All my life, every book I read and every movie I watched led me to believe that I would find someone who knows me better than I do and loves me for who I am. I believed, that this person would be my soulmate. I thought, that one day, somewhere in a coffee shop or while standing in the line of a grocery story I would find him. Sparks would fly, we would fall in love and I would have my happily-ever-after.
However, lately I have begun to believe that maybe our soulmate doesn’t have to be the one we choose to spend the rest of our lives with. Maybe, being someone’s soulmate doesn’t mean that you have to make a ‘death do us part’ commitment. Maybe, the title doesn’t belong to the on-and-off boyfriends we have had or the ‘one who got away’. Maybe, just maybe, our soulmates are our best friends.
These are the people who will be there for me till the end of time. They have proven to be time and again, that I mean the world to them. I like to believe that it will be these people who I will be spending the rest of my life with. Even when we are miles apart and busy with jobs and family, I like to think that we will still be connected. We would probably not be able to have our old Friday night drinking/venting sessions, but I believe, that if I chose to vent on a Sunday morning, they would pick up the phone and listen to me.
I don’t think I have ever told them how much they matter to me. Sure, I would shower them with love on social media their birthdays and maybe even tell them that I appreciate them for being there for me whenever I hit a rough patch. But, no words can help me express how much I love them for dancing with me to shady item songs (even without a drop of alcohol in them), or saving me from the guy at a random house party that I thought I wanted.They have hyperventilated over shows, characters and celebrities with me. They found time to listen to me, even when they were busy. They are the ones who I know will walk till the ends of the earth with me. I can’t begin to thank them for feeding me on broke days and for laughing at my lame jokes and making me laugh when all I really wanted was cry. For honouring our little traditions like watching The Middle after getting high, or writing farewell notes or not letting me drink rum; for loving me the way I am. Thanks for holding my hair back and helping me clean up my mess; for being real with me; for believing in me and for adding colour to my life, even when I am trying to paint it black.
They have made my life a thousand times better. They not only understand me, but accept me for who I am. They loved me even when I wouldn’t listen and talk about myself at the speed of a bullet train. They loved me even when I was being difficult and cranky. They know me- the good, the bad, the ugly and they are still around.
I have always hoped that I would find someone that would make me feel like there aren’t enough words in the world. How lucky am I to have found you all. So what if my “BFF” left for an other continent or if I am no longer in the same city as the rest of them. I spent the last week with all of them and for the first time in months, I felt at peace. I know for a fact that even if I don’t see them for years now, they will be there next to me on my death bed, making me laugh till my urine bag is full. I can almost see them, sitting around my corpse, before the funeral, drinking and reminiscing about the good old days and the stupid things I did then. That’s how I know, what we have, it’s for life. Thank you for being my constants in my otherwise chaotic life.
Unemployment has once again begun to get to me. I spend hours relentlessly mailing possible future employers, following which I spend hours panicking about my future if no one hires me. The remaining 20 hours, you will find me sleeping, eating, watching Netflix or desperately wishing for a meteor to fall on my head.
The past 40 days were interesting, to put it lightly. I spent a whole month Ramganga, a small town in Sundarbans, West Bengal. I volunteered with an NGO named Digambarpur Angikar during my time there. Only after I reached the place did I realise that no one there could speak Hindi (I hadn’t expected anyone to be able to speak English). Turns out, they only knew Bengali. The first one week was the toughest. I felt ridiculously lonely. While I had wanted to take this trip alone, I really thought that I would be able to make friends of my own in this new place. But there I was, struggling to let them know that I wanted a glass of water. The fact that the people there were friendly was the biggest blessing. Once they realised that I was alone in a land where I could communicate with exactly two people, they started making efforts to make my life easier. They tried to talk to me using gestures and whatever Hindu words they knew. Knowing that they were making an effort, lifted my spirits like nothing else. Over the next few weeks I learnt what kindness of strangers really means. When you are in a strange land with no one else, all you can really rely upon is the hope that the people around you are good, decent humans.
