to have happened, even if one was inert, existentially or otherwise. This has been a recurring thought to me off-late – to let go, to let go, to let go in absolution. I haven’t inspected the fear of letting go in absolution; no I have not. Neither have I bothered looking over the cliff to see the view and/or the fall. Like many things universal, this cliche is definitely easier said than done. But I’m fighting hard to not just try. And each day for a while now, has been exactly that – a reminder to work towards jumping off this cliff.

Sucking on this rather comforting lolly, I wish to, by action, also tell the world to go suck it.

I’m taking what’s mine and I’m walking away – go suck it.

I’m drawing my lines and you nasty, line-encroacher you, can go suck it.

I’m not going to care, and you can go suck it.

Watch me make 50% become my new 100% while you, my dear universe, can yes, go suck it.

This has made me feel better, strangely. I felt like I’ve left what’s unnecessary and jumped off the cliff. Or maybe that’s the soothing comfort of the ice lolly speaking – the sheer blindness of denial. Whatever it is, I’m feeling better already – a little less of me is preoccupied with things that really don’t matter (which I thought really did), and a lot of me is urging to fight this battle as hard as I can.

I hope you had a more fruitful Monday. Have this ice lolly, and suck it. Trust me.

(PS, thank you for stomaching the rant. I owe you!)

33: Cupboard Chronicles

2 Feb

The maths geek in me, not, is certainly going to lose track of time and days, not because I’m swamped and too busy to notice, but because my day tracker has gone past the 31 mark. To elaborate, I found myself feeling a little disoriented when my posts began with 32 onward, because a month can have only 31 days as of now, and because anything that breaks the norm, makes me feel all over the place. How will I track which date I’m on from now on, was the first thing I exclaimed at, when February rolled in. Talk about being a “number geek”, and about being disillusioned, right?

Before I really, actually begin, I’d like for you to note that this is a very off the top, random post. Please feel free to not read it because it’s about matters of great world importance, such as my cupboard. Thank you.

Winter is on its last leg for real now. This means that I’ve to do the one thing that I really, really, really despise doing – sorting clothes, and preparing for the next season. Doing this is something that’s new to me because I’ve spent 98% of my life in a place that needed warm and light clothes year round. However, that isn’t the case now, because I live in a city whose weather patterns are extreme. When it’s winter, you cannot wear spring or summer clothing. And when it’s summer, you cannot think of wearing anything at all. Therefore, as with all things I despise, I procrastinated it till the nth moment, which was yesterday. Folding clothes, sorting cupboards, and doing everything else that falls under this category of domestic life is something someone would ideally throw my way if I were being punished – pity me, because I really do not like it. The excitement to sort my cupboard, whenever that arises, often fizzles out just at the time when I’ve taken every single thing out of my cupboard due to said excitement. You know how this story ends no? It all gets shoved right back in after a copious amount of time is spent either staring at the mess (hatefully), avoiding the mess, sitting in the middle of the mess, or just pretending like this didn’t happen to me. The entire purpose of “cleaning” and “sorting” out my cupboard, is therefore, and irrevocably, lost. Always.

The other peculiarity, and tragedy, I’d say, is the irony that is my cupboard and its contents. I almost never find something “decent” to wear, and/or always lament about how I don’t have enough to wear when I’ve to step out. However, when I open those very same doors on cleaning day, a sea of what apparently, and most certainly are, only clothes, fall out. It’s astounding how a) I’m so ungrateful, b) I keep my clothes so nonchalantly (the answer lies in the para above), and c) I’m a serial hoarder. I will not inflict upon your sanity the madness that comprises my almirah’s contents, but let it be known that I’ve socks that I probably never wore because what if I feel cold and need them, stoles that I’ve never worn because what if an opportunity arises, and other random shit that I’ve probably hardly used because what if they come in handy some freakin day? Anyway, the paradox of this pandora’s box is perplexing and definitely pissing off.

Of course I dumped everything everywhere, all over again, yesterday. My winter clothes are mixed with my summer clothes, my woollens are where my t-shirts should be, and my thermals have now been kept with such a haphazard attitude that I don’t know where they are anymore. What should be in my cupboard is in my suitcase, what should be in a trunk is in my cupboard, and what should be in my cupboard is misplaced, because I couldn’t find it today. What I’m trying to say is that I’d had enough, as usual, and that all the symptoms which are always an accomplice to this situation, arrived in time. I began feeling irritable, hungry, tired, cranky, disgusted; haha you name it, and it was probably present. I also figured that when the moment had passed that I would do a couple of things; namely – a) give away whatever I wasn’t using – but what, is still elusive, b) write about this insanity that plagues me, and c) seriously ask/request/beg for a genie.

