I have short hair again.

That is all.

Annual End of Year Reflection Tag, 2013

1. What did you do in 2013 that you'd never done before?

My year can basically be split into Pre and Post Boston

- Moved to Boston and lived in the states for seven months

- Worked at Harvard and MIT

- Sacrificed many mice to bronchoalveolar lavages and had one come alive on me so that I freaked out screaming about how I was a monster and how I'd crucified it, while Dean first exganguated it, and then spent the rest of my work term telling everyone, and teasing me about it.

- Basically lived at the lab- pulled weekends, weeknights, turned up at 7 am, left at 11 pm, the usual
- Got deeply, deeply invested in my scientific research and did a lot of work independently
- Presented an hour long talk on my research to everyone at the lab
- Took over the project when Dean's unfairly cute and inconveniently timed baby was born before schedule
- Tanuka, whom I knew only from over the internets at the time came to visit me in Boston and stayed with me for a very activity filled 5ish days- and then visited again in May because obviously once is not enough.
- Visited Salem (a train-ride away, with Tanuka)
- Lived in a feminist collective with 8 other women, one supercool person in the process of transitioning FTM, three cats, and
- Lived with three cats, one of which became practically my own- love you, David Orrenbach Stouffer!
- Lived with verymenny lesbians and a couple trans folk which I'd never experienced before
- Broke into the roof of MIT, and erm... the power room(?)  along with L and A at night
- Got my first tattoo (a sister-tattoo-ish with Tanuka)
- Got my nose pierced
- Got my hair cut in bangs (which I'd wanted since I was in the 9th grade)
- Partook of lobster sandwiches from Alive and Kicking, and seafood burgers from River Gods- and doll, these were definitely events
- Made friends, like actual friends with work colleagues- who happened to be some of the coolest, kindest people I'd ever met. Petted sting rays on their heads with them.
- Went to the city of Cambridge's open air dance party at City Hall
- Went for dim-sum, ate shark fin soup and chicken legs.
- Guerilla Dyke night where I drank my first Long Island Iced tea and got hit on by a femme
- Made friends with, and hung out with alcoholic, doped out, slightly mentally unstable girl who worked at juvie evaluating the worst offenders, whose apartment I went to see when house hunting
- Visited Delhi and friends on my own- first trip in India not with family or school
- Got gold stars for erm... a new friend I made.
- Lived with/ spent pretty much uninterrupted time with the FP for a short bit
- Received first comprehensive sex ed lessons ever from a favourite feminist
- Went to an author salon, won a prize from trivia, made friends with a Norwegian jewelery maker called Siw
- Moonshine happened, then disaster happened, and much staggering home to shock the mater
- Was completely and utterly pampered and taken care of for a bit. So much for subverting the patriarchy.
- Went on my first ever pub-crawl.
- Volunteered at the Boston Calling Music Festival in May and saw The Shins, The National, Andrew Bird, Of Monsters and Men, Caspian, MS/MR, FUN and a host of others for free. It was brilliant. Weed macaroons in the freezing rain, dancing to the the Shins backstage,  high above the huge crowd below.
- I got a Macbook pro and oh how wonderful it is not to have a computer that is noisy and clunky
- I moved into a new house and became best friends with a roommate, which has never happened before
- I fought with a landlord to successfully decrease my unfair rent
- I got asked out by all the gora guys all the time and it's just bloody unfair, because HELLO, the fuck were you when I was all single and crying over that stupid bloody Valentine's Day movie to Piu.
- Went to the opera- t'was the John Harbison performance of The Great Gatsby
- Walked the streets of Boston-Cambridge by day and night and explored it all.
- Ate potato latkes as part of Jewish breakfast at the iconic Zaftig's
- Had interesting trips where laughing-crying-hyperventilating all at once happened, with new people
- Had unexpected people stay over quite a few times
- Went ice skating.
- Got rescued by a hobo at 3 am on a particularly interesting night after Tanuka and I went clubbing with the best of them. We came across a series of pictures on her cam a couple days after, that we did not remember posing for, and an Asian guy we didn't remember looking very happy, and posing next to us in one of them.
- Went running for miles along the Charles River
- Spent an afternoon at Grolier's poetry bookshop from the 1920s, discovering and falling in love with Aimee Nezhukumatathil's Miracle Fruit, while Chris roamed restlessly with a skateboard under his arm.
- Went to underground poetry slams at the Cantab with Chris and fell in love with the spoken word.
- Did some seriously great thrifting and bought my first ever sexy black bandage dress.
- Early morning breakfast before work at the iconic Paramount Diner where I ate French Toast, the American way, with great sweet loaves of bread, dripping chocolate, melted butter and sliced bananas. Also the freshly squeezed orange juice there deserves a mention.
- Met Neil Gaiman!!! (and Lisa Genova and Vanessa Diffenbaugh).
- Lived through the Boston bombing and was stuck at home all through the curfew for a good whole day
- Trekked from Boston at Mass General Hospital all the way to MIT at Cambridge, the morning after the blizzard hit our building and started a fire, and took away our power. Wrapped saran wrap around my feet because my boots had holes in them and I was afraid of frostbite. Took me and Cheryl about an hour (with giant mounds of snow on all sides as we crossed the bridge, with the whole of Boston quiet and sleeping, no traffic on the road) to get to MIT where we found a giant snowball fight happening at Killian Court.
- Subsisted on almost entirely soup for several months.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I don't think I did keep very many of them. My only real resolution immediately next year is to have more fun, and not procrastinate at school. The rest are things I'd like to have in number 6.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Nope.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Yeah, I lost my grandma. And a close relative killed himself. Overall not the best year. 

