The last few years

The last few years have been some of the hardest in my life. I have experienced peaks of both joy and sadness. I struggle to remember who I was 6 years ago, how did i look so young and happy. I have smile lines now on my face. But my skin looks fresher. Apparently hair is growing back again as well. I remember reading this quote that said that the person who you choose to be will affect every cell in your body. I cant imagine how true it is. The last few months have felt like someone has punched me in my stomach and as if i am carrying a hole inside me all the time. I have cried so much the whole of last year. I feel pathetic in some ways about how i have allowed myself to be treated. Roaming the streets with this lost look thinking this is the last weekend after which i will be single again. Weekends used to bring this dread and sadness with me. The sunday yoga class in the afternoon used to remind me of the sunday evening before school started, when my homework used to be incomplete and i used to dread being found out. I didnt sleep properly because i used to be scared that i will take too much of the duvet or i would toss and turn loudly or worst of all accidentally touch his legs or his shins which was very painful for him. He liked to be wrapped up in the duvet from all sides, spread vertically because taller and bigger and i would be sticking to my side of the bed trying to take little space and then he would hug me and put his whole body weight on me. It was so uncomfortable, i could not breathe and my back would become stiff. In the little space that i had as it is I could barely move without waking him and then i was expected to enjoy being spooned and held. every night which became very few towards the end as he would prefer to be alone in his country home with the bricks and the tractor and the tiles and the cement and the grit, i was expected to stroke his head from the back in a very specific angle and then massage his broken back at certain angles and keep pressing and stroking his back until he fell asleep. I was to continue without expecting my back to be stroked in return. And then if by mistake i took the extra duvet to cover myself while his back was exposed, all hell would break lose. In the last few months, he would ask me to cuddle him and say how much i loved him. I just could not bring myself to do either. The guilt of not doing this , guilt of not showing physical affection - how it haunted me. I cried thinking that if i had hugged him enough, allowed him to kiss me and allowed myself to say that i loved him more than what he credited me for then maybe the events of that night would not have occurred. I have never been kicked in my life before. But then maybe i gave the impression that it was ok to be physically aggressive. i guess that i will never know now. because its been 6 months since i have seen him or heard from him. in his last message to me he had said that he wanted me to stop harassing him and for me to leave him and his family alone. Not hearing his voice and not being able to speak to him has been one of the hardest things for me to do. One of the first things that he said to me was that he would always have my back, that he was the rock that i could lean on. I used to joke with him that he is my rock of Gibraltar. And now that rock is gone. My yoga teacher said that in order to cope i must be a distant observer to the part of myself who hankers after him and his affection. The part that was so so desperate to just get his attention. I was so desperate in the end to just somehow win his mother's approval and for him to say that it would work out. I think in part I drove both him and i mad. i was relentless but that was never a reason to have been kicked. I remember lying on the floor , crying and thinking that there is no use in shedding a tear as no one is coming to pick up. He had said that I have crocodile tears and he thought i was exaggerating. His version of that night's event was whatever happened was "my perception". My perception. The second time when i was kicked, i dont even remember. i just remember falling on the floor and crying and noticing that my toe was scratched and bleeding from the side. I asked him to fetch me band aid from the bathroom and he wouldn't go. I saw him sniffling and felt that perhaps he was too embarrassed with what he did and i forgot about my toe and was comforting him. he said don't touch me and stay away from him. and i was apologising to him and next morning asking him if he would speak to his mother again and ask if she was ok. I was really so pathetic. And the amount of co-dependence. just the thought of not having him around me used to make me lose my appetite. And then one day suddenly after all the drama, he is just gone. There are days though when i miss him and miss his smile and his self assured demeanor. I miss the man who I had met 6 years back in the cafe who had asked me with full vulnerability in display if I would like to consider him seriously. The man who went to great lengths to woo me and who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. But that was not to be. Now I need to focus on building myself again, piecing myself together and try to look forward. My parents love me and have been very supportive.  After 6 years of listening being constantly told to find yourself someone who makes you happy, find yourself someone who is Indian, find yourself someone who is your own age group, find yourself someone, finally I am by myself again.