13 September

13 Sep

Since we’ve moved, we’ve been more or less disconnected from the world at large. With an absent cable connection and no newspaper subscription yet, it’s a strange bubble we’re living in; one where news comes to us in the form of notification snippets that NDTV or BBC slip our way or when we switch on some news via the internet. It’s a rather unfamiliar feeling of knowing only broken pieces of an event or not knowing the event at all, sometimes. In the middle of all this, the Supreme Court gave Karnataka the verdict it didn’t really want to hear and has been fighting against receiving since before I was born probably. My city has shut down, I hear. It’s scary to imagine what’s going on without constantly being tuned in to the happenings of a very angry people fuelled by a very volatile mentality.

I really do believe that there are only so many prayers that can work; that logic is the need of the hour at most times and that these are also idealistic concepts, clearly. There’s nothing stronger than emotion, it seems, especially when it is communally driven. Of course there’s no question about the powerful political undertones that really have steered this to what it has become today. It all just feels like an endless fight that just goes around in a circle stuck in the same place, same time, same mentality. In times like these, I’m hoping for the very best. Maybe some biryani could help. Or maybe not. One can hardly ever tell, these days.


Yesterday made me realise in many small and big ways, that you’re required to sell a lot of yourself, for the lack of a better word, to move forward. We call that change or adapting. We call that bartering, give and take, creating new avenues for growth. Never have I felt so conflicted before. Apparently this sort of thing has been around forever; this you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours business. The concept of liberty, freedom of being what you want to be and putting to action all that you speak so openly about, is one that comes with many a terms and conditions; baggage that is too heavy to carry and too volatile to keep down. It is true. You want to stand out, you stand all alone. Except, that standing out isn’t a very welcome thought. As I enter newer paths that I’ve to walk on, it becomes clearer that my options to really be who I want to be, become fewer and far in between. You either fit in and become someone that you never thought you would be, or you find your voice (if at all) by going down fighting for it. There’s apparently no other way, or so I felt yesterday. It’s a damning world, this one.


Owing to all this that was doing the rounds in my head yesterday, today feels like I want to just stop and not take in anything; except maybe music. I’m not in the mood for conversations or people or much else. Of course this isn’t really going to help me get to where I want to go to, but sometimes shutting down helps. No words. No questions. No answers to give. The furore lashing in my mind and aimed directly at my sense of identity, or lack thereof, feels too tumultuous to even warrant anything. There’s no room for any kind of accommodation. There only seems to be white anger. And deep sadness. And a heightened sense of loss and loneliness. And so I began my day with music and writing and water. There is also a previously postponed plan to meet a friend which must be kept and seen through, today. Hopefully that may make it all better.


Going by how I’ve made it almost a rule and therefore imperative to find positivism wherever I can, I’m always trying to sponge off the little titbits of goodness that are around me. So, in the middle of all this friction yesterday, I lost my FaceTime virginity to a very dear friend. P called me last night to honour the long pending catch-up session we were to have; except she wanted to see my face. To be honest, I’m not a fan of anything face/video related when on a call; simply because it removes that extra barrier which talking over the phone gives you to hide behind. The only time I dove headfirst into Skype was for my Master’s dissertation interview and that was that. But when P called me yesterday and when I reached over to my phone only to see my face, my heart skipped a beat. But the joy in seeing her after years and chatting, laughing, and generally faffing around, was unparalleled. Maybe I need a longer initiation period, but I’m feeling more confident and ready to FT with whoever will be kind enough to FT back with me.


Speaking of goodness, girlfriends are a gift and it would be best to keep them closest to you. Really. They’re the antidote, the pretend boxing bag, the mirror, the magnifying glass, the jug of joy and all things good we always need. Also, they’re full of stories, love, and light. The good ones, i.e. In a world that is constantly getting smaller yet more distant, keeping a life private is difficult, yet achievable. I’d like to believe I’m a very private person, whose miserliness on parting with information is directly proportionate to whom it’s going to. We all are like that, I think. I don’t really have a person in Grey’s Anatomy’s context. But there’s the magnificent luxury of calling some, my own. And for now, that’s much more than I have asked for.