From the moment I stepped out of the train until the moment I took a his back to Kolkata (from where I took a train to Tirupur), I was in the hands of a complete stranger. The guy who picked me up, could have taken me anywhere and I wouldn’t have known until too late. The Swiss knife that I was clutching in my hand could only do so much. If I had to run asking for help, no one would probably even understand me. But, I chose to trust. Probably because I knew I didn’t really have much of choice. It wasn’t easy though. This is something many people out there wouldn’t understand. When you have grown up hearing about girls being raped by their friends, and loved ones, it becomes quite hard to trust someone so blindly. Every night when I would get on his bike, I would pray that I would return home safely. And when I would, I would wonder if I was being paranoid for being afraid, but the next day I would find myself clutching my Swiss knife and praying. However, don’t let that fool you into thinking I had a terrible time.
I was at peace there. Ironical, I know. But, when you wake up to the river and you get to watch the sun rise and set against the backdrop of a beautiful clear sky, all complaints just fly out of the window. I could sit by that window and smoke for hours. There, at that point, I was just happy existing. However, before I knew, I had to say good bye to boat rides, the beautiful night sky and the gentle breeze and the view from my room that made my day a little better every day. I made my way to Kolkata, where my college roommate, Sohini was waiting to show me her city. The two days there flew by in a frenzy. Sohini and Sreeparna, my two guides in the city, were practically my gym instructors. Everytime I was too tired, they literally dragged me to new corners of the city and each time I was grateful that they didn’t just let me sit there like a cow. Following Kolkata, came the favourite part of my trip– 10 days in Tirupur, with Radhika.
Tirupur is Radhika’s hometown. If I haven’t mentioned it before, Radhika is pretty much what someone would label as my best friend, but we decided long back that tags are not our thing. Of course, there may be no tags, but there is a lot of love and history between us. She is the person I would call crying at 3 am, she is the one I would send my ugliest selfies and the one I would tell my deepest, darkest secrets to. Truth be told, she is my happy place. I mean, I fight with her and I get annoyed when she is irritated with me (and that happens a lot), but I am always happy when she is around. And now, she is leaving for Canada this August and I don’t know when I will be seeing her again, which is why I had to make this trip.
We spent the days chatting till late night and smoking cigarettes in the terrace once everyone at home fell asleep. I would watch her swim (I am terrified of pools) and we would drink beers after and sometimes I would smoke a doob or two with her brother. My favourite parts were when we would sit in her room and laugh over the lame things we did in the past. It never gets old–laughing over how naive and Stupid we used to be. We even managed to stuff in a two day trip to Kerala. For the first time, I didn’t cry after I said goodbye to her. I cried in a train that she was leaving in after school got over, I cried when she left Bombay after college, I jumped in joy when she came back to the city and cried like a baby she left it for Delhi. This time she is leaving the country and all I feel is excitement for her. From the day I met her, I knew that she was going to kill it in life and this is just taking her one step closer to it. I know that keeping in touch will get harder, she will make more friends, maybe better ones. We will miss one too many Skype dates and maybe I won’t see her till my wedding day. But, I will always be the girl who wrote her a book as farewell, she will be the one who comforted me as I cried over the loss of my aunt. We lived together for years and apart for years and we survived both. I think we will do just fine 7,127 miles apart. I will miss her like crazy, though.
Well, I should probably get back to my job hunt, or well, Netflix.
Hopefully, the next time I write, I will have a job in hand. Let’s wait and watch.
I have always been an overweight girl. I have not myself in any other avatar. I went from the girl with the chubby cheeks to the chubby girl and have stayed that way since. Over the years, I have learnt that I can complain about my weight to people I am comfortable with, and also to break the ice with people I am not comfortable with. The complaints always come masked under a layer of joke, because no one like a fat, whiny girl. While they laugh and call me ‘silly’ or ‘funny’ or ‘cute’, I wish that at least one of them told me that I am not fat.