5. What countries did you visit?
The States, UAE and India.

6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?
N close, some of my best friends at hand. A good life in India, with meaningful, productive work. Great work with my senior honours thesis. A 4.0 . A review paper. Mental peace, and happiness. Taking better care of myself. More writing. Recording a couple songs, and taking up singing again. Learning how to play the banjo. 


7. What date from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory and why?
As the firsts section amply demonstrates, a lot happened in 2013. Boston and research, the music festival, meeting Neil Gaiman, the feminist house, Tanuka's visits, the perfect 5 days in Dilli, 7th August night with the tunibulbs when I was perfectly happy, the perfect end of exams celebration aka the night I became a Whovian, Piu's birthday surprise will always remain etched in my memory. And the night Didibhai was taken to emergency.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Living through the year, I think. Doing good work at Harvard, being open to meeting people and having new experiences. Persisting until I was taken on as a 499. Making it last with F.P for nearly a year and a half now.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Not spending enough time with my grandma.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Not really, no. Unless nervous breakdowns count.

11. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Mine for keeping it together-ish under pressure. My group of girls who got me through several rough patches and spread sunshine in my life. My mum's for pulling through after everything. Neelu's for being the best friend I couldn't even have imagined.

12. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Mine. F.P's.

13. Where did most of your money go?
Food. Coffee.

14. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Occasionally when it seems like it actually might happen, moving to Delhi this coming year. The Dilli trip. Tanuka visiting Boston. 

15. What song will always remind you of 2013?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxxajLWwzqY
Had this song on loop in my head for a bit, back when Boston was a grand party.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VVp-tKqFNY

This reminds me of the music festival, and writing happily at Starbucks for hours on end with my free lattes. Also reminds me of all the bus journeys home when I was really stressed with work-pressure, and things were slightly shitty with F.P and you know, how 'love is such a swamp'.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDEEzS7OV2k

Very beginning of January when I didn't think I'd ever smile again. Yes, very dramatic I know. Especially considering the unlikeliness of things.

16. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?
Strangely enough, happier. This time last year I was crying in the shower, and feeling all 'life iz a dark abyss'. Beginning of a bad two weeks.

17. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Socializing and having fun in the latter half of the year. Writing. Time management. Studying for my bloody Neuro course and working on my thesis. Keeping in touch with friends. Talking to the brother.

18. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Being depressed, stressed out, and generally manic. Taking on way too much work. Trying to do a Psych minor. Worrying about stuff.

19. How will you be spending Christmas?

I spent it with the family doing family stuff. Can't remember what though. 

20. Did you fall in love in 2013?
Yes. A couple of times, with the same person. *cringes*

And then of course, the love of my life, Matt Smith as the Eleventh Doctor.

21. How many one night stands?
None.

22. What was your favourite TV programme?
Sherlock! Doctor Who!

23. What was the best book you read?
I read a lot this year and that makes me very happy.

Miracle Fruit- Aimee N. 

The Feminine Mystique- Betty Friedan. 