PS, she arrived just when I was finishing this post but before I could hit publish. She brought a sense of belonging, a stash of memories, a feeling of normalcy, and a book for me, with her. Really, I couldn’t have asked for more.

Unnecessary Happies

4 Sep

I don’t think I can blog enough about the woes of not having a gas cylinder at home. A lot of me just wants to shut that part of my life at present out and think about all that is going well for us. And then I feel hungry which triggers the grouse all over again. We don’t have a gas connection and never bothered getting one – yay us. Now that we’ve shifted, I thought it best to get one for the many reasons why a gas connection is a must-have. But it’s taking time, naturally, since it’s government related, I figure. The two of us are caught in a weird scenario, a middle path of sorts…of whether to try and wait it out for some more time or to chuck it altogether and find an alternative. I don’t think we can eat out anymore – apart from the fact that eating out feels like a punishment in more ways than one (thanks to taxes and what not), it’s eating a hole into our pocket which is getting more outrageous by the day.

So yes, I don’t want to think about this or talk about this or have to deal with this…I promise to stop soon.

In lieu of all this adulting drama, we chanced upon two places in a span of <24 hours, places that I’ve keenly noted down.

While on a drive last night, we ended up in New Delhi and around Connaught Place, when we began feeling the pangs of hunger poke our mind and belly. We ended up stopping at this supremely crowded roadside eatery which is a healthy sign we look out for when eating at roadside places. This collection of four shops, all belonging to a Jain Chawal Wale brand, I presume, is where we fed ourselves a plate of rajma chawal and chole bhature. This place is known for its rajma chawal (kidney beans stew on rice) and so I gave it a sceptical try; sceptical because it was also the most reasonable meal I’ve had in my life – a solid plate of food for INR 50. Makes it sound dubious, yes. But I took the chance anyway; it’s a thing I’ve learnt about these big cities especially. It was a really decent meal, I’ll admit, and I was glad to brave it…we do it in other countries, why not ours, I thought. We’ve had better chole bhature, though. I’ve been trying to master making rajma myself, and the husband thought mine was better than the one we had here – so I’ve no idea what to say, really. But if you’re low on the pocket arena and are willing to try this out and are most importantly, in NCR, do give Jain Chawal Wale a try.

Today as the day proceeded, we figured a brunch scene would make sense. We stopped by for a proper English breakfast at this quaint Joint Cafe which plays not only amaze rock music and is very tastefully done up, but also serves some soul-satisfying food. Well fuelled and ready to do some serious work, the husband came back only to snooze, and me to, well, dream. Food coma happened to us, I presume.

Here I am now, sipping on some tea along with a muffin that came along with our breakfast we obviously couldn’t finish. I feel very English in my own way and it makes me happy. Unnecessarily happy, you know? There’s so much of it sometimes that it’s hard to feel grouchy or moody about the sluggishness and general lack of interest that’s hanging around the air like stale, musty air. Speaking of which, I got us some air freshener pouches which mum introduced to my world – the stale, musty air is being tackled literally and figuratively. These pouches have also been life changing.

Unnecessarily happying.

I hope you’re indulging in some of this stuff too.

Have a great Sunday, ya’ll.

The One On Validation

7 Jun

Today seems a bit different from what yesterday was like. Starkly different, actually. The past few months after my moving cities and shifting base have been nothing short of consuming on every single front. It’s been an emotional ride to not just pack up and leave but to also try and find some sort of footing in my new surroundings where I have no friends, no acquaintances, just nobody except my family and my husband; which in itself, is a lot and something I’m extremely thankful for. A lot of us never even get that much when we move.

It took a long, long time to accept this newness. When I was leaving Bangalore, I was advised by many to hold on to my job; the one thing that would be constant, a factor that would give me something to fall back on in this sea of unfamiliarity. Sometimes I wish I had listened to them and I find their imaginary I told you so fingers dancing in front of my face. But that wasn’t to be and like I’ve always said, a lot, if not the whole of me, believes that things happen for a reason.

However, I followed my heart and came to this new city armed without a job and far more suitcases than any airline permits for a domestic transfer. It was actually the longest check-in of my life what with 80 kgs in tow? Talk about baggage, I’ve got some serious issues. Puns and digressions aside, I arrived armed with not just that amount of luggage but with some unaccounted amount of courage, bravery and faith. It takes a lot for someone like me to accept change of such a magnitude. I wish I were more daring and fearless…I hope to be, some day. And so I gathered whatever I could and took the plunge.

