Inventory

Where did my birthday go?

You woke up feeling a biting change. You used to be more excited by things like this. What’s up? Last evening, you joked with friends about tired knee joints and baldness. Is something catching up with you?

I am beginning to hate my hands. They don’t rest nicely. When I am on my desktop trying to work, my hands are always itching to open new tabs. They are restless to know things I can live without knowing (which movie has Shah Rukh kissed most neck in?)

The worst thing your hands do is take you to Netflix long after you have finished watching season 3 of Crown. What business do you have there, especially after binge is over? What is this compulsion to open 5 tabs at once when all you need to do is send one email?

On my way to lunch today, I thought of Pa and how he has a relationship with movie titles. How pissed he still is with all Shah Rukh films because the titles are mostly about love (Dil Toh Pagal Hai, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, Dil Se)

You should start writing even the little things down – even the ones you are sure you won’t forget, especially the ones you are sure will make a great beginning to your book. They will excite you then leave you. Things are leaving you. You are leaving them too but you have no memory of it. At least not now.

I feel guilty when I use too many words.

There is no shame in using too many words. Use as many as you want. Fill your teeth with words, pour them out on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and your blog. What are you afraid of?

I am afraid that it’s not necessary.

Well, it’s not necessary for you to write. Why do you do it then?

That’s different.

If you only want to do things that are necessary then you are living quite badly.

I live alright, even you know that.

Then use words – in excess. All the time. Why feel guilty? What is the point of telling your students that writing must come from a place of shamelessness when you refuse to do it yourself?

Shouldn’t I be less shameless now? I am 31.

Fuck you.

Ok, I get it. I just want to be a different person on some days.

You already are. You were 30 yesterday, you are 31 today, you will be 32 tomorrow.

Fuck you.

We are here only

There is a girl who lives 2 houses behind mine, and she never misses sunsets. We don’t know each other and this is ok because what would we do with the sudden, almost brutal knowledge of seeing each other one morning, sitting demurely on our two-wheelers, in our office clothes, going to office? It is far too naked.

I like that this is the only way we have come to know each other. Together, we watch the sunset in Basavanagudi. It might be setting everywhere else too, but from the way we both swallow the orange pink light, and eat the sun whole – from here and from there – it feels like it setting only for us.

It’s nice to know that there is always a moment when we walk the length of each of our terraces, that when we are walking away from the sun, we are both wondering what we are missing, so we keep looking back to find that nothing has changed and everything has.

There is also a boy, a few houses to the left, who stands at the edge of his terrace, (dangling from it, really) to take pictures. Occasionally we look at him but in our universe, he is a dot. He isn’t here for the long haul like we are – where, after the sun disappears into the papery thin sky, and there’s that moment of total silence (as if the only thing that should happen when the sky is drained of color, when the plunger plunges everything out from the sink – is silence) he is gone, but we are here – she and I.

That’s when the birds come. They fly in the same pace, towards the same direction, often noiselessly, like a still painting where only the birds look alive. It’s then that we leave, the both of us, feeling full and somewhat empty.

Foot in Tree

Last night I dreamt that I poured a glass of beer on my left foot – the nasty foot that broke last year. It was beer because it was the color of heavy brown that would later swim in my stomach in big laps. I poured it and watched as a line of big bubbles erupted from the knee all the way down to my ankle. The bubbles squeezed uncomfortably next to each other. Friends next to me burst it with something sharp and the bubbles heaved and extinguished but regrew with more force and vigour. Now they were a garden, they had life and they bloomed fiercely, with flora and fauna.

I had a tree growing out of my foot. I walked with it.

It is morning now and I am still walking with its memory. I don’t know which is worse.

