We sit across from each other at the coffee table – two souls who once conjured up a world of their own and now, just aliens from different spheres.
I don’t steal glances at you every now and then. I don’t notice the craters around your eyes or the hollows in your cheeks. The sight of your sleep deprived face does not bother me nor does the cigarette that seems to have found its way back to between your dexterous long fingers. It does not bother me that you have lost weight or that you lose a few curls every time you rake your hand through your hair. I do not heed the modest dimples on your forehead that seem to have left your cheeks to bridge your eyebrows. I do not hear the emptiness in your laugh or catch the sparkles that have gone amiss in your eyes.
I am not upset that we talk so little when there is so much to say. It does not affect me when you tell me how your life has changed. I do not secretly wonder if you have met someone else. And I do not feel relieved when you show me pictures of new friends none of whom are women. When its finally time to bid goodbye, I am not overwhelmed by the warmth in your hugs or hope that has begun to engulf me.
I randomly checked-in today to check if my blog, once a pet project that consumed all my young adult energy, is still alive – only to be greeted by a little notification that congratulated me on completing 5 years on WordPress. So yeah, you may consider this post a guilt-driven effort of sorts.
Since I have been away almost a good two years, just thought I’d start with a quick recap of what’s been happening recently.
I have been doing quite well as a Consultant at a renowned PR firm based out of Bengaluru. *apprehensive about jinxing this like the others*
I got married! Yeah, you can say that one took me by surprise as well. 😉 But you know how it is, when you meet that person who puts everything else in perspective, there’s only one thing to do – stop the antics that drove the others away and take the plunge.
Been trying to get back to my books and seek out measures to keep my creative spirits alive – to be honest, this has been quite a pathetic attempt on my part.
And of course, just like most of the world, we have been cooped up in our little nest thanks to CoVid-19.
As I was wondering what I could possibly write about on yet another regular Sunday evening, it struck me that this could be a good opportunity to introspect and pen down some revelations and positives that this crisis has incited.
Becoming my own chef:Whether I chose to or not, the irrational fear of falling prey to the virus resulted in us bidding a very difficult, heart-breaking goodbye to the Swiggys, Dunzos and Zomatos of the world. With time I realized WFH can also translate into frequent cravings for munchies and desserts – especially, when you’re someone like me and has a very self-aware belly that demands to be fed every two hours. This lead to me invariably trying out new recipes – what started as an effort to avoid starvation soon turned into a hobby I started looking forward to. The fact that my partner and family were very encouraging, further made me want to up my game. Before I knew it, I had started making my own snacks, meals and desserts. I even started eating vegetables I hated previously!
Onion Pakoda
I don’t mean to say I don’t get tired of it or that I have become a pro at cooking, but I am certainly proud of how far I have come from being a lazy bag of bones. :’)
Finding my rhythm again:This is just me being deceptive with wordplay..
Being locked indoors with my partner who has a truly deep passion for music, steered me back – I started singing (with him taking the lead of course!) and even attempting to play the ukelele. I managed to learn two classics – ”la vi en rose” and ”can’t help falling in love”, strumming and singing at a moderately slow pace that makes me tolerable (somewhat endearing too I believe).
Making Farmville a reality:That’s right! I don’t know how or why exactly I started out in this direction. But presently, I am attempting to grow tomatoes, green chillies, curry leaves and coriander. I have to admit, when I was back home, my mom used to force me to walk around her garden and show me all her floricultural efforts hoping I would show some appreciation. I remember what a completely useless child I was, refusing to step out, brushing off her invite to laze around inside the house instead. Now, as I parade my amateur attempts, it makes me realize what satisfaction watching a plant grow can bring – what fruition means (no pun intended). And truth be told, I envy the lush gardens my parents and in-laws are privy to.
That aside, it’s a truly happy moment when I wake up and step out into my balcony to discover my little saplings dancing to the wind.