When I look back at yesterday, it was raw. It consumed a lot out of me to acknowledge and understand what was going on. It took me a long while to figure it out after the many patient, healing and evocative conversations I had with my mother and my self. I spent so many days wondering what it was that I needed to do just so I could feel like I had a purpose, some sort of consolation prize I could walk back with and look at to feel like I was doing something. I remember writing about validation here, here, here, here, here, here, and here way back in 2011! Talk about wanting and needing to feel validated!!

And then I came across this sound clip from a friend of mine where she spoke about the need to validate one’s feelings as she recounted her experience in the labour room and post the delivery of her lovely daughter V. This helped add to what I have been experiencing off late and to help express all that I’ve been thinking about over the past few days. The difference between yesterday and today is stark, like I said. And here’s why.

Yesterday was filled with rawness, newness, of not knowing, of feeling directionless. Yesterday felt like I was stuck in an opacity where my purpose was hidden, unseen, unclear. Yesterday felt like I was useless, not valid, not living up to my dreams and ideals. Yesterday was rife with frustration, uneasiness and a lack of understanding, clarity and everything which makes you want to get up in the morning and go on with your day well stocked with that sense of resolve and justification, you know? It wasn’t as bad as it sounds; however I do vividly recall the days when I felt like the sea around me was too choppy to even try and keep afloat. For someone who always has had a routine and had something to do, it was a very strange place to be in.

It’s not like today is very different from yesterday in terms of a lot. But what makes it different is the presence of self-awareness, acceptance, patience and a lot of validation. In her sound clip, A speaks up about acknowledging and accepting one’s own feelings…of addressing them, most importantly. That’s the difference between yesterday and today, which also hit the spot when I heard her sound byte over the weekend. It’s the understanding and awareness of one’s own feelings which, when addressed, is half the job done.

Today I feel more secure, more in control, more aware, more cognizant of my current state of affairs. Today I’m far more capable of putting myself and my feelings under the spotlight when the need arises. There’s a sense of comfort because I know I have an outlet to hear my own self out. Sometimes it feels like everything’s out of control, that the world has suddenly become too big and too cumbersome to handle and that everything’s just a whistle away from bursting at its seams. It’s at times like these when I deal that we need to talk card to myself. Because when was the last time we addressed ourselves, put ourselves on priority, woke up and cradled our feelings?

That’s the difference between yesterday and today, for me. I’m better able to really enjoy this time I’ve gotten for myself. I’m more comfortable with giving myself that leeway without being harsh or too punitive on my own self. Today is still filled with those odd frustrations, irritations and unwanted thoughts and feelings. But in listening to them, validating them and knowing where they stem from makes it a far more easy task to handle with grace and face. Time, they say, is the biggest healer; and I’ve got to find the person who said this and embrace them.

Validation. I believe many an answer lie in that one act.

Picking Between Battles to Fight and Ignore

13 May

The one thing that’s hit me hard in my face the past couple of months is that peace of mind, while very attainable, comes at the cost of compromise a lot of the times. It’s seldom a my way or the highway scenario not because that’s impossible, but because it’s really not practical or helpful for that matter. It’s a concept I’m learning how to deal with because more often than not, it’s my peace of mind which I seek comfort in at the end of the day. And compromise, by default, indicates that you aren’t necessarily going to get your way, if at all sometimes.

To have a substandard clean house versus having a clean house the way you want it to be…
To have house help who are infamous for doing things the way they want to despite training and supervision versus having no house help at all…
To find objects in positions xyz because you want them in positions xyz versus finding them dusted and cleaned but not in positions xyz thanks to said house helps and their habits…
To do all the cleaning and cooking yourself just the way you like it versus not finding your standards matched up to but with help which is a blessing in its own way…
To inculcate the habit of picking up after oneself at the cost of a squabble or two versus doing the picking up yourself and getting rewarded with peace (which is an art and comes after much practice, I tell you!)…
To have your own peace time to do as you wish, when you wish versus rushing to get things done just in time for the house help to arrive…

The list of compromise and battles is ohmygawwwwd endless. Every day holds a new surprise, if you ask me. Whether it’s sounding like a broken record to the guy who cleans your house, to the point where you hate yourself for opening your mouth more than you hate his daydreamy attitude, or putting your hands up and giving up at the cost of not having things the way you want them, is such a bargain of both mental peace and the need to have things in a particular way.

