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!