A bunch of Heyers.

The Hobbit- Tolkien

Breakfast at Tiffany's and other stories- Truman Capote (thanks to S and N)

The Screwtape Letters- C.S Lewis

24. What was your greatest musical discovery?

The National.

25. What did you want and get?
A brilliant Boston experience that far, far exceeded my wildest expectations. A fantastic work term. Doing a thesis with the professor of my choice, with animal work involved. A relationship that lasted much longer than I would have dare to hope, and only got better and better. A perfect 5 days in Delhi.

26. What did you want and not get?
Mental peace, stability, and for Didibhai to make it.

27. What was your favourite film of this year?
Didn't really have one. Didn't mind The Hobbit.

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 22. Ma made my favourite lunch of palak paneer, pulao, roast cauliflower, paatla mutton'er jhol, and paayesh. Then I went shopping with Ma and picked out an insanely hot dress that makes me look like I have an hourglass figure. Then Tony picked me up, and we hung out at Belgian Beer Cafe with Ila and Anisha. They treated me, it was awesome. Then I came home and hung out with Tony and Ila, Skyped with Shalmi, Trisha and Tanuka, semi-fought with F.P, and then uncle-aunt-cousin came over. There was cake and champagne. And Thai food. And then I stayed up talking to Dave and writing F.P long email with Ma sleeping beside me, and then I went to sleep. Before that, there was Piu's wonderful, wonderful surprise. 

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Not getting depressed and being insanely overworked. Having F.P in the same place. And being able to see my friends rather than pine for them and write and receive beautiful emails every once in a while. 

30. What kept you sane?
My girls at the beginning and any other time I might have been insecure. Anjali in the fall. And F.P and Tanuka most consistently.

31. Who was the worst new person you met?

No one comes to mind, really.

32. Who was the best new person you met?

Grace and Dean were really awesome, inspiring people, with very different backgrounds. , Priya, Meg, Allison, Jess from work.

Sus, Lily, Eli from the collective. Chris, my brief pseudoindieromance. 

Tanuka, whom I met in the flesh.

Anjali, who kept me sane through fall. Dave who helped me not go insane during finals. 

I was insanely nervous about meeting S, M and R, all of whom turned out to be cool and very chill. and hopefully I will get to know them as my friends rather than F.P's at some point.

33. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learnt in 2013.

2013 reinforced 2012's message which was to go after the things I want, because that way I actually stand a chance of getting them.

It reinforced that I should have faith in the 'little did I know', that life is unexpected, and can be wonderful.

It taught me that people can and do change if they really want to. 

All work and no play makes R a very, very unhappy girl- and is totally inadvisable.

34. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

I'm just really glad it's over at this point, although it had it's deliciously high points. 2013 was a year of massive ups and downs. 

I guess I looked to F.P, and faraway Delhi post-graduation as my one good thing through a lot of it (although I am the first to admit that I'm privileged, and had a lot of good things), and kept telling myself to hold on until I got there.

"Oh you got to
Hold on, Hold on
You got to hold on
Take my hand, I'm standing right here
You gotta hold on"

- Tom Waits, Hold On.

Time to do the end of year reflection tag again, but I'm just not feeling it this year for whatever reason. Last year was pretty shaky too, come to think of it. Perhaps end of years are usually blue for me. The whole Boston and India trip was pretty epic though.
Birthday's soon, but I have to keep reminding myself of it 'cuz I keep forgetting.
In other news, I am completely obsessed with Doctor Who, and I watched Sharknado at 2 am with a new-friend while packing, and chugging juice straight out of the carton. The makers of the destruction of whatever was left of Tara Reid's career, really don't know how to movie.
Someday, oneday, I will stop being afraid of being abandoned. I will. I will stop being afraid that my trust is going to be broken into tiny little pieces, and I'm going to be left feeling like the biggest fool in the world. One day, I swearitt. Until then, I shall keep at the whole being absolutely reasonable, calm, and chill on the outside,  and telling myself to ignore the sinking sensation in my stomach accompanied by blinding terror every so often.

Edit: You know what this means. I'm going to chop off my hair again.

For a friend, far away

It started as a joke but rapidly took on a life of its own. I have always wanted to live with a friend, I've been lucky to have some wonderful women fall into my life, and I would very much like for this to happen some day.