Notes on May

  1. The evening birds never come to drink water, the morning birds do. The evening birds are always flying, towards home perhaps? And they fly quietly, like they have time.
  2. The koyal near my house sings sweetly but it doesn’t take very long for it to get aggressive. It begins mostly at 5 am and does it continuously. I have a feeling that it knows I am writing this.
  3. One evening at Glen’s, it rained like it does in May in Bangalore – moodily, heavily, nicely, laughingly, groaningly. I sat and watched it feeling dizzily happy and not realising that my helmet which was left hanging by the seat was slowly getting filled with rain. When I saw it, a big laugh came out and then I said, ‘Why do you do this, Vjjjj?’
  4. Reading Natalia Ginzburg is a gift. I unwrapped it slowly one evening and wept bitterly. Her essay ‘My Vocation’ made me tell myself that I am ok, it’s ok, everything is ok, as long as I just keep writing.
  5. I want to write like Alice Munro and Deborah Levy and Natalia Ginzburg. They wake me up in beautiful ways.
  6. Chai immediately after coffee is heavy, curdling.
  7. Having female students in my life is very important. Without them, teaching doesn’t make sense.
  8. Cold water bath after 12 suryanamaskars is slicing, gasping, happy.
  9. I like avocados and eggs.
  10. The sun falls beautifully on some days. Last evening it fell like a disturbed egg yolk. It broke and then the orange oozed out in various places, places it wasn’t even setting in. I was puzzled by this and went looking for the setting sun in the west, couldn’t find it. But its colors were beautifully soaking in the east. I like that this is possible.
  11. After days of being terrified of writing, of running away from the humiliation of my own words at 6 in the morning, of wanting to erase all the words I have ever used in excess – in emails, in articles, in texts, on twitter, on instagram – I scrolled down my old posts on FB and discovered that through the good days and bad – even though I have always told myself I suck at this – I have always still written. For now, that’s enough.
  12. Dorothy Parker said ‘I hate writing. I love having written’ This is the month where I realise that I like eating. I don’t like having eaten. 
  13. I don’t trust the words I use with people anymore. They are too much.
  14. I want to watch a Simone De Beauvoir and Sartre film. She lived. She really did. I want to do it too.
  15. Elaichi shrikhand is back in my life.

 

A case for Podcasts and Rom-coms

This semester was odd but gratifying. I was just back from a surgery – so every step I took on campus was measured, aware, and keen on changing history – or at least understanding it. Would I not have broken my ankle if my fuckall big bum hadn’t landed on it? If it hadn’t rained, would I have slipped that badly? Was this a conspiracy? Were aliens involved?

Even so, it took me months before I returned to the accident site for revenge. Standing a good few feet away, I watched the spot achingly. Some mild time-travel type exercises later, I concluded that I should have just taken the bloody lift that evening.

When I wasn’t busy avoiding those stairs, I was worried that I’d now have to sit like a normal human being at the desk – with my feet firmly on the ground and not in some weirdass asana on the chair. Of all the things I thought I’d miss the most about my pre-surgery days, I never thought it’d be my sitting style. But it’s true. I cannot sit that way without worrying about a slicing steel-type pain in my ankle anymore.

***

Some lazy reading happened across the semester. I fought with people on Twitter – all of them Savarna, most of them women. Felt murderous rage at various points, kicked myself when I wanted to be unkind – was unkind anyway, told myself to shut up a lot. Needed urgent lessons in humility which only some time-off could have taught me.

Offline, I faltered often – feeling drowned by deadlines so I made to-do lists in at least 3 different notebooks, and then on my phone, and some post-its. All reminding me to do things that weren’t reading and writing. I mostly remember January as the month where I was straddling in between attacking and being attacked. Wrote 3 pieces.

Like every year, February was swallowed – didn’t write anything except a lot of Meta-related emails, and announcements. Lost 3 kilos – which didn’t show anywhere- fucking nonsense. Felt like it was the best Meta – loved working with students, loved walking back to the department with them, and watching the moon from the bathroom window, loved returning home tired and collapsing on the bed, loved waking up to a hundred odd things already gone wrong overnight, loved fixing, loved freaking out — mind mostly calm – not pissed and angry like last year, which might have been the most disappointing Meta to say the least.

Did some dabba translation for a piece that I was going to read out on the last day of Meta. Had a lot of fun writing and reading it out in Kannada – slowly discovering that English and Konkani are not languages for the ridiculous and what are my family stories if not ridiculous?

Got some new writing gigs – all of which had to be pushed until college work was over – stressed at various points. The mounting deadlines – writing and otherwise led to a couple of small outbursts – which I did not manage very well – learnt to remain calm by eating.

In the middle of  Feb madness, I stole a day to go to BIFFES – caught 5 movies – loved all 5 – took the metro back home, noticed a young man who refused to go to the men’s side and stood sadly adamant in the women’s – wondered if it was because he felt safer here than there.

Reading Kancha Ilaiah was slow – took time but learnt a lot of things about writing. One evening, after finishing the book, I realized that all writing comes from a place of humility – not expertise. It was a rewarding evening.

Woke up early the next couple of mornings to finish writing Ilaiah piece– moved to Yashica Dutt’s memoir. Reading may have been quicker but writing the review for this one took longer – realised that it’s probably because with Ilaiah – I was already writing in my mind while reading the book.