Sometimes these jokes lead up to the question almost every woman dreads—’How much do you weigh?’ What they plan to do with that piece of information is beyond me. I always lie. ‘Oh! I haven’t checked in a while,’ I reply quickly, knowing that they are going to tell me that it is very silly of me. In my head I can almost see the double digits glaring at me, almost accusingly. ‘Fat! Fat! Fat!’ the siren goes off in my head, but I plaster a smile on my face and tell them that I will check as soon as I get the chance. A lie. Somehow, the fact that until I tell them, they can only assume where that arrow stops on that scale, calms me down. I guess, that is naive of me.
If I am fat, I must me ugly. Or, so I believe. On a night out, unlike almost every single one of my friend who can push their bodies into ridiculously tight fighting clothes and look like they stepped out of a modelling magazine, I pull on a pair of ill-fitting shorts and floral, flowy top, hoping for magic. Skinny girls can pull of almost anything by virtue of being able to fit into almost anything. When you have a tummy that can gain you access into the maternity ward, boobs that would have put Pamela Anderson to shame if it came with a body that take could rival that of Shay Mitchells and a face that makes you look like a teenager, it is really hard to shop.
I guess when you are unhappy with a small part of you, hating the whole becomes an easier option. Probably why I can never look at a mirror and end up feeling ridiculous. I go on diets, a lot. Fruit diet, GM diet, Corn flakes diet, and my favourite— starvation. But, every time I see a slab of chocolate or a tub of ice cream, my resolve waivers. ‘Just once,’ I lie to myself. I don’t generally stuff myself to the point of oblivion. In fact, I get full really fast. A fact that no one can believe, because if I am fat, I must be eating like a pig. Sure, I do snack in between meals, I have a sweet tooth and maybe I have a few too many biscuits with my coffee, but I can never eat too much in one sitting. I do exercise. Almost regularly. I guess if I had to choose between exercise or an extra hour at work, I would choose work.
I guess, if you live away from your family, coming home almost always feels like the test. The first challenge is, of course, to see if you have finally been able to enter the ‘omg-have-you-been-starving?’ club. I haven’t managed to. And, then, despite the fact that for days I could barely scrape together two chappatis and I was looking forward to pampering myself with some good home-cooked meal, I start Diet #768788. Then, I meet my relatives who greet me with an extended disco version of the same performance by your mother. At the those moments, I wish I could lose weight just to spite them. But two days later I will find myself munching on the nibbles my grandmother lovingly made for me.
In all my dreams, I am never myself. I am always a new-and-improved version of who I am. I have managed to convince myself that even though I am smart, funny, well-educated, my body is a shortcoming that can’t be forgiven. Funny thing is, a few years ago I was in a far better shape and yet, I assumed otherwise. The fact that people kept telling me that losing a few more kilos would do me good, didn’t help. But, when I could have been happy, I was hard on myself and stayed insecure. Now I wonder if I will feel any other way. The truth is my insecurity is my problem. No one asked me to feel that way. When I see women like Iskra Lawrence, or any woman brave enough to be comfortable with herself, I feel stupid. But, when I scroll down and read the hate comments, I tell myself that maybe brave is not such a good thing.
The idea of sticking a finger down my throat never appealed to me. I do dream about getting a liposuction or working hard enough to transform into someone else. Then I realise I am stupid again. I mean, if I can’t love myself, I can’t expect someone else to love me. While being fat isn’t my identity, it is a part of who I am. While I do know that people come in all shapes and sizes, I can’t seem to accept the fact that maybe I am going to be this size all my life, and maybe that is not such a bad thing. I probably will continue a life of countless diets and experimenting with various exercise regimes, until one day I realise that I am good enough. Until then, and probably after that I will still be wearing tops a few sizes too big and jeans a size bigger cause my ass won’t fit otherwise.
Until then, this is me. Chubby and quirky as ever.
Having a nomad of a family has its perks. I learnt early on that nothing is permanent and that while change can be heartbreaking, the pain too isn’t permanent. I also had to accept that unlike for most ‘home’ was never a permanent place. I have moved so many times that I have stopped making an effort to try and personalise my room. My current room back home has nothing save a bed and a cupboard filled with my clothes. Apart from Mr.X, my teddy bear who is pretty much the only thing I have from my childhood, there is no trace of anything that makes that room mine. Its probably that lack of something concrete to call my space that has made me spend hours imagining what my perfect room would be like.
