All of us have a thousand thoughts running in our head all throughout the day. Many of these thoughts arise and descend in their place of origin (the head) and only a few manifest. Here, I jot down all those wacky figments (that I know have skimpy or no chances of manifestation) in the form of proses and verses.
Story time
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.
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
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
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.
Story time
Ved and Chaya | Entry 1 Growing up, Ved loved his collection of sophisticated toy cars and luxury gadgets. In the era of people making do wi...
-
I stayed back at my hostel for some work after my semster exams were done with. While everyone else left for their hometowns, I spent my d...
-
There are so many things I want to convey to that one person I so heartily adore. I do not know what relation we share, nor do I want to po...
-
There have been times in my adolescent years when I avoided all my commitment towards books and got lost in the world of books (the former b...