Spent the last week of April finishing the Dutt memoir review and running around for passport renewal. I might be going to the US for a one-month scholarship study on Contemporary American Literature (more on this when I finally believe it is happening)

Proceeded unwillingly to do valuation work. Felt delirious joy when I finished. Want to now devour the rest of May with a lot of books and some early muscle-flexing for writing fiction. Currently reading Munro’s Who Do You Think You Are? which is dangerously close to home. When I can’t write – I listen to podcasts on writing – and end up finding some outrageously good ones:

  1. Adichie, when her parents wanted her to be a psychiatrist – considered it seriously – and decided that if she ever became one, she’d use all her patients’ stories to write fiction (grinnn!)
  2. Anne LaMott on coming out of alcohol addiction, and returning to writing (“I was full of holes”)
  3. The Cut -Women discuss Ferrante – a few really good moments, only small annoying bits — It is severely painful when white people seem to know more about caste. Even so, the podcast ends on a funny note – best moment is when someone says “Ferrante comes from ‘ferrous’ meaning iron which is funny because women have an iron-deficiency. Basically we are all anemic readers getting their Ferrante supplement”)
  4. Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls– Refreshing to listen to an 8-year-old girl interviewing Lowri Morgan, a television presenter and marathon runner. Loved the questions which also include the only question I ever want to ask runners (Do you listen to music when you run?) Favourite line: “Running makes me happy. But what makes me happier is when I get to the ultimate limit of my endurance, I realise that my limits don’t break – they bend and then, I start to enjoy the experience and I start to revel in the challenge that faces me”
  5. The Writing Bull Podcast – favourite so far. (“One thing you don’t want to be thinking about while writing fiction is…anything else. You don’t want to be thinking about anything else”)

I love listening to podcasts. I do them every morning when I go about making breakfast and tea for myself. Listening to a podcast is a lot like flying a kite, you can get used to it easily while your mind wanders to other things but you have to keep pulling the kite back to see where it is – and more importantly – to see where you are.

***

When it rained like the world was ending one afternoon, the doormat was wet and took 2 days to recover. I was happy because I didn’t have to wash it and when it finally dried, it was warmly hot, and I liked standing on it.

***

In the department one afternoon, I longed to be in Seattle already so I watched half of Sleepless in Seattle and remembered the days when I had a huge crush on Meg Ryan.

***

Spent much of mid-April nursing a solid crush on The Avengers – watched all the MCU films. Loved Thor Ragnarok. Finally understood what people see in both the Chrises. They are both extremely cute human beings no? Pleased to say that I really liked watching Chris Evans and to salvage the big love I suddenly had for him – proceeded to watch 2 of his films on Netflix – Playing it Cool and Before We Go.

Chris Evans is forever running after people who drop things accidentally or deliberately. And for no reason at all, I am now making the case that all MCU films are Romcoms.

***

Learning to take great pleasure in making my own breakfast. Understood why Avocados are expensive – what a brilliant thing to eat in the morning. Damn it.

***

~ Pinching anxieties – becoming old and helpless, never being able to live on my own, growing distance between parents and me over marriage-nonsense.

~~ Words to live by – AM once told me “Avarna people can never have real friendships” – I am beginning to accept this. It’s more difficult than I thought it would be, but I am learning to give what I can, and take what I get.

 

Ordinary

***GoT Spoiler alert***

Sometimes ordinary people do extraordinary things. And even if the ordinary people have surprised us before, we tell ourselves not to expect great things from them because the stupid world trains us only to imagine extraordinary things, not believe them. Either way, Arya Stark reminded us yesterday that if you only keep doing the things that people expect you to do, you’ll never become what you are actually capable of. And what you are actually capable of is so much more than what anybody can ever understand.

Fuck man, Arya Stark. What a woman you are.

Thank you for showing us how to run after things that are above and beyond but still worth a shot, a plunge, a leap.

 

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By SriPriyatham via Imgur

Maisie Williams who plays Arya Stark said she was worried that people were going to hate that scene because they’d think that “Arya didn’t deserve it”

Apparently Maisie’s dumbass boyfriend told her – ‘Mmm, should be Jon though really, shouldn’t it?’

The world is full of fuckers. They’ll have you believe you are good but not good enough to do that. And then we have champions like Arya who will do it quietly and show.  When she did what she did, I heard a thousand rockets being launched up every mofo’s ass who make it their business to tell others what they are capable or not capable of.