On songs, associated people & words

    So there’s this person I often keep referring to as the spark behind me finding my writer persona. I call him Mr. Unattainable. He used to be my teenage muse, the love of my life, the one I couldn’t have, the one who was ideal…the first true love. Now, twelve years later, he’s a mere silhouette under whose shadow I took refuge as a child & found my way to one of my core identity markers today…writing. ‘Wacky Figments’ is the product of that futile love, the countless teen tears & that love that I know to be the purest love I’ve ever felt. The innocence & selflessness made it so powerful that I didn’t even need the love of the other to feel whole. I was in it for myself. These days, we mostly chase an idea of love, one of convenience, one that checks our filters & those of our family. I know for a fact that Mr. Unattainable is not my kinda guy, I’d never be attracted to him as an adult, but my fourteen-year-old self could die for him. The problem is, she still lives in me, & she comes to life whenever she hears two songs—the one he was listening to on the first day we met & the one I was listening to (on loop) when he tied the knot earlier this year.

    I’m currently aboard a train, a short ride, off to be with my adulthood love…you know, the stable, sensible, sweet & reliable kind. The love that makes you feel seen and sleep like a baby, the love that needs no filters, because you’re truly just one unit. The love that you take home to your parents, the love that finds a way to lift you up when you know there’s nothing or no one that can help you from drowning. But as I sit in this isolated train compartment in an air-conditioned coach on a cold evening & find peace in the slow rhythm of familiar songs, up comes a song the music of which is enough to transport me back in time…to that fateful day when I was destined to chase a shadow that I was never to see in light. 

    ‘Nilanjana’ is an Assamese song sung by Shankuraj Konwar and Kadambari Kashyap and composed by Konwar himself [Listen here]. The song begins:

কল্পনা মোৰ কল্পনাৰ তুমি আকাৰ

আল্পনাতে, আল্পনাত তুমি সাকাৰ

দুৰ্বল ৰাতি মোৰ সাহসী হ'ল

পিয়াসী তৰাৰ স'তে সাৰথী হ'ল আকাশীগংগা

which can be understood as:

You are the shape that my imagination has taken—the embodiment of my thoughts.

Within dreams, you come alive—you take a real, tangible form in my dreamscape.

A night that once felt weak or fearful now turns bold and courageous.

The longing stars in the sky found guidance or companionship in the Milky Way, as if the vastness of the galaxy became their charioteer or guide.

[Interpretation by ChatGPT]

    I fell in love with this song on that tragic night when the bitter crush from yore was to enter his new life in another city while I was to watch their photos on social media with my girlfriends. I was sad-drinking; we had starry lights on the ceiling as we lazily lay on the warm floor of our room.

    Nilanjana begins with trippy music. I don’t know if it was the lights, the alcohol, the suppressed pain & hopes of my younger self, or this godforsaken song, but that night I listened to this song & related to the voice singing it. The lyrics describe the guy’s lover girl as a weak figment of his imagination that becomes his reality in the most surreal way. I guess it was a combination of everything, but this song takes me back to that very difficult week of my life when I struggled to understand why I felt pain when in reality there was no hope of ever having that person in my life. I mean, I got my closure years before this day. But I think our unhealed wounds come to the surface sooner or later. Suppressed anger & grief often find the ugliest outlets. Mine was in the form of this beautiful song that will now be etched in my heart as the song from his wedding & the very difficult week I spent half PMSing & half feeling pity for my 14-year-old version’s unrequited love.

    Now Nilanjana plays again, bringing him back, but not quiet. But this pseudo-dramatic phase of life gave me the gift of words, and that’s the second part of this post. Earlier today, while on one of my many pee-breaks at work (apologies for TMI), I did an ultra-quick recap of my week. It being Friday meant a reflection of life from Monday-Friday would be nice, & I realized how mechanical, frustrating, draining, weakening & miserable this week has been. I have been juggling way too many dramatic things at work & in my head, & this 90-second walk to the washroom brought all this back to my head along with the realization that words are both my friends & foe.

    Lately, I’ve realized that just like a coin has two sides, life has its ups and downs, and a day has brightness & darkness, so also there’s a good vs. evil equation attached to other things in life, like our love for something or someone. In this case, my love for words. They say that brevity is the soul of wit or something to that effect. Sadly, I’m neither witty nor brief. I guess it’s because I’m not the latter that I couldn’t be the former, but anyway, you get the idea. I’m someone who types paragraphs when 2-3 words suffice, prefers long, elaborate notes & letters & just anything that requires me to be wordy. Give me a 500-word limit & I’m likely to come back with another 1000. That’s just who I am. This problem of over-explaining & over-sharing has often led me to problems in my personal life. But because I’m a chill girl who doesn’t blame herself for anything & deals with consequences of her shit very maturely, I never learned the lesson these episodes of over-sharing were meant to teach me. I sat on the first bench of this life lesson & managed to miss the whole point (the lack of wit explained!).

    Anyway, while this wordiness was hitherto causing minor havoc in my life, it began causing hurricanes of problems in my professional life recently. And there is only one rule in my life: I can do WHATEVER in life, but NOTHING that harms my work life. That has been my motto since the first standard. And the chill girl in me becomes a crazy womaaannn when she messes up the professional bit.