Old homes and old streets

Today I dreamed of my old house in Bangalore. I have dreamt of my old bedroom many times. I remember the balcony in my old house, the large bedroom, the mattress on the floor with the lamp beside it that I would switch on in the evening and read in its light as the night grew all around me. In my dream I returned to the street where this house stood, I remember the big tree outside the house whose branches gave the cover and shadow to the balcony. I am picking up the pieces that I had left behind, picking up the bits that I did not pack. There were pictures and open trunks and cupboards that I was sifting through. Later I went for a walk in the neighbourhood through the old trees and the old houses. I was searching and smiling in the dream.

Many years back i was in a similar situation, I didn't know who i was. It took me so long to break out of the relationship, I just couldn't decide and I couldn't take the decision to break away. I just remember how confused I was and I was angry all the time. When I finally took the decision to break away, I took out time to work on myself. I started practising yoga and found an anchor to keep my mind at bay. And found out that I was desired and became physically stronger. 

Yesterday in my dream I visited that house where I had learnt what it meant to be free. It is so strange to have that dream make me realise that feeling again. Today I am terribly alone but terribly liberated at the same time. I don't breathe in fear of doing something wrong or of being suspected of any wrong doing. I had forgotten what it felt like to walk free. And that dream reminded me of how I had felt months after I thought that i will continue to feel miserable but later learnt to be free. Yesterday in my dream i was nostalgic and smiling and clutching at those memories. 

Today I remembered what it was to be free and not to live in constant fear. I want to remember this feeling of walking free again of not looking over my shoulder of not thinking that I am doing something wrong and remember to feel the wind in my hair.

Home

The more things the more they remain the same. I was going through old pictures of myself today and realised how much I used to travel earlier. Realised how much leeway I had during my Bangalore days. Looking at the pictures of my treks to the western ghats made me so nostalgic. But even more nostalgic were the excerpts of the gmail chats with my close friends. The chats reminded me how miserable I was in some of my jobs and how happy I was doing my own thing whenever I could. The best find undoubtedly has to be the audio recording of the pilot that I did for my radio audition. I don't sound half as bad as what my selector made it out to be . I was so hungry for life. So hungry to experience things and just lap it all up. The smile on my face in my old pictures is so genuine. But after reading my chats on gmail which date back to the last 10 years, there is one thing that is common and hasn't changed over the last decade. I have been so homesick. I have longed for the familiar and the known. Longed for the sights and smells and the food from my mom's kitchen. That longing has never gone way. The longing for home is trapped in the memories of my books , my study table, my small collection of posters and other memorabilia.
I realise that I have moved apart from so many people and so many connections over the last few years. I dont know if my choices have been all right. I dont know if I should have taken the more conventional road of marriage and family life. I just took the options that life threw at me. The last one year was very very tough. Dad fell so sick. And I took so much time to adjust to my own personal life.
The dynamics at home are very different now. There is a lot of overt politeness and righteousness that has to be displayed.
Reading my old texts on gmail chat reminded me how closely I was attached to my school friends and how much further I have now drifted apart from them now. The need to move to new cities and having to reinvent and make new friends and adjust to a new city life has taken its toll over the years. I feel as if some corners  have been chipped away.
The last 1.5 months have been spent in a lockdown. I know that I am going crazy.  I miss home like never before. I have daily phone calls with my parents but it just never seems enough. I get tired of doing the same routine over and over everyday. These days I long to see more people on the road who look like me.
The city feels very alien. Especially when I have to maintain a distance of 2m from the other joggers and walkers.
I guess what I miss most in this city is having friends. Especially girl friends who I can talk to and share everything with. There is no community here and sometimes it feels as if the burden of living is too heavy on my shoulders.
I looked so young and chiseled in my photo from 2016 when I had just come to london. I feel as if so much has changed since then. Except for one thing  that I  still cry when I leave home...

Recap

Few things happened.

The brother got married. I am not the wise elder. I have a designated duty which is to be seen and to be present but not to advise and offer opinions. I am the one who could not get it right on time. But I must be bared with. I got so tired from the effort of not showing it, from the effort of keeping it up. It was so exhausting.

I underwent a minor diagnostic procedure . Alone with a oxygen pipe for comfort. I was naked and cold and scared. I had to come back home and pretend that I was ok.