I’m not sure it’s about being rigid as much as it is about not understanding just why it is so difficult to do the regular stuff, especially like keeping things back from where they were picked up at. This really isn’t even a husband-bashing post because one thing’s clear – I’m used to a certain way of doing things, and he, well, let’s just say the traces of his bachelor days pop up from time to time as some sort of brotherhood assurance or whatever the silly reason may be. It’s a line we have to draw ourselves and walk equidistant to arrive at a point where we learn to give and take some. It’s a task nonetheless and we’ve had our fair share of squabbles…change isn’t so easy to handle especially when each of us believes we’re right. In my honest opinion, men, if left to themselves, would make a fine man-cave out of their surroundings where everything’s within reach and all over the place. No, I don’t hate men, but this is something which has more truth to it than falsehood…we’ve seen it on television shows and we’ve seen it in reality – there’s no more proof one needs. A lot of them do not get our ways and a lot of us do not get their way of doing things. Ah, balance!

Many conversations and discussions with friends in the same situation yield the same conclusion and solution – i.e. picking which battle to fight and which ones to forgo the effort over. Growing up has its mean share of lessons to learn – mean because who loves having someone else get their way so much? But to know better and walk away when you must, even when you really just want to stand there and hold your ground, has its benefits; and worthy benefits at that.

We two are a continuous work in progress and while we poke jibes at each other from time to time and turn on the switch when the shit hits the fan, I know we’ve come a long way bearing lessons learnt and a fair share of occasional resentment as well. Learning how and which battle to pick has been my biggest milestone; one that I’m taking a while to linger around at because I’ve far from mastered the art of keeping my cool and finding that balance between what both of us want. I’m constantly learning how to give in and how to be assertive on what’s necessary.

What prompted me to come here and spew these words out, was of course my house help and his complete ineptness, his lack of care and his silly daydreaming ways. A scolding and some self-loathing later, here I am, involving you in my daily shenanigans which, I guess, are a regular feature everywhere…because it’s a universal fact that if I’m not doing the things I want done, then I’ve got to be okay with slight change and compromise for that coveted mental peace.

Sometimes I wish playing house was as simple as putting a bed sheet over my head where all was well and everyone + everything was clean and free. Haha!

Lost and Found

11 May

I swear I had the title, and consequently the post, all done and sorted in my mind just a minute ago. I’m trying not to be over enthusiastic about writing over here because one post a day, while awesome, is already too hard for me to maintain or stick by, so why bother with two or three or even four huh? Clearly my mind agrees because the moment I ran back to my laptop and got to this page, it was like I never even had this epiphany at all in the first place. Ugh!

Anyway, while I was sipping on my filter coffee which I treated myself to forced down my throat for memory’s sake – because just the thought of coffee and a hot one at that, in this weather especially, is dehydrating enough – I realised I wanted to write again… But before that, I was distracted by Susie and her ways. It turns out she’s possessive…of what exactly, I’m still to learn about. She growled and became a fang exhibitionist to Potato; who by the way, my husband thinks is a John; as he was approaching my gate (Susie was beside my gate already and I had no food treats in my possession to warrant such a response from her). I’d be overshooting it if I thought she were already possessive of me even though she does seem to like me and insists I play with her (she squealed and pawed me a couple of times for that ear/belly rub today)… Yay for sisterhood, if it is that, and lmao at how female responses are so similar across species, eh? Either way, I backed off and decided to enjoy my desi joe before said post epiphany started weaving its tempting web on my mind… Susie is capable of handling John, and John, Susie.

It was also during the time of my filter coffee drinking that I realised what I want and don’t want to do. I guess it’s that post where I seek the assistance of bullet points, a-gain! A lot of it’s pretty obvious anyway, but spelling it out seems to be my need of the hour apparently.

  • I want to be able to earn my own money again, and soon.
  • I don’t want to have to wait so long to be able to do it, damnit!


  • I want to do something that makes my life more worthwhile and my abilities more validated.
  • I don’t want to have to settle for bran when what I want is that golden wheat, damnnit!


  • I want to be able to make a good, healthy, fresh batch of curd (my first attempt resulted in some gooey by-product which tastes and smells like curd but which I know is a sneaky mutation of the product I desire).
  • I don’t want a sneaky mutation to think it can take the place of curd, damnit!


