wastefulness

How does one expect to get any work done with a cat sitting on your chair, occupying over half the space and a dog sitting at your feet, tearing a random something to tatters? Yes, my space is heavily compromised as of now. 

I thought the perks (if any) not having children was that one would get to work in peace. But I must have been quite mistaken. Having pets is no different. My clock revolves around these two-- BabuBagh and LunaMoon--pet, feed, check on them between work and repeat every hour. 

Heigh ho!

I have been able to get very little done recently. I feel like my head is pooled in stories but none have been written. And in that sense, I wonder if I'm starting to become like my mother. Am I? 

No longer unmoored

The day was warm and blue, like the sky above us. Warmed by the sunshine and blue like calmness, trust and serenity Google talks about and not the kind that makes you sad. My heart felt so full of gratitude for the day and for you.  

I watched you walk into dappled light and look some pictures of you on my phone. It's how I want to think of us for the rest of my life. Walking with me towards open spaces, your big, soft hand holding mine in it. You cribbing about how I have no peripheral vision and how inattentive I am when walking on the road. And yet, and yet, smiling, holding my hand.

People often tell me I've been so unlucky in life. Then I think of the clarity you have brought me and I know they can't be correct. With you, I sit moored. 

girls standing on the lawn

The spine of the chair shadowing mine, my arms stretched across the desk, my feet dangling before me sometimes, sometimes perched on the floor-- I'm the happiest person when I'm seated at my desk. Nothing else matters while I get to be here.

Until last week, I still had Y's Sanepa desk. And it felt like a special gift. I think I might have walked from room to room admiring Y's apartment and her courage to set up her own place, the entire time I was there. 

I'm yet to find that for myself. But I've taken comfort in knowing it is possible for a Newa girl to step out of her sheltered life and live a life that's her own, even in Kathmandu. 

I read Y's books most nights. She has a really rare collection. None of them are books I've seen before. And most of them are poetry. Y is a poet and you can see it in how she lives. 

One evening, I took a book about girls standing on the lawn and placed it by her bedside because I felt she should wake up to it when she returns home. Then I put it back again where Y had placed it. 

Maybe she wanted the girls on the lawn to be sat on the shelf now.

 

Pokharaing

 The best things in life, are things that are here. And now. I felt like I just had an epiphany, but maybe this is something I read somewhere? 

The calmness of the lake has been my friend for years and years now. I can't even remember how long it has been since I started coming to Pokhara just to sit by myself and work and read and write and walk and bike.

And once in a while, I've had company. Friends and family have joined me. And still let me do my thing because Pokhara is been my thing since forever.

And now I have found a friend, who lets me be me in Pokhara, gives me enough space so I can sleep, wake, eat, walk, read, all on my own. But also punctuates my moments with some lolling and goofiness and stories from across time and space. 

We first hung out together in Pokhara in March 2021 and since, Pokhara has taken on an added meaning in my life.

I'm giving my thanks to the universe today for all the wonderful things that get sent my way. We are always so taken care of, we don't even see it unless we pause to listen and rest.

And eat a slow meal in solitude. The luxury of doing that! :)

Making our own homes

I've spent ten days at Pilerne village in Goa now and it has been nothing close to my expectations, but better. Rubina was right. She always is. 

The last week of November, as Bhavna and Rubina pulled out of the driveway in the rented car, I felt a tear roll down my right cheek. It felt as though all the good times we had had together in Goa was suddenly over with them leaving. But Rubina had repeatedly said, "It's going to be so good for you, this place". And so it has been!

It has been nothing close to my expectations. I've had some unpleasant incidents with men and one with a pack of dogs ganging up on me. Apart from those, it has been lovely to just focus on myself and learn to cook better, to eat alone with great patience, to do the dishes, clean up. It's taught me that I take Mamu for granted. Doing household work is a lot. Cooking is a lot. She cooks lunch for me everyday and I've rarely shown appreciation for her work. I've been sitting here in Shalini's kitchen, thinking about Mamu so much.

I'm also learning that I'm the kind of person who thrives in distance and loneliness. I've been so at peace with myself here. Apart from a few occasions of intense emotions, I haven't had particular upheavals. If they appear, they're like ripples, they pass gently.

Much of the day is spent cooking, eating, working, watching, reading, then sleeping. It's restful. I've fallen so easily into a routine. Also, the thing about places it, it doesn't take much for us to make it our own. Once you put your mind to it, the place you are at, is your home. And so G2 has been my home for ten days now.