I was dating an Italian. He ghosted on me. It is tiring. I am tired of selling myself, tired of being cool. It has such a high price. People disappearing hurts. And men think of me as an exotic experiment. I am a brown skinned person from the Far East. How cool it must be to friend me or date me. Gives so much of credo to the person doing it. Except that it sucks for me. I am so done with telling the same stories over and over. I don't know what is worse, having a voice or just silent assent.

My grandmother died. I was millions of miles away. The house won't be the same again. I dream of my grandparents. In the early morning waking hours. An association with home is lost. I am homesick. I long for stability. I long for a home of my own. I want my parents embrace. For someone to say that I am doing ok. I have been so tired lately.

The summer is back again. The days are long again. It is green everywhere and this pressure to be happy and sun tanned and of holiday plans to be made. I am tired of fitting random people into plans to make them work.

I see people around me getting settled more and more. I am caught up in this existential trap where I don't know if what I do is worthy enough to justify where I am right now.

these torturous summer days

i hate summers. i hate watching couples walking hand in hand. i hate this sultry summer heat which makes me sleepless at night and makes me long for someone to sleep next to. i hate watching couples lie next to each while soaking sun in the park. i hate watching them kiss. i hate watching them enjoy the proximity to each other bodies. i jog next to them pretending as if i cant see them. as if in front of me lies nothing but an empty road. empty road lined with trees that hide everything. but these trees provide shadows and comforts to the couples lying under them. i long for the winter days when these parks would be empty again.

i lived vicariously for a month. now it hurts. it hurts so bad.

On the plane to delhi

This is a trip back home after 7 months of moving out of my home country to London. It feels strange to pack for journey back home. Strange to embrace the old "normal" life. in the plane I saw the movie Lion again. It made me cry again. I could identify with the young boy in the movie running around to find a place of comfort and security. I feel lost just like him. Running into nothingness. Trying to embrace strangers. I am an outsider in the city that I now live in. My language doesn't help in building any bridges. The men that I meet have nothing of interest to hold me back.

I am flying back to the hot land. While in the flight, I am making a list of things that I want to see in Delhi . I am now on my third glass of vodka. A bit tired and have a headache. I met a French guy before leaving for home. I like him. But I don't think he is interested in anything other than the mere physical act. I want to tell the French guy about the French movie that I am watching on the plane. I liked the part where the female protagonist asks her husband, who she thinks that she is in a loveless marriage with, " why didn't you tell me the truth" and the husband replies saying "because I wanted you to live and see it through". That's what my life seems to be about. To just to be able to see it through. I like it when the French guy hold my hand. He is white and I am brown. Indian brown he says. His hands are always warm and mine are always cold. He has inspected every inch of my body. Intimacy can be funny. We measure the pressure points by massaging each other's shoulders. He is familiar with every curve of my body. But lines are drawn the moment that I exit his apartment.

Musings of an evening

Yet another evening. The cloak of music helps to feign ignorance about the happenings around me. They say that destiny happens when you least expect it. At this moment I could long for nothing more than a warm hug and an appreciative smile. 

I have been thinking about the loss of language a lot off late. The only language that I know and feel competent about is now an impendiment to making conversation. It doesn't matter how many ways that I know to express myself if all that does is to draw a laugh from the people around me. It feels odd when the jokes are not funny enough when said out aloud. The effort taken to enunciate every vowel out loud robs the joke out of any remnants of humour. At times it feels like being back in the high school.

I am sitting in a coffee shop reminded of the conversation that I had with P. She mentioned her friend who would go to coffee shops and cry from loneliness. At least I am writing and not crying.

I remember saying to a friend that I alway keep a 30% margin of going wrong with what I wear. Though sometimes it goes more wrong like it has today.

It felt very strange and awkward to sit across a friend and watch her as she got ready for a date while I got ready to pack up and go home and sleep alone. There was a pinch in her infectious energy. I felt very odd when I saw her make out with a boy who would have asked me out if I had not pushed my back to his face. At that moment I wished if I could just disappear. I felt like th outsider that I looked. 

The choices of meal options to be chosen in my last trip had to be the trickiest. I know that I have never cared about meat but when the whole perception hinges around how well I order food and distinguish one form from the other, It made me feel so out of depth. It made me realise how much I missed travelling alone . It is lonely but it gives me so much freedom to choose the form of food that I want to have and the places that I want to go to.