  • I want to be able to have clear, attainable and rewarding life goals.
  • I don’t want to continue thinking that life goals can be made on a whim and can be achieved in no time, damnit!


  • I want to understand, like really understand, that everything which comes my way needn’t be the it or the stepping stone to the it I’m looking for…they could be stepping stones, just not for me.
  • I don’t want to stop believing that what I really want and need, which will reward me with a sense of not just achievement but purpose as well, is out there.


  • I want to be able to write a complete sentence without swearing/cussing.
  • I don’t want to have every sentence stamped with the word ‘damnit’ in it, damnit!


My list a healthy balance of ‘yes, life goals’ and ‘whaaaaa, what are you talking about?’, no?

I came here with a conviction about what I wanted and didn’t want. As confused and aimless as I am and come across to be, there are times and instances when I’ve never been more sure of myself and my choices. Heck, I got married. It doesn’t really get bigger than that for me, at this juncture. It takes great self-faith and courage to stand up for yourself, even when every single speck inside you and the world outside asks you questions that even you have no sure shot answers to. Fighting societal expectations and norms is beyond hard, especially when emotions get attached to them. Saying no to jobs or places or people is never easy especially when you’re limited by the options you have. But practising not to settle for anything that you really truly believe is not for you, is a tough habit to acknowledge and inculcate.

Sometimes you need to hang by a prayer, a wish, or a good thought at best, before you decide to let go and hopefully fall on the stepping stone you were waiting for.

The Cracks Of Comfort

26 Jun

The thought of breaking one’s shell, cutting that umbilical cord, dismantling your roots so they get easier to uproot and opening those supremely sturdy but rusty-hinged doors of comfort is debilitating. There are those who find sources of energy and thrill in connecting with newness, people who are ever ready to pick up and move. However, I think it just struck me down with a bad episode of not just paranoia but of panic and fear. Having been a home-girl all through, there are no surprises why just the thought of change to that extent made me paralyzed with anxiety. It is scary; capable enough to leave you breathless of the bad kind and is totally unabashed in making you feel incapacitated beyond your strongest beliefs. Maybe now you get an idea about just how scary the thought is to me. And I have absolutely no idea how the rest of the world does it. I don’t know where their courage comes from, where the restlessness to start anew stems from and where the thrill of beginning from scratch appears from. And I wish I had just a fraction of that in me. Because at this very moment, I’m still here, sitting in my obscenely comfortable bubble, completely unaware of what lies out beyond the four walls of my house, office and my inner circle. No idea whatsoever.

I feel foolish and stupid. Not because I haven’t done any of this moving out stuff before (for which I should feel very foolish and stupid), but because I tend to live in my own world where everything is just the way I want it to be and life is as smooth as can be with glasses so rose-tinted that they’ve made me blind. I also am aware of just what it means to live in such a closed, perfect, imaginary world and I’m hoping I open those rusty doors of comfort to let the real world in immediately.

So here I am on a Friday evening, struck by the fears and insane web of my own very debilitating thoughts; so paralyzing that it’s getting difficult to make space for some free movement to explore what else my mind is capable of achieving. See that’s the thing of having also turned the volume up so high that it gives you no other option but to cruise at the tide of what you’re listening to rather than be stuck in the stifling compartments of your own thoughts. Music is therapy. Music is escape. As is this.



Music. And food. (Yes, I’m a stress-eater, apart from being a regular food lover as well).

So it helps. It helps to just let go. To sink your teeth into hot, crunchy, crispy broon maskas (bun with butter) and let that munching be the only sound that has the capacity to silence everything else, except the music of course.

I guess it’s not impossible to literally pick up and move. It’s scary, yes. But it’s not impossible and hopefully it’ll teach me what the world can give me in writing with its eyes closed; that it’s an experience every single person must go through in order to realize just who they are and just how capable one really can be.

For another time, when I have nothing better to do, it would make sense to navel gaze and figure exactly why everything in my head looks so gosh darn big, impossible and scary. And why this home-girl thinks she can’t do it, just like everyone else has been doing it for generations and more now.


In the meanwhile, while I go gather some confidence and inner peace over more tea, perhaps, (or maybe it’s time for some alcohol), I’m hoping all those doors and windows are wide open for you. I’m wishing you an insane amount of good energy, positiveness and happiness. Have a lovely Friday, it’s time to let go in more ways than one, today, and every single day ahead.