And it has brought me good feelings. I don't feel the emptiness here, I felt in Chiang Mai. I had started to find happiness there in my third month, but the first two, were quite hard. A feeling of having removed myself to a great distance constantly gnawed at me. I haven't felt that way here. And I think it has a lot to do with Rubina. Watching how she's turned India into her home always amazes me and I'm full of admiration for how courageous and smart this girl is. Hanging out with her, Bhavna and Smriti has shown me how strong and wise women are and how they can turn cities they like into their home. Smriti has done the same with Mumbai. As has Bhavna with Kathmandu.

When we were teenagers, Smriti and I used to talk about building pretty homes. Smriti was always about pretty cushions and drapes. We dreamed of pretty things from our middle-class homes, with just a few hundred rupees in out pockets we made from writing newspaper articles. But the dreams were always there. And we've actually been able to live them now in our own ways. In different ways, but we have come to live them. 

That's the bit that makes me happiest about my girlfriends. Each one of us, independent in our own worlds, free to make our decisions. Free to pick our bags and hit the road when we want to and just go walk on the beach for long stretches. It's all the grace I always want for us all.

Goa home

Who would've thought I would find a home in Goa? But it seems I have. For now. I don't know how many days or weeks this might last, but I like it that this house doesn't make me anxious. There are logistic issues, but I'm going to eventually sort them out. 

For now, I cook my meals, eat alone, do my stuff alone and just focus on myself. And recreate myself in solitude.
 

I'm not this

I have had no epiphany. Except, I'm that person who likes sitting at her desk all day. Of late, my head has felt very very crowded and I'm constantly looking for a place to bury my anger. Anger, that's been building up over the years. Mostly from having done so little for myself.

I have started to feel like my life has no purpose. Can eating three meals a day, transitioned by a snack, walking two kilometres and doing a job be enough? I'm grateful for everything, but something doesn't add up. 

Every morning, I wake up to the rainbow on my walls, thrown in by the lights creeping past the curtain and I think it must mean something. There's got to be more to me.

Tea time

When it rains relentlessly, you want to stay tucked under warm things and dream. And read. And drink a warm cup of tea. Tea. I never thought about how tea is sort of been the transition, in my life. Most mornings, I wake up to my parents' fights over tea. The sugar is not right some mornings, sometimes it's the milk and sometimes, it's just not strong enough.

"I like my tea strong," I told a friend over chat today. She said she likes hers strong, too. A little bit of sugar and some milk.
"I drink tea three times a day," says she. And i say, same same.
Often, the only thing that can salvage me from my near-paralyzed stupor in bed every morning, is a cup of tea. Baa puts no sugar in my morning tea. Only milk and tea leaves. Tea is my incentive to abandon the dreams and hallucinations I have conjured up in bed.

Then it's tea time at two, just before I leave for work. It's been a ritual. While Ajee was alive, I made tea for her and Baajya. Tea and biscuits or cookies. They still feel like a treat, just before work, although I no longer have a cup for Ajee. Afternoon teas come filled with memories of Ajee's humming and Bajyaa's demand for a sweetner. What is tea if it isn't sweet? he still says.

Every evening at 6 pm, I break for tea. I have done that for last 12 years or longer. This one comes with office gossip. But over the years, my companions have changed. Some saw me through whatever was haunting me at different times. There were colleagues, who wanted a one-on-one across the table-- a longing to be elsewhere, they made up for by gulping down several glasses of tea served in glasses rinsed in a hurry. Some tea sessions occurred with girl friends, whose sole priority in life was to open their hearts up to some loving.

Some teas, have been quiet teas, as I drank alone and just tried to get over the day.
Tea. Tea. Tea.

I think I'll call myself Tea. Because I read today that there's no heartbreak a good cup of tea cannot cure. Just drink tea and stay calm :)

nothingness

coffee is at it's worst today.

the first one i asked for was called 'fresh beans' on the menu. but it turned out to be nescafe stirred into hot water, when it arrived on my table.

a second cup got ordered. this time americano. and trust me it tastes worse than the most bitter moments of heartbreak. i'm drinking it anyway. i am used to bitterness of these sorts. maybe they have become the residue that lines my heart, protecting it against the smaller heartbreaks. for, major heartbreaks you can survive. it is the smaller ones that change you. major heartbreaks leave you without a soul, so there's nothing to worry about preserving, after that. smaller ones eat you away. 

anyway.

the afternoon is beautiful. the sky looks like it's preparing for autumn, with just patches of shiny cumulus clouds. the wind is just right in Kathmandu today. 

and i, who has nothing to do-- i just sit here, watching the world in its busy hour, pass me by.

the lovers are still at their table- on the same side of the table. the business meeting goes on across the aisle. the man looks up at me from the meeting. he never stops shouting into his phone during the meeting. 

kutumba still plays. not my favourite music for the occasion. but they play.

just another day of doing nothing and i'm here-- doing nothing.