    So, because of a couple of messes created at work by my lack of better sense while framing sentences and letters, I attracted unnecessary attention my way. While the issues now stand resolved, the over-critical self is hard to forgive & forget. Ever since these episodes, I feel like I’ve been restricting myself from interacting with people on the professional front, constantly fearing another mess that my words might lead to. They say that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I want my pen to be mighty in my creative posts, never to become a burden in life. Getting a glimpse of the other side of my pen has left me scared & jittery, & I'm still recovering from whatever it is that I had to feel. I don’t exactly remember why I thought this was an important idea to share in this post. 

I guess I wanted nostalgia to unfold in more ways than one.

I’ll go back to Nilanjana now. See you later! 

On PhD, hometown and relations

Dear readers,

It's 8:06 am, 4th May 2025, and I still have two term papers to write. Progress in PhD (and this is specific to my field; in no way is this a claim for all fields) isn't measured in terms of how often you publish papers or how quickly you finish that long-due submission; it's more about the quality of presentation, the clarity of thoughts despite the ambiguity and perhaps the coinage of innovative terms that the community can further dissect. The findings are pretty clear...they say that ELT is common sense. But to make that common sense intelligible to an academic crowd requires the much-coveted talent of beating around the bush in the most inobvious way to create that willing suspension of disbelief (thanks to my BA literature days, I know this), that illusion that what your paper proposes is indeed novel, indeed under-researched, and hence it was so essential for you (the author) to embark on this journey to discovery (the hidden text here is: the re-discovery of the discovered). But that's just a sacred inner secret that every ELT practitioner knows and becomes aware of 2-3 years down the line, but we also know how beneficial our repetitive findings are for the larger teaching and learning community, and so we persist. That's about research.

I began writing today because I had two social engagements last evening, of two very different kinds, in a place as cagingly liberating as Duliajan. Duliajan, my hometown, is a beautiful paradox in a lot of ways - people here have security and an abundance of wealth, luxury, and resources, but that's juxtaposed with monotony, gradual and seemingly invisible narrowing of the mind and heart, extremely sweet and courteous behavior with a jealous, shrewd, or vengeful core within, and many other such things. But we residents of Duliajan still love the place because of this serenity, simplicity, and my favorite point - the lahe lahe culture (by which I mean the absolute lack of the sense of hurry or rush). Anyone looking for monetary stability while saving tons of the money they make should sit and study for the OIL recruitment exams, clear them, and just shift to Duliajan. Period. And before I digress further, here's my reflection on a beautiful paradox from last evening:

Relatives are known to bring one down by means of their choice of words and unsolicited advice, while friends are a known figure in terms of elevating one's already pumped-up self-esteem. These two forces operate at the same intensity in two parallel worlds - the best part of this equation is that these worlds seldom meet.

Last evening I tasted both. I am often at the receiving end of taunts and sarcastic remarks from my parents, siblings, and extended family for having too many friends. I don't know how that's so bad; I'll never be able to figure it out. But yeah, I get the taunts because whenever I come home. I love revisiting my old friends, catching up, and spending time with them - not only does this exercise keep the golden school/college days alive in our memory, it's also a very relaxing escape from the woes of the present, and most importantly, it helps us keep the people who get us close to us—isn't that what maintenance in friendships is all about? I get why my mother has a problem with this-she gets less time with me because of this—and I certainly get why my financers have a problem with this—their precious money is at the risk of being spent on non-academic, less productive activities—but that apart, I don't think I owe it to any extended relative who only comes home to critique us while eating our food; if I were you, I'd judge me for sounding like a reel on a blog at this point! But anyway, I have the liberty to hang out with whoever I want... I mean, I should have it. But where are we? We are at Duliajan, in a typical Indian household. So we don't explicitly voice out our opinions; we write blog posts in a language that many of the target audience might not be able to decode very well.

I began writing this thinking I'd explain how my relative got on my nerves while feeding me delicious food, but I think you get it by now.... I'm sure many of us have gone through this. When the chest feels heavy, I sit to write, but when the negativity is so intense, it feels unfair to dump it on others who perhaps didn't need to hear all of it. So we refrain from going into the details today. If someday, I feel the need, I would definitely address this topic more vocally. But yeah, the struggle is real.

"We live in a society; we need people," this is what parents frequently say and now more than ever before, I agree with them, because when we (the kids) are far, far away, it's these (toxic) relatives who come forth to help in times of crisis, and for that I am (as we should all be) very, very thankful.

I would appreciate the school friends at this point (only because I know they are not reading this) for giving me the social break I secretly craved for while residing within the high walls of home and for giving me a taste of that sense of comfort back, that liberty to abuse, make jokes, laugh till we cry and mock the world—a taste of all the wonderful things from the 15*40 inch benches at school.

I think the definition of friendship has evolved today. It's no longer about who is there with you in times of need; I mean, it sure is an essential part of the concept, but it's also about who temporarily makes you laugh without you giving them the pressure to continue doing it or them feeling obligated to be there for you at all times. Our fast lives have affected all aspects of our human equations, and it's only fair that the same rules make sense for friendship!