I always imagined a house by the beach. A small one storey house tucked away from the noise of the world. My room, I always pictured, would be cosy- small enough to feel comforted and serene, but big enough to fit a big screen TV and a bean bag. There would be a table in the corner with all my art supplies strewn about in an orderly manner. There would be a wall filled with pictures and tokens from some of the happiest days of my life. But the best part of the room would be the view. There would be a window sill where I could sit with a book, mug of coffee and maybe some green. There would be cool breeze softly caressing my skin. I could look out and feel the river calling out to me and I could strech my fingers and feel the moisture and taste the water on my lips. I could sit there for hours together and watch the sun retreat and give way to the moon. I would watch as the sky was slowly lit by a hundred thousand bright stars and all of it being illuminated by the milky moonshine. I would look out and see the river dancing with the moon, swallowing it and releasing it, only to tango again.
What I never thought is that I would travel 1599 kilometres to see that dream come to life. There are lot of things you imagine in your life, but somehow when it becomes a reality words fail you. Pictures may speak a thousand words, but the thousands you clicked on your phone seem to not do justice to what your eyes can witness. The words that seem to flow from your soul when ranting about something frivolous will seem stuck in some other world.
Here I am, sitting at the window will, watching the moon and river romance each other and the sky shine brighter than all the fairy lights in the world and I don’t have enough words to immortalise this moment.
So, I am putting my phone down and going back to the view- the one I dreamt of for all these years.
Ours was a relationship doomed right from the start. I knew it all along, but I couldn’t help myself. There always was this fascination on my part. You were always so popular. So many of my friends loved you. Many of them were in a steady relationship with you at various points in their lives.
I always told myself I should stay away from you. If I got to know you, I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I would fall hard for you. You were there everywhere. It was almost as if I couldn’t avoid you. As if it was Fate. We were just meant to be. Only, I knew, no good would come from us being together. So, I told myself over and over again that it was in my best interest to stay as far as possible from you. We all know that in matters of the heart, the mind always loses. Regardless of how hard I tried, the concept of ‘mind over matter’ didn’t work. I was drawn to you, hook, line and sinker. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t avoid it.
I always told my friends that I hated you, that I couldn’t stand you. I knew what you did to people. You made them want you, need you, in fact. You made it impossible for them to live without you. You got off on it, didn’t you? You enjoy watching them worship you. It didn’t matter that in the end they would just stomp you with their feet because those few moments of high you got from being loved so much, that was enough for you. I only wanted to avoid you as long as I live. I hoped to avoid people associated with you also. But, life other plans.We, somehow, ended up running in the same social circles. Almost everyone I knew, loved you and the others, tolerated you, save one. I hoped that her hatred for you would give me the strength to stay away from you.
But you know what they say. What’s meant to be is meant to be. I couldn’t resist you any longer. After all, I am only human. I still tried to avoid the inevitable. At last, I succumbed to your charms. I tried to convince myself I hated you still. After our first meeting, I knew deep inside that I was doomed but I couldn’t stop fighting. I avoided you. I still remember the first time I felt you against my lips. I felt guilty knowing what I had done. You know how sometimes friends like to play cupid? That’s what happened with us too. I may have successfully avoided you for the rest of my life but my friends made sure I didn’t. Fact is, no matter how much I denied it, I was unconditionally and conclusively in love with you. But I knew, we wouldn’t last forever. Someday, we would have to part ways. But right there, right then, you meant everything to me so nothing else mattered.
I wanted to keep our relationship a secret. It was like my dirty little secret. But it didn’t stay that way for long. I always wanted to spend more time with you. Every chance I got I only wanted to lock my lips with you. It didn’t matter where I was or who I was with. Rickshaws, cabs, Marine Drive, Carters, Tryst, Royalty, outside the movies, Barista, home and sometimes even in the middle of the road. I would see judgmental looks from all directions but I didn’t care. I had you and that was more than enough for me. I knew my parents would never approve of you. Hell, many of my friends didn’t. None of that mattered. It was you and me against the world.