With love, for my little S

The moment we opened the door, all kinds of things always stumbled out of your closet. There were always tops, skirts, dresses, fancy bras, thongs, jackets, scarves, belts. Your closet is a girls' paradise. And it's what we did year after year-- brought them all down, folded them neatly and stacked them in. It was me who did that. You would lie on your side and talk to me, watch me at the ritual and punctuate the folding with laughter and quiet thoughts spoken out loud.

In my head, the sun is always at afternoon in your room. The curtains billow in the breeze, like they were on the top of a ship set to sail. Your walls have seen my tears fall. Your pillows have soaked them in. And your arms have held me just right when I wept over men who broke my heart and friends who let me down and relatives who didn't understand.

You never asked too many questions. You knew all I needed was some silence.

Today, I'm this roving woman. Forever ready for the road with my overnight kit resting right next to my laptop. From Johnson's baby cream of our teenage days, I've switched to anti-ageing stuff. From Dove conditioner I've turned to colour-protect.

Yet, every time I walk into what is your abandoned room now, the dresser yawns at me with the mugs I bought you over the years. It's as though it's one of those lazy afternoons when you were here with me.

There's also a half-used bottle of perfume we fought over. But did you know that between sisters, fights are bonds? They are a way of knowing we're not ashamed of the terrible people we can be sometimes. And that whoever we are, with sisters, we're just ourselves. Always.

Yesterday

there was the afternoon sun,
Shradha's long legs
Pooja's big curls
and my eyebrows-
thick like a paintbrush.

we're girls who want our men
to love us with our facial hair and all that
we are girls who believe
there is no such thing as promiscuity
-either there is want
or there isn't

'wants are sexier than needs' anyway
like Shradha puts it

so, yesterday
we slipped on canvases
that listed afternoon sex
self-obsession
and liberation
that came from nudity

we snacked on sushi and eggplant,
gulped down teas from plastic cups
and marveled at the boy
with pouting, delicious-looking lips,
who paints reflection, mangled desire
and estrangement

he is everyman-
beautiful and abandon-bound

yesterday,
we thought we had arrested time,
even as our breasts are fast sagging,
skin shriveling up
and hair asking for more than a barber's scissors                                                                                                                          

at home

my afternoons with mamu are fraught with sounds. buckets, bangles, utensils, punctuated by her cough. i seek so much in these afternoons. much of it is just escape- like it even exists. 

Week

1. it became impossible to hear the boy wailing "i'm a good boy," limping in the hospital hallway, his urine suspended in a pouch, his mother held. i don't know if he thought repeating the words would lessen the pain. he walked his five year old self back and forth, depressing the life out of me, as i sat with several others who were waiting on their relatives. the boy's suffering became so unbearable at one point of time, just before they took him back into the room that i thought i would jump off a great height.

2. they shattered ajee's red bangles with a little tool they found in the drawer. when the howl began, i went immediately on my knees and caught the bangles before they fell on the floor. i collected them all in my palms and took them downstairs to where bajyaa lay oblivious to all the crying and praying. they all started at me in disapproval. only widows break and hold those bangles. you're not supposed to look. you've brought bad luck on yourself.

3. afternoons are precious little whiles i dash the tea, kiss kanchu and mamu and rush to the tempo stand- all the while, wanting to linger a little longer around these two, who form the largest chunk of my every day.

Out of Focus

This morning...
slightly out of focus...
sub-consciously...
dwells on you.

There are a set of books on the shelf that are familiar to me only by the way they feel in my fingers. I've forgotten their titles, the authors. But I need to rummage through them now and then, for reassurance. They're a kind of assurance that the world is still sane and that I'm still me.

I squint from where I lay in my bed, trying to figure what books stand stretched on the shelf in the hall...I'm trying to recall their titles. The one that comes to my mind in the thickness of its pages, the different fonts, the foreword, the dogears, it's slightly weak spine and the lines formed on the front with age, is Rainer Maria Rilke's collection.

It transports me to that afternoon's warmth, the buzz in the cafe, the way I couldn't wait to start reading Rilke, even as I also knew the book was your parting gift to me.