My Chilli Saplings
I know I have started out with many hobbies in the past, only to discontinue them at some point. I am definitely hoping the above will stay on though, because they distract me and bring me happiness when I need it the most. More importantly, I do want to pursue them as I believe they are indications of me finally getting the hang of adulting 101. 🙂
Have you ever looked back at life and wondered about some people you crossed paths with? I am not referring to the people whom you have grown apart from or become closer to.
I am referring to the people who left you or whom you chose to let go.
I am a Cancerian and true to the nature of most of my species, I carry my fair share of baggage too. I drag around the burden of the ‘what ifs’.
I often think of the people who exit my life and those others whom I shut the door on. And every time I wonder “What if I had done something different? What if I had put in a little extra effort? Would things have turned out differently? Would I have been happier?”
Maybe. I don’t know the answer. And it is this answer that evades me and haunts me every time.
I’m not complaining. I’m just thinking out loud. Rhetorically.
In fact, given the option I don’t think I would even want to know the answer. Why you ask? Because deep down I think the answer would bring my way a basketful of disappointment.
How many times have we all answered the question “Why do you write?”
The answer is supposed to get easier over time. But I find that things turn complicated when I try to simplify the answer.
Its probably got to do with the fact that a lot of indescribable emotions and thoughts cloud my mind, making expression difficult. Tell me something.. How do you explain to someone what goes through your mind when you eat your favourite dish? How do you put a thought or feeling across and ensure that the other person comprehends or experiences it in its entirety? Because I don’t know.
Maybe this sounds a little lame. Maybe this sounds like another futile attempt to describe a writer’s inner dilemma without really answering the question.
Maybe that is what it is.
I could sit here all day writing poetic lines about how every alphabet in the English language is a friend. And maybe I would mess that up too.
But, that’s okay.
I don’t write because I want a thousand people to read what I write. I don’t want to become famous or get quoted. I don’t even think I want to write a book.
All I know is I want to write for myself. I write for all those moments in my life when I want to pen down and immortalise what goes on my mind. It could be a moment when I feel like a poet, or one when it rains and the world is painted red when I look around. Maybe it could be after I have had the shittiest day at work and I just want to distract myself from reality. It could be when I look around and see some beautiful stories dressed up as people going about their lives. It could be this and infinite other things.
That’s what it is. I want to write because writing is a journey and a destination by itself. I love how music takes me places while I sit here in my corner and words paint pictures effortlessly. Oh.. and another beautiful thing about songs? Those words were once written by somebody who felt something deeply too..
Right.. So that’s been fifteen minutes of free-writing a.k.a release of inner turmoil. I obviously haven’t re-organised my thoughts as this was written in response to the prompt shared by the Blogging University Team as part of Finding Everyday Inspiration.
Now that you have patiently read my piece of writing, let me know what makes you write in the comments below. Oh yeah! Thank you for reading. 🙂
You are a book I keep reading. Where every page unveils a new story. And just when I think I have finished reading the book, you pull out new pages that I did not know were missing.
As darkness descends onto us after a long summer day, let us take a stroll on the beach. The waves could wash away the masks that we have been wearing all day long and we could be us – the real you and me. Maybe we could just let all hell break loose and watch as our demons dance with one another’s.
Does it happen to you? Does an indescribable sorrow fill your soul and make you want to write when you least expect it?
Where you want to find the exact word that explains what you are feeling and put it down on paper. Where you want someone to understand what you are trying you write, find the perfect word and finish your sentence for you. But it just doesn’t happen.
It’s a weird kind of loneliness that few will understand. Where you stand surrounded by your own kind, yet feel like there’s something missing. A longing that’s unfulfilled. Like when you know all your alphabets and words, yet you can’t pen it down. You know you want to write, but you just can’t. You sit there staring at the wall clock or the back of people’s heads. Waiting for that moment when something magical will hit you and all the right words will flow.
Inkings of the Soul 