Here's what I see: I see us in a room with grey cool floors, and a third floor balcony sitting by the window, watching the Delhi sun slip beneath the horizon. I see you with your glasses slipping down your nose and a contented black cat at your feet (or a tabby- who knows which stray creature you'll bring along home), singing absently along with Nina Simone. Or the Beatles, who've never let us down. I see me with a book by the window, a coffee stain on the page, that I wipe away guiltily with the corner of my skirt. I see fairy lights strung around the window and a banjo by the mantel and I see a whole lot of contentment and peace.

So, come. Come live with me, and we shall live out our youthful fantasies. Perhaps we will let our boys come visit. And a rag-tag bunch of friends. 

It is winter and I miss my friends, the sisters of my heart so very much. I wish I could encircle them all with my arms, gather them up, tuck them up tight into the corners of my heart. But the earth is so very vast and we are all so far away. Soon we shall be farther still- scattered twinkling lights, like fire-balloons that drift across a pink sky full of kites. 

Colour

Let us talk in rapid bursts of colour, you and I.

Like ripe mangoes bursting out of their skin in our hands,
the juice running streams down our
elbows.
Like the brief fury of red in the air,
when someone throws gulaal at you in the frenzy of holi.
Like the first time we kissed in a dark stairwell,
and it was crap, and I said so-
The words tumbling out of my mouth
and into your big eyes, which took no offence
but looked lazy back at me, smiling ‘Then teach me’.
So I did, and it wasn't much better-
but there were stars exploding underneath my eyelids
As i felt your warm mouth,
hesitantly touch
mine.

We have:

gnarled, veiny hands and forearms,

(and feet too, from too much walking),

an interest in the blues,

a propensity for hedonism,

a love for the written word,

an appreciation of beauty in stretches of untamed road,

contrasting views of the world,

and an unceasing fascination with each other.

- dug up an old tidbit I’d scribbled sometime earlier this year. Inspired by something Shalmi said.

Bijoya'r pronaam, Didibhai. I think about you more often than you would expect, and all I feel still is a sense of utter bewilderment.
I hope you are well and happy wherever you are.

Love,
Kachu

Number One Goal as of now:

To productively utilize my free time

On Secrets

I was talking to my boyfriend a couple of weeks back and we were speaking of secrets. I told him, a little surprised at the realization, that I barely had any secrets any longer. ‘So does that mean you’re less interesting now?’, he teased.

I don’t think it’s that though. I think I am just less ashamed now. Back in high school, even near the beginning of college, my secrets were all about things I was ashamed about.

Mental illness, a dysfunctional family, crippling anxiety and self doubt, sexual assault, OCD episodes, hooking up, my writing which was less about love-stories and more about things like a fifth grader watching her schizophrenic sister being taken away for the last time, the fact that I trained in classical music. My jealous nature, my bad temper, my desire which remained hidden behind the veil of being a ‘good girl’. The intensity of my emotions, my depression which was all but undetectable behind the ‘bubbly-smiling-pretty-girl’ facade. And so on.

I like growing up, I do. I no longer have to hide. I’m not judging myself any longer, and if people turn away from me because it is too much, then well it’s a loss, but I’ll survive. So far, they haven’t for the most part.

When I have secrets these days, it is usually about things I am waiting to come to fruition and don’t want to tell people about just yet.

Here’s to more of the same 

dropped into my life

with whiskey-blood and a mouth full of smoke.

my feet forgot the pull of gravity

for months afterward.

I should have paid more attention to what the storm was singing.

the happiest I have ever been

is struggling not to fall asleep on strange living room floors,

on make-shift beds,

beside lights strung in bottles-

losing track
of which of these limbs belong to me.

-For N who complains that I only write depressing things about him.
(And spectacularly misses the point. And is too much of an editor to love free-verse or cummings.
And is willing to admit his mistakes, and is the best friend I could have asked for.)

8-9-2013

To the best person I have ever known,

I could not see you. The consequences of choosing to leave for further shores are many, and so deep, that I could not possibly have foreseen them when I left at a naive, chirpy seventeen. So I did not see you. And the last memory I have of you is not hooked up to the dozen tubes and one half of your already barely-there frame. The last memory I have of you is of you holding my hands in yours and asking me “Kobe ashbi?”. I glibly assured you I’d be back in seven months. I’d be graduating. “Ei baar toh khoob kam shomoy, Didibhai”. In my mind seven months was nothing. Barely seven days later, you were in the hospital with poison in your blood. I wish, I wish- I wish I’d lingered then. ‘I wish’s are so useless aren’t they? So let us not speak of this now.