Being an outstation student, coming home was the hardest time. It meant months without you. It was excruciatingly painful in the beginning but slowly, I learnt to be without you. Remember that time when we broke up for 5 months? I missed you so much then. Anytime, I would be alone, I would think about you. It was for the best. We wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Being around you was only slowly killing me, because I knew what the future had in store for us. Ultimately, I gave up. I am only human. I loved you too much. Life is too short to tread so carefully. So, I threw caution in the wind and got back together with you. The initial months were extremely passionate. I couldn’t get my hands of you. The passion slowly cooled down. I could spend hours without you, as long as I got to be with you often. We broke up several times, but everytime I made sure you came back into my life. I am like a moth drawn to flame when it comes to you. What can I say? I guess, I am just a tad bit self-destructive.
Everytime I try to end things with you, it never sticks. When I have a bad day, I need you. When I am happy, I need you. If I am drunk, I better be holding you. And, everytime I try to walk away, the smallest things remind me that I love everything about you. How you look, how you smell, how you taste, and how you feel against my lips. Everything about you only draws me closer to you. Right now, I can’t even imagine a life without you but like I said, sooner or later we have to part ways. You are not the love of my life and you know that very well. For now, none of that matters. As broke as I am, I know will shell out money for just a minute with you. I just need that rush of holding you, bringing you close to my lips and just taking you in like it might be my last breath. It is almost disgusting, this relationship of ours. Sometimes I wonder if you will be the end of me, but then again, I know if I had a chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I will gladly inhale that mucky tart and deal with the smell of abandoned houses in the crevices of my palms a thousand times over for that little rush of nicotine.
I have been spending quite a lot of time wondering about death. Not how it is going to happen— I am pretty certain that it is going to be a result of boredom— but, more about what happens after. Do you just cease to exist? I have always wanted to go into a coma, just so I could experience death. Sounds morbid, I know. But there is just something so appealing about the idea of afterlife.
I have spent a good portion of my week trying to read up all that the internet could tell me about life after death. If we go by pure Physics, the fact is energy is never lost. So maybe our physical selves will become one with the ground and its organisms, while our soul continues to exist in the world. The experiences of people who had a short tryst with afterlife varies. While some don’t remember anything, much like a dreamless sleep, many others remember watching life go on about around them. Maybe flatlining on a surgical table is not the ideal situation to take into consideration.
The truth is we are never going to know what it is like. Maybe we will be busy trying to cross into that big white light, or maybe we will be trying to come into terms with the fact that we are dead. While your loved ones are mourning your loss, you might not even be around in spirit.
Funerals are for the living. It is a way for them to gain some closure and come into grips with the fact that someone so near to them is no longer around. I guess that’s why people say that you know how loved you were on this Earth by the number of people who turn up for your funeral. It’s unfortunate that you won’t be around to witness it. It is a scary thought, nonetheless. It makes you wonder—what if only your immediate family turns up, or even worse, even they don’t? As selfish and morbid as it sounds, I really hope that I leave behind a few people who are saddened by my loss. Of course, it will be hard at first. Maybe, every year of my anniversary, they will meet up to help them get through the day. Then, a few years will pass and they will be able to go on for months not thinking about me, and when they do, they will be able to recollect memories without starting the waterworks. Then again, a few years will pass by and maybe they will all meet up and talk about how life has changed and about the girl who made their lives about 10 years ago so memorable. They will tell their kids about this crazy, hyper woman who made several days so much more fun than it could have been—too bad she isn’t still around, they will say. That is just how life is.
Speaking of funerals, I have always wanted to be buried in a volcano. I think it would be a fun trip for everyone. But, I am pretty certain I won’t be allowed to venture outside a cemetery ground. So, hopefully I get a spot under a tree (I never liked the sun, so I doubt my soul would appreciate it either) that overlooks a water body (hello! the view!). It should be fun day. After the services, when I am buried and in the ground, I want everyone to meet up at my home for some drinks and food. They will play all my favourite songs and play Uno Shots and Never Have I Ever and get real drunk. They will talk about how they met me and laugh over the stupid things I did, and how clumsy I was. They will laugh and maybe shed a few tears thinking about the good, ol’ times, but it will be a happy day. I hope whatever that there is ‘on-the-beyond’ will wait for me to witness all this before I am taken away.