On impostor syndrome, gratitude & life

 I'm gradually settling in my late 20s. It's 8:40 am, 3rd May, 2025. I just had a home lab test (a routine blood test) where the sample collector asked for my age and I said, 'twenty-six.' Not seventeen, or eighteen, or even twenty-one; I am twenty-six. A friend I sat beside in school is getting married in 6 days. I'm on the other end of the spectrum now. I visited a neighbour's house last evening, and their daughter is in 8th standard. If I spend 30 seconds to go back in time, I'm almost her age. I'm her. I mean, I was her for a very long time in my life. Thin, young, ambitious, quiet, fascinated by those older bhaiyyas and didis who lived outside, fantasizing a life like theirs, carefully choosing what I say to make them believe that I'm cool and interesting...all of it...the teenage turmoil, the sudden bursts of energy, the liberated creative sprees...and now, without me realizing, I'm this adult who visits home once in 6 months and makes these social visits where little kids look at me and talk to me with wondrous eyes.

I've been home for 18 days now (the longest since COVID) and the lahe lahe culture [check out my caption on this post for reference] has quickly returned to my life (quite a paradox!). I take afternoon naps now. I eat good food that my mom brings to me. I don't have to spend money on anything. I just exist, like I used to, eight years ago. This numbness of activity also brought with it the luxury of time to doomscroll, to go back to my old posts, to revisit social media profiles of faces forgotten in the chaos of survival, and all this brain exercise, particularly that of reading and re-reading my blog posts and Instagram captions, brought back to me all those struggles, joys, tears, triumphs, dejections, and just everything else that defined life two years ago, four years ago, six years ago, or ten years ago. Those captions narrated a story of struggle, a story of longing for a better life, and the story of telling oneself to be content and not be disheartened by comparing one's life with the seemingly flawless life of others. This is in so much contrast to what I feel these days.

Touchwood, my life has improved on a lot of levels. I like to believe that I have love, respect, ambition, and stability in my life right now. But often, when I wear a new outfit, take a trip, buy a gadget, eat at a nice place, or just do what I've always wanted to do, there is a sense of guilt, a fear of an impending remark from someone around, stating how I overspend, how luxurious my life is, how easy everything is for me, or just anything like that that can ruin a happy kid's pumped-up mood. This has been a pattern lately. These little remarks that I know people make unintentionally and without any bitterness in their hearts take me on a guilt ride, and I begin to question my worthiness for it all. The technical term for this is impostor syndrome. It's that quick run back to the main door to cross-check if you've locked it right, that constant need for reassurance and validation despite knowing that you are on the right track, doing the right thing, and deserving of all that you have.

I've been compromising with a lot of things all my life. And I am not here to glorify my struggles. My struggles often seem trivial to me, but being smaller than other people's struggles doesn't negate their role in my life as obstacles. This fact is something I am yet to internalize, but my point of narrating all this today is completely different. I want us to look at a theory I have been believing in since forever, a theory that is almost like a rule of life for many:

Into each life some rain must fall; Some days must be dark and dreary (HW Longfellow)

এক কাল সুখ, এক কাল দুখ

ज़िन्दगी की यही रीत है, हार के बाद ही जीत है

I'd like to believe that for 20-22 years, I lived a strenuous life, and I did consistently work on my thoughts and actions to have the little (not so much) stability I have found now in terms of turmoil. Karma's reward to me for being a good kid. But that being said, it's unfair that I refrain from being out there in my happy era, fearing that the sad times are just around the corner. And that's exactly why I think it's necessary that I come here today and write this. A lot of us live our lives without identifying this constant sense of guilt or self-doubt we experience despite getting things after perhaps the hundredth attempt (and not the first, because nothing ever comes easy to anyone), because no matter who comes and tells us that we are worthy, we somehow choose not to believe them. Another example in point is me in my late teens and early twenties, when everyone told me that I was beautiful and toned, but I chose to believe I was super ugly. Their combined voices of appreciation turned out to be weaker than my overpowering inner critical voice. Five years later, I see an unfit and seemingly ugly version of myself, and I don't feel the difference much because, to my mind, I was always this way. But an occasional glance at old pictures does make me see what others told me then and I didn't believe and I bet that the current version of me that I now (semi)loathe will seem perfect to me in another 5-10 years because this body will have decayed significantly by then and I would cherish all that my body is doing for me now. The technical term for this is: taking things for granted.

And that's another thing we are NEVER supposed to do. Be it human interpersonal bonds or our relationship with ourselves, none of the efforts should ever be taken for granted. Gratefulness is the key to peaceful living. And that brings me to my often unappreciated boyfriend of 9 years. Having spent most of our late teens and early adulthood together, my partner and I have literally seen each other grow through the many phases of life. He has tolerated my 'I gotta pocket full of sunshine' ringtone era, my black nailpaint obsession era, my skinny jeans with a front-open shirt era, my poetry era, my lovelorn era (for Mr. Unattainable ofc), my thin era, my unhealthy era, my content writer era and now my researcher era. Similarly, I've seen his many phases. We casually discuss how we missed our chance at getting to know anyone else because we've spent our youth being committed to just one person and not exploring the many metaphorical fish in the sea. But now, whenever I get a chance to reconnect with old prospects or perhaps interact with those who instantly strike the connection chord, it doesn't take me longer than 5-10 minutes to realise how fortunate I am to have ended up with whom I ended up with. There's perfection in all that occasionally drives me mad, and I think this deserves to be out there, just like all the negative things I frequently dump online. Beauty is prone to the evil eye, but keeping it hidden for too long makes beauty question its beauty; that's when these uncalled-for appreciations come in.

On that note, here is Dreamer Hello posting yet another reflection on life on a workday when she should instead be writing her term paper!

Toodles.

The Tenth Year Post!

 This marks the tenth year since I started blogging here on ‘Wacky Figments.’ This blog was the product of my repressed and super strong adolescent emotions of love & longing for a certain someone I could never have in the first place!