I wish I believed in heaven. The conventional happy-place. I really, really do, because I want to believe that you’re in the best place you could be, getting all the things you deserve, in peace, in comfort and in happiness. Now more than ever, I wish I believed in heaven- because then I could see you again. Right now, the news hasn’t registered really- and it keeps hitting me in fits and starts that next year when I return, your old familiar face, and gentle hands and constant anxiety won’t be on the bed underneath a lazy fan to greet me. It is unreal. And painful.

But let’s not speak of that. Going by what I believe, you’re bigger than your body now and you are energy, the universe(!) again- and what could be more wonderful than that? We are the only ones deprived in this situation, and you are not suffering- which is fine with me.

I don’t know if I can honestly believe in heaven. But I would really like to believe that there is a special place where souls like you go, where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

You cannot give anymore, and perhaps that is for the best. I hope that you are being taken care of for a change. I hope that you feel strong, and free, and are finally, finally rid of chinta.

I love you and I will miss you. I will miss you next summer, and I will miss you this winter. I will miss you when I’m living in India, and I will miss you when I get my PhD. I will miss you when I stay out late and when I come home before seven. I will miss you when I get married and when I have children and when I eat, and when I sleep and when I wake. I will miss you.

I am happy that you are at peace now. Ma told me that after it all- of course you spared them from having to take a painful decision- you looked peaceful. Like Didibhai.

I am grateful that I am your granddaughter, grateful that I know that in a crazy, bad world, there is reason to hope. I know that goodness lives, and I will have faith, because I have been privileged to see it in front of me for nearly twenty two years- as has everyone who has ever known you.

Thank you for everything. 

Love,

Kachu.

When I think about my childhood, there is a lot of summer-afternoons-spent-reading-on-the-big-flat-green-stool-that-used- to-stand-by-the-tiny-balcony-by-the-kitchen-upstairs-in-my-mama-bari that stands out. There is a lot of running around on the roof- back when there was one big roof where the pigeons would come to roost and I would feed them leftover bhaath- white, soft, fluffy rice- and I would dance and show Pishimoni bharatnatyam, and then we'd run up to the second roof to smell the rose garden and the adults would talk and I wouldn't know, wouldn't care what they spoke of- only know it was grown-up-language- like the roses, which the adults appreciated more. I was only a kid. I was happy to be a kid, more interested in clambering up the guava tree, messing around with the brown muck of the plants that grew chillies and tomatoes and if you crushed a leaf from the lime tree in between your palms and rubbed the bits together, you'd have a wonderful citrusy smell about you for a while. Inevitably in these memories is my Didibhai, making chaa for people, with her hard-gentle hands, her standing at the downstairs verandah waving us goodbye, for all eternity Didibhai at the downstairs verandah waving us goodbye. When I grew older I would put my head on her lap, despite the giant lump of hernia she carried with her. I would find a tiny spot of knee and shove a bit of my head on it, lazing on the sofa, reading, listening to the buzz of the adults. So I was sixteen- still a kid to be sure.

It doesn't seem real. Writing is no relief but I must seek refuge in it because what else is there. So come run on sentences, because it seems like this is reality whether I write it or not. There is no question of makings things real. I am helpless and I just want there to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I want it to be summer again, and I want to be putting my head on faded soft cotton, that would be offered to me to blow my nose if I so wished. I want to be holding wrinkled hands. I don't understand this day, this time. This needs to un-happen. Else, it needs to finish happening and go on to next summer when I can go laze on a bed between two old people whom I lived with as a lost, skinny nine year old. I remember being told that I spin like a kite in my sleep and choking with laughter at Hajabarala. I remember the disgustingly huge cockroaches and kind eyes laughing at me- Kichhu hobey na. I remember tetul'er chutney and korom-chaa'r tok and aam'er tok. This is not the way things are. I want to go back to a sleepy nine where I watch Chattaan despite school tomorrow. I want to be fed yellow rice balls in tiny glass bowls by a veiny hand that cares.

I want to be able to breathe, secure in the knowledge that things are okay. Please.