Well, I guess I have used up my morbid quota for the day. I shall try to think of more pleasant things to talk about for tomorrow. Until then. This is me. Morbid and quirky as ever.
Being 21, according to most, is the best year in a person’s life—liberated by adulthood and yet being unapologetic about the few carefree childish traits that college hasn’t washed out of you. I have been 21 for exactly 7 months and 14 days and I still haven’t formed my opinion on what I feel about it.
I remember being 13 and thinking how by the time I turn 21, I would be working and living life on my own terms. Boy, was I wrong! Being 21 means being an in-betweener—stuck in a limbo of proving to your parents and the world that you are completely capable of making your own decisions and almost always failing to live up to that dream. It is not like you want to accept that you are old either. So while you are trying so hard to be a real person surviving on the money that you have shed blood and sweat for, you are always secretly wishing you were home to eat your mom’s food, not only because it is yummy, but also because you could save 100 bucks for the next day.
You are stuck in that place where college memories are still fresh and so you jump on every opportunity to recreate the memories, even if means going two hours out of your way just to drink in the same bar that you did everyday during after college hours. On the other hand, your first job seems to be sucking the life out of you and all you can do is wonder if you really chose the right path. If only life would fast forward and take you to the point in your life when you are sure about everything. In this midst of this hurry to grow the hell up and this desperate attempt to hold on to you simpler, happier college life, what you don’t realise is, you haven’t grown up at all. You are still obsessing over that guy who you would never actually date, you are still spending way more than you can afford (except this time the guilt is real, because you can’t go asking for money from home— that could be accepting failure), you are still partying more than your liver can handle and surviving on far too fewer hours of sleep. The only difference? You are no longer in your happy comfort zone.
The high school bullshit of gossiping, drama, insecurities and jealousy that you thought college would take out of your life is still there. The ridiculously childish and immature high school boys just graduated out of college with you and are still playing the same cat-and-mouse game with the same guy you should have forgotten the minute you stepped out of your college gates. The blind faith that you had in humanity when you stepped into college has visibly diminished and some days you just stay up wondering where did that optimistic, happy-go-lucky girl disappear. And while dealing with all this chaos, you have been thrust with the responsibility of being a decent adult. What does that mean anyway?
When April rolls in you realise that acing that trigonometry test in Xth grade and learning what mitochondria was nothing but a waste of time because you can’t figure how the hell you are supposed to file taxes. You are at a juncture where you are expected to “figure it out”, but how do you go from being told what to do every step of the way to just knowing how to make it out on your own? At least, when you are on the verge of a breakdown you still have those few college friends family members who decided to stay in the city. You can relax knowing that just half hour away you have family whom you can visit in your PJs. Carry a bottle of Old Monk or some cheap stash you scored few days before and you can reminisce about the old days and cry about this new life. Hold on to it, because before you know it those days will come to an end. A better job or a letter accepting you to the university that you had been dreaming for you masters will come in telling you that it is time to pack up and move away from the last remaining source of comfort in your life. But don’t feel too bad, at least you got a while—many others set about on a new life right after college.
Being 21 isn’t easy or as glamorous as I thought it would be, but I am loving most of it anyway. While packet noodles, scrambled eggs and starvation on days I can’t even afford that much has become a part of my everyday life, I am happy with how life has been so far. While the past 14 days has been somewhat of a glitch in my plan, I know I am going to be okay. And that is the best thing about being 21. You are so used to crap being thrown your way and spending time trying to figure out your own twisted way out of it, you know that you will bounce back. You aren’t old and beaten down, you aren’t young and impressionable, you are just out there, trying to figure it out. Besides, I know 22 is going to be worse.
I am not delusional enough to think that you have been dying to know what I had been up to in the span of one year that I had gone AWOL. While I say that is my attempt to give you some clarity, in reality, it is just a way for me to immortalise some of the best days of my life.