This creative product of harbouring an earnest unrequited love eventually saw me fall in love a couple of more times…with people, with education, with writing, with family, with ambition, and with life itself. This year, while being a remarkable one for my blog is also life’s way of making me let go of the person I owe my writer persona to. If you go back to my first post here, you’ll see how madly in love I was, and now, when I have to witness this person take vows of eternity with another soul, it sure will prick my heart but I guess this is where life comes full circle. You lose yourself to love & find yourself empowered when out of it. You grow up and learn to love yourself while loving another. Love empowers and shatters you at the same time, preparing you to embrace detachment at any point life chooses to throw a whirlwind of change your way.

As I write this, I realise how mistaken I was about the idea of love I have. The love I have in my head seems to be distant from the reality of the current world. I know I’ll find a way to be okay with this realisation, I just have to be dramatic first & this is me being exactly that…on a platform I know not many people look out for me. Wacky Figments almost feels like my virtual therapist and safe space…it’s public yet it’s private…mostly because I’m able to unload a lot of my emotional garbage here without referring to names. I know exactly who I mean in my vague statements when I write them…that’s the thrill this meaningless writing brings me.

Anyway, as you might have guessed, I’m preparing to let go of Mr. Unattainable because he has been very true to his name all along…he is after all, unattainable. He’s the pretty flower in the garden that I’m allowed to watch endlessly but to never touch or pluck. Some flowers look best in the garden, never on our table, don’t you agree?

On that note, here’s me celebrating ten years of blogging on Google’s dull yet extremely familiar (to me) platform Blogger. Here’s me extending a warm thank you to all friends and loved ones who would follow the links I occasionally share with them & who visit this page, read a few blogs & leave back their lovely comments! Here’s me praying that the universe doesn’t let another child enter this planet to feed on the idea of love that existed in the past…our generation & the ones after us, are destined for a very peripheral & impersonal love…we’re supposed to now design coping mechanisms & therapy centres to heal the countless wounds we give each other every day without even realising of the harm we’ve caused another.

Happy living, folks!

On Loyalty Nests

    In between feeling things and doing things, sometimes I don't find the time to write things, document things, observe things, or embrace things for what they are. In this fleeting life, moments, connections we build, emotions we feel, and the love we experience are also of a fleeting nature. No matter how hard one tries, one cannot ever fully capture a special memory for eternity. Moments have their way of fading away, but what one feels in a moment is authentic. It's pure love and unadulterated affection for someone's act of kindness, admiration of someone's wise words, or simply amazement at someone's existence in your life. I don't know whether it's fortunate or unfortunate, but I have the memory of a goldfish. I have at least 12–15 people I can call members of my inner circle right now and these aren't related to me by blood. I am aware that this number is bound to reduce over time, but right now, despite all our individual differences, I believe 12–15 is the number. And with all these people, I've shared a good chunk of my evolution. While my school gang saw me make peace with my financial situation and aspirations (and also begin a relationship that is now an integral part of my being), my graduation gang saw me stifle through penury and the struggles of this said relationship. While my MA gang transformed me and changed all the toxic traits in me that my BA gang had to tolerate, my DTE gang was conveniently there when each of us wanted to socialize, or perhaps needed a shoulder to cry on. These relationships have blossomed in different capacities and some people have made a significant mark on my life despite being remembered as a group or perhaps, being remembered as individuals. For instance, the only person I confide in now during my PhD, or perhaps another friend from my childhood who was a part of my early childhood trio. So many faces and memories flash before my mind as I type this, it is almost as if someone has played the auto-curated Apple movie of images in my memory album.

Source: HelgaKa

    Anyhow, the point here is my constant struggle to identify as someone with fixed interests, hangout groups, or 'loyalty nests' if we could call it that. I was recently accused of not being 'there' by a close friend from one of the groups I've briefly talked about. I had a friendship breakup for a night and couldn't sleep that night wondering what was my fault and how I could rectify it. Thankfully, the group found its way back to being alive, but a part of me shall always remain hesitant to ever be truly myself again there, despite that space being a holy sanctity of evolution and self-love for me. The fragility of human relationships doesn't get portrayed any better than these lines by Kabir:

रहिमन धागा प्रेम का, मत तोड़ो चटकाय।

टूटे से फिर ना जुड़े, जुड़े गांठ परि जाय।।

    Our twenties see us give shape to our dreams, find our passions, and our professions for the next 3 active decades of our lives, find and marry our partners, and adjust to new cities, new homes, and new families. There's also the pain of losing parents, the joy and responsibility of becoming parents (both of these being circumstantial, and possibly an affair of the thirties/forties for many), setting and achieving financial goals, health goals, and a whole lot of other things that happen in the background as we navigate the terribly confusing and beautifully challenging times that our twenties are. In the process, how does one find the time to be 'there' especially if their inner circle comprises, let's say 12-15 people? Where does one find the time, energy, resources, and freedom to catch up with all the 12-15 struggle stories? This post is not my excuse for being a bad friend, it's more of my attempt to identify what can I possibly do to do it all right. The answer I realise, is nothing.