Tumi bolechile tumi ashbei, tumi ashbei, tumi ashbei
joto deri hok.
Ekhaane akashe aagun legeche dur pahare'r maajhe

In times when I am most upset and grief stricken, I find that I do not know what to ask for. I don't know what to pray for. I resort to pleasepleaseplease.

Universe, be kind. Please.

So there could be worse things than saddrinking and laughing over Bollywood tumblrs while roommates make me pasta and hot sauce. Walked an hour in the heat and came home sweaty, with nose scrunched up, wanting to cry like an ugly monkey. Look into the mirror,see that contrary to all expectations, I look an attractive woman after all. Two ciders down, pleasantly buzzed, nodding head to punk rock. Somewhere a heart is ticking, and I am not in it. Ah well.
So here's the thing: you can only push someone away for so long until you succeed.
Here's another thing: dates are important to me. Birthdays, anniversaries, the works. They're basically saying: Hey, I'm so glad you were born/ we met / this happened/ we fucked /whatever. You may be a weird motherfucker, but my life is richer because you're my weird motherfucker.
Ah well.
Everything is an excuse for art. All is balls.

The crackle at the other end of the line
told me that he was still there,
despite the dead silence.
The click at the back of his teeth,
and the sudden sharp uncontrolled intake of breath,
Impatient at the rising pitch of my voice,
wavering perilously close to tears.
Tremulous and shaky,
for the third phone call this month.
I am stricken by the irritation in his voice,
and struggle to make amends.
I apologize for being irritable,
for being a bore, for being predictable
and for the lack of sparkle in our conversation.
I dredge out the same dull things each time.
The worry in my thoughts
translate to a crease in between my eyebrows,
turning into a ceaseless litany of woe on the phone.
I can imagine the mouse
hovering over a link in red
and the impatience perched at the corner of his absent smile.
I hang up feeling stupid.
That evening sitting with work,
with cats lolling on the floor,
and stray roommates behind closed doors,
I remember my grandmother,
and us children rolling our eyes, every time her voice would start to rise
about my dead grandfather,
about money, and the servants.
The crack was coming, we knew it
because it came so often.
Impatience, and irritation.
'I love her, but why can't she just keep her misery to herself?'
I did not think those thoughts,
I did not vocalize them,
not even to myself.
Am I a bad person,
I wonder.
Don't think so much,
a friend told me over the phone.
Isn't it exhausting,
she asked, bewildered, frustrated.
Yes, I said.
But not giving shape to the thought in your head,
doesn't un-make it.
But I am a fool,
who thinks too much, and sleeps too little, and gets confused,
and cries on the phone.
Offering apologies, swallowing the knot in my stomach.
So I keep my feelings to myself,
and try to take up littler space.
I will not intrude in your world.
I will back away one half footfall at a time,
and you will not hear me leave.
You will not care.
And I will make a mental note to myself,
to be kinder to my grandmother
when she tries not to cry.

Grumble. Skip reading.

UFF this is like fake pre exam time. can i please go somewhere else, be someone else. i'm sick of umreeka. want to go live somewhere in india where i know lots of people but will see no one because i'll be sitting, no lying down on a green bedcover in an ac room with green curtains, reading, reading, reading.

i just described the master bedroom in park'er baari. dhyat.

i am just sick of being told what to do, and sick of thinking so much about it all the time. wouldn't it be nice if i could just know what i'm doing next year and be happy with it, no unexpected surprises, thank you very much.

i'm sick of being politically correct and understanding, sick of being a hard worker, sick of a neverending to-do list, sick of people and their egos. i'm sick of having a house without a fan, and a blocked nose. i want to be in kerala with my family, ten years old, taking pictures on a dinky toy camera. i also want to be a goat, but a pet goat, not one that is being slaughtered to make delicious mutton curry- "kheye nao, shiggir, rontoo"

DHYATT.

i don't want to have feelings ever again. NO MORE EMOTIONS, THANK YOU. ALSO NO MORE CATSICK ON THE STAIRS WHEN I WAKE UP. also no more people saying things like 'lovely femmeness'. also i cannot listen to music anymore. 

the baba (not the father, the sattam) emailed me and told me not to do this thing with my eyebrows where i look like a nervous, sad puppy, when i give my talk. i was trying to figure out what the devil he meant, while doing it, such is life etcetera. yesterday i wore a dress from the seventh grade that i used to wear a tank top under, only i didn't yesterday because i'm bigger? but my boobs were on display, and i kept alternating between 'WORLD HERE ARE MY BOOBS' and 'ughh i wish i had a bib because they are DISTRACTING'.