So, I have left Bombay for good (Déjà vu, right?). Well, this time it is for real. I don’t plan to go back to that city for the next three years. I devised a plan right down to the T and then I threw it into the garbage. All my plans have a way of crashing and burning and leaving me heart-broken. For the longest while, my mending program involved making new plans, which would undoubtedly crumble into ashes as always. That is exactly why I have taken up a new attitude—one that is popular among teenager across continents— and it is called ‘I DON’T CARE’. I left a perfectly decent job for a dream that is going to remain one. Sure, I cribbed about a lot of things—the unreasonable work timings, the terrible work ethics and most importantly the ungratifying pay cheque— but, it did allow me to live away from my parents, whilst earning enough to somehow struggle my way to the next month. I could have left the job after I found a better one, but instead I took a leap.
After worrying for about two months about my future as a cashier at Nature’s Basket, I got a reply to one of my numerous job applications. Following a few written assignments, I was called for an interview and once again, I was back in Bombay. Suddenly, out of no where I was given a choice—there were two companies interested in me. Next thing I know, I was standing outside Gokuls (one of the cheap bars that we frequented in the city) and I get the call I had been waiting for since the day I graduated. I had a job! Well, I had an internship to be accurate. But, I was ready to slow some socks off and there was no stopping me.
While it became evident that I was going to be spending a good amount of time in the near future in the city, I realised that I had a new problem to deal with. I was homeless and broke. Well, my family was broke, and I was only an intern. Stuck in a place where I couldn’t ask my parents for money or afford to pay the bills myself, I was lost. And in the midst of a conversation that involved an awful amount of ranting, Ron suggested that I stay at his place, with this three other roommates. Considering I didn’t have many options, I took up on his offer. That is how I came to live the last year in Bombay with boys. When I moved in, it was me and four boys and by the time I left it was three girls (including myself) and two boys. There was a point when I was living with six boys and I couldn’t help but feel like Jess from New Girl.
I didn’t pay rent for three months. They were wonderful like that. I did pull my weight in ways I could, but not having to pay my rent help me save a little. I later spent that money on an epic trip to the North-East. Living with boys was…interesting. Ron was interning with Rolling Stones as a photographer, Abhishek was interning with Hindustan Times and I was interning as a writer with Homegrown. While Aniket and Kelvin were enjoying the final year of their college life, we were trying to find our footing in the work world and we made those few months memorable for each other. I did’t have any friends at work, which meant that coming home to them was the best part of my day. It is the little things that made me love the arrangement—how Abhishek would wake up early and play music on the speakers, effectively waking us all up and then we would spend a half hour cribbing about having to go to work; how Ron would tell us off the interesting gigs that would happen later in the day and we would just meet each other there after a long tiring day and kick back with a few beers; or how if we had no plans we would meet up and go score and enjoy the mellowness brought to us by Murugan Chawl.
My trip to the North-East was somewhat of a farewell to my life with these two. The end of this trip marked the beginning of their trip to Himachal, which was followed by the start of a new life for the two. Ron moved to Pune and Abhi went home to his parents in UP. I had to once again re-create a life. This time round, I had friends at work and loved ones at home. I spent lesser and lesser time at home and far more time crashing at Stuti’s. From being my college roommate to being someone whose place I crashed every opportunity I got, we had come a long way. We had between us two epic cold wars and numerous heartbreak sessions over several pegs of whiskey and a lot of love for each other. It was around this time that Arunima (my other college roommate) was forced by the cruel forces of the world to deal with a situation I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Her mother had been battling with cancer and we didn’t know how to be there for her. While the two us tried our best, we failed on several occasions. Arunima, on the other hand, taught us that people can handle far beyond expected, and with their heads held high. She, of course, had her moments, but she always pulled herself up and did all what a 21-year-old could do and more for her mom. Unfortunately, aunty left us on January 26.
It was a really emotionally charged year for everyone around me. On a graph, my emotinal turbulence would be depicted with a straight line with a few kinks, for everyone else around me it would look like a big angry scribble across a page. I was grateful that life was going quite smoothly for me and all I needed was a better pay cheque.