    I cannot really do much to stay 'loyal' to the 'loyalty nests.' And that's the whole story of life. This feels like the beginning of the process of going from 100 friends to 50 friends and 50 acquaintances, to finally coming down to 2 friends or 0 friends. That's how my dad, a septuagenarian finds himself spending all of his day at the house now, whereas, until a decade back, he had at least 1-2 friends he could occasionally go and hang out with. People drift apart, things happen, sometimes intentionally, at other times unintentionally, people get hurt, people become too proud to forgive, and relationships suffer. Man, the once social, people-pleasing being with many friends, now becomes a comrade of his/her own emptiness and void. Loyalty nests get converted to lonely nests and before we know it, a lifetime has passed.

On Losing a Parent

I’ve read a lot of novels growing up and I hardly remember any of the stories now. My life’s own stories have gradually blurred out the ones that made my life vibrant as a teenager. But I do remember special lines from specific books…lines that were too strong to not be felt, remembered and recollected. One such line is this one from Fault in Our Stars by John Green: That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt. I can Google and give you the context of the line in the novel or maybe you can go do it for yourself, but think about it. Pain, grief, heartbreak…everything soul-shattering ought to be truly felt for you to even imagine moving past them.

I write this post with a lot of sorrow and a heavy heart. The word “friendship” has taken so many meanings for me over the years and through all of them, all the betrayals, hugs, happy moments and sad ones, there’s one person that has been a constant. She’s this particular friend I’ve had for over two decades of my life.

Today, she lost her dad. And I don’t know what to feel or what to say to make her feel better. Growing up, I’ve had an older dad and I realised quite early on in life that my dad is not as young, energetic, patient or ‘fun’ as the dads of my friends. He had done his share of ‘Dad duties’ already for both my elder siblings and by the time it was time for him to do all the same things for a third time, he was done. I could sense the impatience and irritation he would feel every time there was a birthday party I wanted to go to, or every time he had to go pick me from an extra class or tuitions. It was kind of him to never complain and do the deed despite the annoyance, boredom and repetitive nature but the self and socially aware side of me could sense his discontent, and that’s why I shaped myself to become a self-sufficient, self-reliant person, so much so that I can be framed for murder and need desperate help to prove my innocence but would still think twice before dialling my Dad’s number. And this comes from a place of concern for him because I don’t want to unnecessarily bother him or my mom, who’re both now in their second innings. But that’s my story. Not every child grows up feeling this disconnect from their parents.

This particular friend of mine had quite the opposite rapport with her dad. He was young, charming, kind, loving, always up for fun, and just the coolest dad around me. It wasn’t just her who enjoyed his lively presence, me and another friend of ours would always deeply admire how he was always just the right dad. The perfect dad.

He had an accident with the stairs at home yesterday and finally gave up on life this morning. I had no idea how to console my friend. I don’t think I did a very good job at being there for her either, because she’s there alone now, with her mom, trying to figure out life in this father-less world, making his death certificate, bringing him home, getting stuff ready for the last rites, while I sit here in my university hostel and simply write and wonder about how she’s doing it all. I’ve never felt more helpless in friendship. 

The biggest demerit of adulthood is seeing your parents enter their second childhood and finally to lose them to death. Here we are, just in our mid-twenties and she’s already dealing with this great loss. She deserved at least a few more years with her father, she’s too young to take on the responsibilities of the house. Being the eldest child, my friend would now have to be in-charge and accountable for everyone left behind. I cannot even imagine the feeling she now has of not having even the luxury of time to grieve her dad’s loss. 

And then to think of how fragile and unpredictable life is. I’ve always lived with the big gloomy cloud of “what if my dad is no more?” looming over me and just like that 25 years of my life have passed. With God’s grace my Dad hasn’t dealt with anything major so far and I’m breathing fine everyday, but to imagine that this friend who knew her dad was young enough to live atleast another decade lost his life randomly like that is heart-breaking. Is it even okay for us to expect anything from life if there’s no guarantee of life itself? 

She’s a strong girl and has dealt with multiple crisis situations like this in the past but I know this is the biggest of them all because she’s broken now. The sound of her breaking down on the phone this morning is still echoing in my ears. And the fact that I can’t do anything to make her feel better. Does it mean I’m an unworthy friend if I can’t even book a flight and go be with her in these times of crisis? I don’t know. There’s way too much to figure out if I indeed go and sit on that homebound flight. Adulting is hard, to say the least. And life? It’s plain cruel at this point.

But then again, pain demands to be felt. I cannot make her pain go away without her taking its burden for some time. I can only send her my prayers. And all my prayers are with her and her family today. May God give them the strength to overcome this huge loss! May God keep them sane and hopeful, despite it all. And as for Uncle, he has been the most loving person I know and I hope he finds peace in heaven, knowing that his family will be well-provided for in his absence. Amen 🙏🏻

Power of Manifestation

Location: EFL-U Campus, Hyderabad

    I had a very productive morning; it's only 8.58 am as I write this, and I feel proud of myself for sticking to the commitment I made to myself of working out at least 3–4 days a week. Today's a Wednesday, and since my Monday and Tuesday were hectic, I began my workout week today, so it's day 1. I need to stick through this regime for another 3–4 days, meaning the rest of the week to be able to pat my back for being a good girl who respects her goals and loves herself enough to care for her body when it needs the care. Anyhow, in case you're wondering how the title of this post and the first line of this blog are related, then here's a story:

    Until two months ago, I was living an unsatisfactory life—socially, emotionally, intellectually, academically, financially, and in every other -ially way possible. During those dark times when sustaining life one day at a time was the sole objective of living, I prayed. Everyone who claims to be an atheist (like I used to do until 1-2 years ago) needs to find themselves alone at their lowest, and there comes the realisation that yes, God may not exist, but man's belief in him keeps him afloat. That's how, at least, my perception of a higher power—a divine creator—has evolved over time. God may not be the pictures and idols we worship; he/she/it may not like the things and delicacies we offer, but the belief that some higher energy exists, is watching you, believes in you, and shall help you make things better for yourself goes a LONG way when in the middle of the crisis sea alone.