i woke up from uneasy sleep where i'd buzzed off all my hair and was passing as a boy with some strange name like Rat. also crazy amounts of police sirens outside my window for a longtime, and in my sleep i thought they were coming after me 'cuz i hadn't finished my presentation. 

dhurr. i am sick of glitter, sick of being politically correct, and having to think about whether i'm being 'oppressive' every time i open my mouth.

all i want is to be on a footpath somewhere, drinking thums up and waiting for an auto.

okay? okay.

i have probably written too many things i shouldn't have, but fuck that. in other news, i showed ma something fictional and now she's paranoid that i'm sleeping with my boss (I'M NOT. I'M NOT, UFF RUBBISH).

fgkhfdgknfhpjj

Bout of nostalgia

Annesha's latest mix made me listen to the Gangs of Wasseypur soundtrack again. Right now I have 'Womaniya' blasting through my ears, and I want so, so badly to be back in Cal, on that day when I first watched the movie. That morning we reached Forum nearly three hours too early, crammed into the metro with a hundred other jostling, sweaty bodies. I was afraid that there was going to be a lot of awkwardness with someone who was there because of drunken antics that had happened a little while ago. There was no real awkwardness, and our motley assortment of people wandered Elgin Road searching for Crossword, taking the longest route possible. I remember sitting on the top floor with said person and looking out at this gigantic hoarding of Shahrukh Khan advertising some sort of vest(?) that bordered on the obscene. We were listening to these new-ish old songs and sharing a bowl of something or the other that was not enough for a single person, but we had no money. We kept getting the song names right, and then we wanted to look at the CD that was playing but the manager very firmly told us that it was against the rules. He took it out and let us stare at the CD cover though- lurid pink hearts and all. Then we walked back to the movie, and the Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi theme song began, and then the rest of the utterly brilliant movie followed. I was blown away by a Hindi movie after a long time, and when we staggered out into the sunlight, we were wobbly on our legs, and I was starving, but still broke so Chandrima fed me some sort of egg-fry thing from the roadside vendor on the footpath opposite Forum. It was delicious and then Squg turned up, glasses and all- and we debated for a long time where to go adventuring. Finally we let our stomachs guide us, and stopped at Sharma's because K wanted kochuri and puri of which I stole some. Then A did his impression of Arunava which was incredibly spot on, and I laughed, and then I felt guilty for laughing, but it was all in good fun, so I laughed some more. We were back to wondering what to do next, and then someone started chanting 'momos, momos', so we started walking to the Metro Station to get to Denzong's. I remember walking down the Gujarati part of the city for the first time and I was doing my usual thing, stopping to take pictures of cars, and saying 'Byeee' to random passersby on the street. Squg and I didn't know each other as well back then, and she was torn between amusement and firmly taking me by the hand and dragging me along before I could cause any trouble. Anyway, so we wound up at Denzong's and I remember texting N maybe(?)- we were always texting back then- and we settled down on the stairs/road next to the shop, and there was a cat mewling at us, and a turd somewhere close by, and ants too, but the momos were delicous, and salty, and the soup burned my tongue, and I wasn't paying, so I sat down and gobbled a plate and a half. Then I went home, and I was very, very happy.

I loved Wasseypur 2 even more, if possible. N came along for that one, only the viewing experience was super uncomfortable for me. We watched it at some seedy, shady cinema hall- Roxy or something like that, with a coolio bar-lounge monstrosity on the top floor that said 'On the Roxxx'. My seat was right in front of the AC vent, and I shivered through the entirety of the next three hours. I stuck my ice cold hands into N's shirt out of desperation, which didn't help much, and made him squirm. We'd just started dating though, so he didn't say anything, just twitched his lips and looked amused. My favourite scene was at the end when Faisal just would not stop shooting at Ramadhir Singh's body. Sweet, sweet release it was, and it fed my bloodlust, and man, Sneha K was a genius with the score. 