I would probably fail you if you wrote an essay based on these half-assed information I am providing here. It is absolutely impossible for me to sum up this one year of my life, but I can tell you that it was amazing. While I was mentally prepared to leave the city, it hurt my heart to actually leave. I packed up mementos that I had gathered in my four years in the city and bid farewell to some of my most favourite souls. When or where I will meet them again, I don’t know. But of course, I know that with them, it is never really goodbye. However, there is the knowledge that never again, will I wake up on that bed that is ready to break down any second in between Ron and Abhi after a night of heavy drinking on that balcony. Never again will I sit on that balcony of my 2bhk home and wonder about life. Never will I leave at 11 pm in my PJs so I can sleep in between Stuti and Arunima. But, that is okay, because it will always be alive in our memories.
I came to the city a confused, hyper, crazy 17-year-old and I left it a confused, crazy, hyper 21-year-old. A little wiser and happier. Bombay will always be home to me and that is why I will always love it. I will miss it for the memories that I had the chance to make with some of the most beautiful souls that there is. While I did crib quite a bit in the course of four years, there is not a thing I would change. College to first job, this city has seen my grow and become who I am now. But, they say, change is a good thing and I am very excited for whatever has to come my way. And on my toughest days, I will have these memories to keep me going.
Well, that is a lot of information for one day I believe. So, I shall update you on other mundane details of my life tomorrow.
I should really be ashamed of myself. The last time I wrote something on this blog was over a year ago (And I remember promising myself back then that I would be more regular with my updates). Well, the good thing is probably that I have a lot of things to write about. The bad? Well, as always I don’t know where to start from.
Let’s probably start at how I decided to bring this baby of mine back to life. I am once again in the same place that I was last year when I wrote that post— home (albeit, home is now in Hyderabad and not Kerala). I am once again at a juncture of new beginnings, uncertainty and well, self-doubt. I am once again stalking journalists and spam mailing people asking begging them to give me a job. As a part of my futile efforts to entertain myself so I don’t take a leap from the balcony of my home, I have been binge watching shows. You should know that I gave up on watching GoT after the Red Wedding and I took one year (just as every other fan out there) to come to grips with that unfortunate incident. However, that meant that Season 6 was out and I was still licking my wounds, metaphorical of course, from that psychologically scarring episode. I decided to pull up my socks and while everyone waited for the second episode to be out so that they could finally know whether Jon Snow had a future, I set out to find what would happen to find out what happened in between. With a day to spare I was not only updated, but also debating with my ex-roomie about the future of the characters of the show.
I was once again at a loss— I needed entertainment. I finally settled on ‘Awkward’.A fitting choice, I must say. The series is about a girl with some serious self esteem issues. While I have quite a few bones to pick with her— such as her choice to cheat on a perfectly wonderful boyfriend because of some questionable sexual tension— her relentless blogging, left me guilty. I wish I had that kind of commitment. She wrote every single day and with good reason. It helped her clear her mind and put those thoughts she was far too afraid to voice, out there in the world. Honestly, that was the reason why ‘Be Quirky’ came to life. However, the need for some honest opinions from someone more close to home made me reveal the existence of this page to my sister. While I love my sister, there is a certain amount of discretion I have to desperately maintain—a fact that made me do something I never wanted to do: delete a post. While I most of the things mentioned in the post was to never reach the ears of any of my family members, deleting it made me feel rotten. I had destroyed the sanctity of my blog with a simple click. The irritation with myself, coupled with the fear to speak my mind without worrying what would reach my family kept me away from blogging. But those are days of the past—I have shed my fears and and I hear to finally pour my soul out and bore y’all to death.
I am going to be posting daily from now on. That is a promise I am making to myself (who am I kidding. We all know I don’t have that kind of commitment). Maybe, that should be a resolution I take. So, by the time the Calender reads 13 May 2017, there is going to be at least 300 posts on this page. Well, hopefully I have managed to catch your attention with my second coming, which makes me think that it is time I wrap it up in here. Don’t worry. Next up is the cliffnotes to what I had been up to during my hiatus.