    I found my God during these seven months that I chose to live alone in a rented house in Guwahati. Since it was the transition phase, I barely had any friends; the few that I did were mostly always busy with their own shit. I wasn't someone who enjoyed her own company back then, I have come a long way since then, but I still get gloomy if left alone for more than 24 hours. Anyway, the prolonged unwanted solitude made me gloomier, and I began writing a manifestation journal. My sister suggested that I use a red pen (idk why, but I did) and write down the things I wanted to happen for myself. I began doing that. One day, it was "I am kind to myself and love my own company." And some other day it would be "I am making good progress in my research work." I would fill the page with the same sentence and call it the day's manifestation. I would even light an incense stick before the deities in my room (whose installation was my mind's safety net against possible ghosts and spirits, lol) and sing a prayer in my own way of addressing God, which would usually begin with an internal monologue of "Hi, what's up?"

    Anyhow, today I'm in a better place. I have been able to walk out of the turmoil and embrace all that life has made possible for me. I'm also slowly embracing the fact that it's okay if I am not always earning; I need to learn to live off the pocket money I get like most kids do. My biggest handicap is my inability to manage my money and I feel that's why God keeps testing me with paucity. I kinda feel like I'm the younger version of my dad when this happens, but I'm a fool if I can't learn, evolve, and change in spite of this self-awareness. Anyway, right now, I've embraced the life of a scholar who engages solely in academic pursuits, and I know this will be rewarding in its due time. When you're an unemployed adult still in academia, it's hard to navigate the dilemma of, 'Should I even be doing this? Should I just drop out and start working like everybody else?' You may have a zillion people telling you that it's just a struggle period before you reap the sweet fruits of your hard work and all that, but inner acceptance is all that matters.

    So when these and many other existential thoughts cross my mind, at least ten times on a normal day (and about a thousand times when I'm PMS-ing), I write. I write gratitude notes, I write manifestation sentences, I pray and I hope. Hope keeps the boat afloat. That's the golden rule of my life right now and, of course, manifestation. This has been a common term in the social media world lately, but I realised its power this morning when a ray of the monsoon sunlight gently made its way to my room through the netted window and showed me how I'm exactly where I dreamed to be in my lowest times, a few months ago. Visualizing your happy picture takes you closer to it than you can ever imagine.

    So, I guess, what I'm trying to say here is this: Dream of your happy place quite often, and soon your reality will feel happier than that picture!

Happy Wednesday!

Life of a Researcher - Part I

Dear Readers,

I know my blog has received its share of appreciation and encouragement from my loved ones over the last nine years and for that, I'm so very grateful. I began writing as a sixteen-year-old love-lorn teenager and am now a twenty-five-year-old research scholar. A lot has changed within and around me over these years and as I sit here today, finally satisfied with where I've landed for my Ph.D., I'm compelled to make a mid-year status update here, to let you and the self know that good things take time and that not every rejection means you're unworthy or undeserving. I've realised that patience and gratitude despite dearth are the key to changing the circumstances of one's life.

As you'd recall, or perhaps find through scrolling this blog, I took a major life decision around a year back, packed my life in cartons and bags, and moved to a city, closer to home, yet distant from being my 'home.' I went there with an open heart but was satisfied and content there on very few occasions. In retrospect, I'd like to believe that God was testing my endurance and ability to sustain solo. I now think of my time at Guwahati as a trailer for the movie that Ph.D. is - an arduous and lonely journey towards a title that comes after much study, perseverance and patience.

It took a lot of guilt and the pressure of disappointing academic stalwarts for me to leave Guwahati and return to my alma mater, here in Hyderabad. It's been two weeks that I'm back to this campus that once liberated my caged thoughts and dreams, and suddenly, I find myself feeling all the feels that Ph.D. is known for. The title of a 'Doctor,' comes after much sacrifice. To see people your age earn hefty salaries and lead their best lives, or to think of making ends meet on a tight monthly budget; to think of the next topic you're going to work on for an upcoming conference or to constantly ponder about your research variables and study methodology, to wonder if you're losing your social skills by not doing social stuff for far too long, or to wonder if your friends will outgrow your company owing to prolonged loss of contact....are some of the perennial dilemmas that adorn the seemingly prestigious crown of being a research scholar.

When people say that it's wise to have a JRF before joining a Ph.D., they're right in a way because the financial dependency on family and the constant blow on one's self-esteem can be counter-productive in the research journey which in itself is known to be challenging. That being said, one must also remember that a meagre 1% of the lakhs of thousands of candidates sitting for the NET exams every cycle get selected for JRF. Being from an unreserved category just amplifies the probability of not bagging a Junior Research Fellowship. But even when you have a JRF, one cannot expect that life will be any better, because the journey to earn a Ph.D. in itself is excruciating on many levels. So how does one ensure a heartbreak-free journey?