I don't really remember what we did before and after very well- I vaguely remember walking with N along New Market and trying (and failing) to pick out a decent tee for him at Sanjay's. Chandrima and Squg were straggling behind us. When we got out of the theatre, blinking in the sunlight, we were starving as usual and we wanted to go to this place that Tridipta kept telling us about. So we walked all the way, but it was a Sunday, and it was closed, so we wound up eating roadside chowmein again. Then we wanted lassi, so I stole about half of N's mango lassi. Then someone wanted shoes or something, so we walked along the tram line where Tridipta told N and I that if he ever had a girlfriend, he would like to sit with her on a tram and not get off for the entirety of the way, and just talk, talk, talk. I thought that this was great, and poetic, and all that, only I remembered some Splitsvilla episode or something equally heinous where one of the vapid girls on the show had to impress Rannvijay on a tram journey like they were hitting on him- so that ruined it a bit- but I didn't say anything, just smiled and nodded. 

I think about last summer sometimes, and it's strange that it happened to me. It was so great, so much fun, so- life-altering- which is a grandiose statement to make, but it really was. It brought a bunch of people into my life who are now my people, and there were so many new things I tried, and just good emotions I felt. I guess if someday I have to remember being young, and being happy, that summer will stand out even though a lot of great stuff has happened since- stuff that has been a lot shinier, and a lot more exciting. We airbrush our memories though- I cried a bunch over summer, and did many stupid things- but I do know that last summer, I'd never been happier in my life.

I go home in a month. Everything has changed. People are now old and familiar, like ha'pant-genji, and I love them infinitely more. But there are people still to meet, and new experiences to have with the old ones. Chaa awaits, and aimless rambles, and stuffing face, and getting wet, and lazy afternoons with music and kulfi, and falling asleep happy together, if I can.

Here is a hard truth about distance: No matter how much you love each other, and how fascinating you find each other, and how many interests you have in common, there are some days on which there simply isn't anything to say. Nothing earth-shattering has happened, nothing sounds particularly amusing over the phone, and one of you probably keeps saying "What"? after every alternate sentence. Now this happens even when you're in the same place, but can usually be bridged by doing something together- drinking chaa, killing time with small talk, lying around listening to music, getting stoned and watching something, cooking, fucking, whatever- and that, *that* is the crucial thing which long distance can never, ever compensate for: inhabiting the same space takes up so much of a life. 

The barista at the counter was someone I knew. Hooray, I thought. Free coffee. 

She blinked at me, when I went up and said “How’s it going”, with the familiarity of someone you’ve met. Half a beat, and she realized who I was. Now she looked bemused. 

“It’s funny”, she said. “You look like a different person every time I see you.”

“Is it a good different?”, I asked, uncertainly. This was the same girl who’d told me that I was a beautiful person, the first time we’d met. Awkwardly she’d explained that no, she was’t talking about my soul. “With the hair, and the face. It’s good for my eyes”, she’d said.

“Well, the first time I met you, you were wearing this really nice frilly dressed up shirt (it had been an indian tunic). The second time- yesterday- you looked really chill, like really dyke-y ” (I’d been wearing black pants, and a black sleeveless sweater with loose shampooed hair, tired, and kohl-smudged eyes). And today, you have the glasses and the lipstick and the bun.”

“It’s just funny”.

I grinned at her, took my free iced coffee, and headed upstairs to my nook. I’d never been called dyke-y before. I was carrying a copy of ‘The Feminine Mystique’, and living in a feminist commune at the time. Clearly, they were rubbing off on me. Being called dyke-y made me strangely happy. I wasn't entirely sure about the rest, though.

Look, the heart of the matter lies in a little worm. The worm eats away at your core, day by day. Little by little, it crawls into your brain and nestles there, spinning away. It is a monster worm, this one. It spins a glowing black cocoon out of doubt, and misery, and old patterns. Again, and again you try to spray it into oblivion. Futilely, you throw drops of happiness, and security at it. "Shut up, getout, leavemealone!"
It merely grins its hideous grin, and oozes its way into dark corners. It will resurface; it always does. It knows this and you know this.
I will claw your heart out, and suck the marrow from your brains. I will lick my lips with great relish as I tongue back an artery dangling out of my mouth.
"Man, I love it when we tongue".
How many other tongues have you loved?
I will cut off your tongue, garnish it with salt and pepper, and feed it to my little giant worm. I have a gremlin little cat, who likes to listen to electrohouse. He climbs onto the drawer by the record player and cries in time to the drop. Little cat, little cat, little black cat, won't you please eat up my worm?