In all honesty, one cannot have this assurance that every day of this journey will be fruitful, satisfying or even productive. There will be good days with a lot of progress and hope, and then there will be the not-so-good days when one questions their worth, worthiness or even knowledge. And this isn't specific to just the life of a research scholar. You may be a corporate employee, a govt. job holder, a homemaker, retired personnel or just anybody with one or more of your wishes and prayers granted, and while living those dreams and wishes, you'll still feel incomplete, unhappy or unfulfilled. That's how humans were made....that's where the basic economic theory of 'human wants are unlimited' comes into play.

I began this blog post by stating how I felt the need to update here how my life has been as a Ph.D. student and as I began delving into my chain of thoughts regarding this, I realised that there are multiple layers to this question and not every state of mind is apt to address all of these layers. Today, I spoke more about the lonely and arduous part of it, I'm certain that on another day when the sun shines brighter, I'll have better things to say about this sweet journey towards self-discovery and knowledge expansion. Until then, I'd like to share some of my favourite pictures that symbolise my research journey:

 

To all the guys I've loved before...

    There's something about seeing the people you once loved get hitched that hits a weirdly hidden melancholic chord in your heart. Today marks one such day, for the third time in my life, when I feel a quickly vanishing yet piercing pain in the heart in the middle of my usual doom-scrolling session when I see the engagement pictures of a certain muse to whose romantic rejection I owe the inspiration to this blog and the forlorn beginning of my journey as a poet. 

    For those of you who've seen and known me in my hopeless romantic era, guessing who this person is won't be hard. For the rest, here's another relationship-realisation-reflection post you didn't ask for. 

    This marks the third time I'm seeing a person I was romantically linked with (in the past) step into the wondrous, albeit strenuous, world of marriage. Long-term commitments have never seemed like a good idea to me. I have seen so many unhappy marriages and unsuccessful relationships around me that the mere idea of taking on the extra baggage of 'forever' with another person gave me the jitters. But adamant non-believers like me are often paired with hardcore believers by the creator that sits above us. Destiny played its game, and I ended up in a fling—a rebound relationship, if you will—that has stretched itself for almost a decade now, soon to convert (hopefully) into one of these marriage things that I'm so vehemently against (still).

Image by Bruno from Pixabay

    Anyway, I've been on the receiving end of love, respect, loyalty, and kindness for a long time now and know that it's extremely rare to find such treatment in our generation. I know I, too, would be stuck in the shipwreck of situationships and one-night-stands had it not been for this one genuinely true bond that now colours my life in shades of the 'forever' that I used to be and still am occasionally scared of. 

    Yes, there's an inexplicable skip of a heartbeat when you see an ex enter into a long-term commitment with someone else. Its bound to be weird since you once hoped to be that person for them, but I guess, at some point, you realise that life knows better than your wishes. You may think that life with someone else would be brighter, but trust life to give you only that which is suitable for you and that which you can handle—nothing more, nothing less.

    Today, I'm grateful that I didn't end up with all these three people because one's a manipulative chauvinist, the other is an ignorant nincompoop, and the third, well, he is a Greek god in terms of looks but is known to be a casanova. Everything happens for a reason, and everything that doesn't happen doesn't happen for an even better reason. The key lies in accepting this game of fate, although the momentary instinct is to turn bitter against everything.

    So today, a mature version of my teenage self speaks to all the guys I've loved before and wishes them a happy life with whoever they ended up with. I sincerely hope their lives have an abundance of love and light. As for me, I'm gradually transforming from a non-believer to a believer in marriage and all things family. Hopefully, there's light at the end of this tunnel of recovering from dystopian glimpses of yore for me.

    I now know the importance of people who value you, listen to you, and love you. I began the Guwahati chapter of my life with much reluctance, and it took me almost half a year to realise and accept that even in the slowness, biasedness, and blandness of this city, there's something I can always learn, do, and be. Today, I'm more grounded and grateful for all the blessings I have unknowingly overlooked over the last 3-4 years! Life seems beautiful today.

 

Finding my Hiraeth

    My boyfriend tells me that living with your people in your home state feels different...that there is nothing like it. His ultimate aim is to find a decent-paying job that allows him to shift back to Assam (our home state), and while that's completely okay and suits his preferences, it's not mandatory that I feel the same way. Over the years of being in a relationship and seeing couples around me, I developed the opinion that it takes compromises to make things work in a long-term relationship. And while I've seen ambitious wives willingly leave their high-paying jobs (often higher than their husbands) to raise the kids, I don't see them being exactly 'happy' about it. These women, for the sake of their families and everything that patriarchy expects of women, sacrifice their dreams, their preferences, and their ideal bodies and then go around selflessly serving the ones they love. Three years ago, I was halfway there, with these women, in a place where sacrifice came naturally to me, but not anymore.

    My university education has exposed me to a new class of women—the ones who have it all—families, kids, jobs, friends, freedom, independence, and everything else. I've also seen women with a few of these many things willingly chosen or removed from their lives—job satisfaction and luxury minus a husband, or perhaps a great job and a loving husband minus the kid....and it all works for them; they seem 'happy,' unlike the above scenario where sacrifice makes everyone happy but the self. This post is not about feminism; I have too little knowledge on the subject to write a blog post on it.

    It's a Saturday today, a weekend, and I woke up at 5:21 a.m. (about the usual time). Then, I willingly chose to stay in bed and catch another round of sleep. As is the case with morning sleep, the best nap happened from then until about 9:30 a.m. I was content. I could have left the bed then, but I chose to break the early morning cycle, with it being the weekend and me having nothing better to do and all of that. So, I decided to finish the film I began watching the previous night. By the time I was done with the movie, it was 11 a.m. So, I finally left the bed. I made myself some tea and had it with half a packet of Marie Biscuits (this combo is my all-time favourite). While doing all of this, a thought came to me: I should go out. It has been three days since I left the house, and while the inner traveller wants to step out and explore Guwahati, two very logical problems stop me: firstly, the stupid humidity and heat of the place, and secondly, I don't want to spend my money. So yeah, the overpowering voice in my head that constantly tells me to YOLO it away has suddenly succumbed to reason, and I am simply amazed. This has never happened before, at least not while I was in Hyderabad and Bangalore. I know that reason is the better friend; the proof remains in my fewer travel stories in Shillong. I just didn't want the same thing to happen while I was out there in a metropolitan city so I had made an unofficial pact with myself that for the brief period that I was away from Assam, I would make the most of everything and travel as much as I could, hang out with people from different states, gather knowledge from them, exchange cultural experiences, etc.

    

    But here we are, three years later, back in the home state where reason has a better chance of sustaining itself than YOLO wale feelings. So yeah, I am saving money and choosing not to step out much. My parents were here for two days, and I had to go out a lot with them, but now there's very little reason for me to step out. I have even switched back from Instamarting and BigBasketing everything home to going to the local shop and getting stuff. A major lifestyle change is happening here, and I'm not exactly unhappy about it. But because of all of this and the fact that I'm here for my Ph.D. and that I should be engaged with books and research rather than idling my time and money away on the streets, I have switched to a low-key life. If you follow my Instagram stories and post captions, you'll remember that lately, my life has been very unstable and that I've constantly been on the move. I have prayed for things to slow down, for some permanence and stability, and I have also feared that the stability would make my life dull and make me all gloomy, like my childhood and lockdown days.

    So, this morning, when I woke up and had the mental monologue of whether I should go out, I realized that the fear was materializing. I am stable but not happy about it. Turns out, I was happiest when I was living out of a bag in an unknown land, adjusting, trying local food, making reels and stories, travelling, seeing the world, and just living freely. That I realized is my hiraeth. The dictionary defines hiraeth as 'a deep sense of longing, a yearning for that which has passed.' It is homesickness and yearning for a home or loved place. But having found my hiraeth and looking at its definition, I feel the need to dig deeper into the subject because what I crave is far from the definition of hiraeth or that which my boyfriend craves. He craves home and all that's known and familiar, whereas I find bliss in the unknown, the anonymity, and the fear of being lost in a sea of lost.

    Hiraeth is a longing for a home or homesickness of some sort. But who decides the definition of home? Home could mean different things to different people. Home could be a feeling or a person, too. So, what’s home for me, I wonder? I finally realized that for me, home is any place where I am alone with strangers; home is a comfortable room with all my essentials and a deep desire to travel, write, click, and exist. Home to me is a room and a feeling. Google tells me that this longing that I have for a faraway place is called fernweh and is actually the opposite of hiraeth. Shocking, isn’t it?

    Now, the dictionary defines fernweh as ‘a desire to go to faraway places.’ It’s wanderlust of some sort. While I agree that my yearning is for a faraway land, an unknown place that I eventually fall in love with, it’s also my home. So, could the opposites be the same under certain circumstances? Could my hiraeth be my fernweh, and vice versa? In my case, the answer is yes.

    At the beginning of this post, I talked about how people compromise in relationships. My decision to relocate to Guwahati was something close to a compromise, a compromise not just for the long-term feasibility of my romantic commitments but also for my filial duties. However, two weeks down the road, I see myself deeply unhappy. I know it's too soon to discard a beginning, for beginnings are often rough. But a part of me has realized over the last two weeks that I may not ever be entirely happy with a place again, and I have accepted that too. When has life ever been perfect for anyone? Some parts of our lives are more special than others, and some memories are evergreen while others instantly fade, and that's what makes them precious. Change eventually catches up, no matter how fast we are at running towards the things we love. So my mind tells me two things: either stay back and try to love where you are, or run away to that which makes you truly happy. After all, it's your life—not your lover's or your family's. And then I go numb. The selfless version of me who's now made room for a version that believes in self-love is lost. I am so lost. Whoever said that adulthood is better than adolescence knows nothing. Your twenties are as complicated and confusing as your teens. My friends and I talk about this every day. No, it never gets easier; you just learn to cope better. Even if you don't learn to cope better, you begin complaining less and panicking less; you just deal with sh*t and move on to the next challenge that awaits you. All our loved ones have done that, and we are doing that too. That's how life works.

    Amidst all that chaos, if you manage to find your hiraeth on a random Saturday morning, as I did, appreciate the realization and make room for it without disrupting the rhythm of your present. Life is lived in the little pleasures and small breaks. A lifelong vacation is no vacation; the key to everything beautiful is balance. It took me some time to realize it, but I finally saw it, and I am working on accepting it every day. Guwahati isn't my hiraeth; it never will be, but it could be the place that allows me to breathe freely whenever I choose to visit my hiraeth. So, let's bloom where we are planted and reach for the stars! Let's embrace change as it embraces us. Fernweh or hiraeth, willingly or unwillingly, one must make room for reality whenever it knocks on your door. It's at my door now, so I must leave now. Thank you for being patient readers. Have a lovely weekend!