I’ll try again tomorrow. Over and out for today.
I’ll try again tomorrow. Over and out for today.
Two steps forward and one back. On and on it goes.
Amazed and humbled at how things one feels confident and sorted about have a strange way of cropping up when least expected.
Surprised myself at the latent anxiety I have obviously absorbed and locked away these pastany months, only to have it surface when I roamed a supermarket in Panjim last week.
It led to this post and much introspection and eventually a light at the end of the tunnel. But not without first running myself down just a little bit.
But it helps to have timely conversations and frequent insights from folks who help realign my mirrors, clean the fog up and remind me see the me I am now, when it seems easier to be stuck in a difficult past.
Two years ago: Day 313: Mid-week blues
It’s been two days of being completely at home, because the help around here took some time off for Diwali. It meant staying with the puppies full-time, which I was fine by me because my work has been mildly shot to bits with all the frenetic running around. So I was happy for the excuse to be housebound and glued to my laptop.
The pups make for great company because they mostly, well, just sleep really. Nineteen hours yesterday. I counted. Waking up only to be fed, immediately after which they did a splendid job of pulling that face like they’re starving little homeless runts or something, while I tried to eat my lunch. There has been an incredibly peaceful vibe and I’ve felt an ease and unencumbered sort of energy that has energised me.
It’s been a good taste of the days to come, of the extreme luxury of entire days to do just as I please. I’ve enjoyed leisurely breakfasts, working in my night clothes thru the morning, throwing together quick
meals convenient food-for-one to shove down my gullet. Generally, it has been tender and easy — taking one hour at a time without rushing around like I have been for so many weeks now.
I got a surprisingly good amount of work done, and I managed to read in the afternoon, and catch a nap before walking the dogs later in the evening (which is more exercise than I give it credit for). Evenings have been about sitting and chatting with VC, who is suddenly pulling a volte-face about his feelings of my going away. In Bangalore he was all I-think-I’m-going-to-be-too-busy-to-miss you, but that has quickly changed to I’m-really-going-to-miss-you. We’ve been turning in by 9.30 pm, which gives me ample time to read for a good long while before sleep hits.
And that’s pretty much my idea of a perfect day. I have had two such days. And the promise of an undecided number of such days ahead of me thrills me no end.
Gratitude today, for this life of absolute luxury. For the power to choose this while the opportunity presented itself. For D who opened her house up to us, complete with space in a cupboard, access to laundry, and so many many hot fresh meals and the company of the puppies to boot. I cannot imagine getting our flat ready while living out of suitcases or in a hotel. For VC who always has my back and encourages me to slow down.
Title from lyrics of this goooood track that came back to me like a flash from the past:
Two years ago: Day 312: Holiday mornings
Dogs, I tell ya. They’ve got my heart ticking in ways nothing has in many, many years now.
It’s been more than a few days since D left on her holiday, leaving the puppies with us. It seemed like a huge responsibility we were only to happy to take because of how fond of them we are, but also because of how familiar being around them has been thanks to the many many trips I’ve made this year. Not just being around the pups themselves, but knowing their daily lives and whereabouts, their routines, food habits and even the intricacies of their weird whines, barks and unique manipulative moves. I have loved these dogs for a while now, so there was actually little thought or consideration involved when D asked if we’d puppysit. All three of them have (Leo leading the way) have long wormed their way into my heart, so I was prepared to have my heart crushed by puppy love. But this much?
I honestly didn’t see this coming. I booked my return ticket to Bangalore today, and while I am excited to be going back to resume life all on my own, I am already prematurely heartbroken about going back to a puppy-less home.
Safe to say I am beyond smitten.
(Yeah, how did I get to the dark side? When did this happen?)
Since we’re avoiding leaving the two of them unsupervised and alone for long periods of time, I have been timing my errand runs during the first half of the morning when the help is still around, which means our days have fallen into a neat little routine. So much so that Olive now knows that I will step out between 9.30 and 10. So she begins to follow me around like a tail, waiting for that moment when my sunglasses come on and my bag goes across my shoulder. Then she begins to bark and bring the roof down, demonstrating a full-on protest with gusto, giving it her all in the hope that either I will stay or take her with me. In a last ditch attempt, she dashes off to the gate ahead of me, bounding in double-steps, and stands between me and the gate defiantly. She may be small in stature and size, but she is larger than life in confidence and determination to have her way. In that moment, in her eyes, I see the wild, unbridled firmness of a woman who wants to get her way come hell or high water. It’s like she is oblivious to the fact that her ground clearance is barely four inches off the ground and her height is not more than a foot in total. And it means nothing to her that I can actually just step over her and proceed. Because she has the grit of a woman who means business, she seems large. Massive, even. And it makes me stay a moment longer, get down on my knees and pet her and mumble a few weak and unconvincing words to let her know that I will be back really soon.
What she lacks in size (how can anyone be so damned cute and small and contort themselves into something that resembles a puppy-inspired sushi roll? HOW?) she makes up in her vivacious personality.
Lego on the other hand, is best known for the way he uses his lanky front limbs like hands. Grabbing, holding, pawing, nudging like a bloody human being. It’s like a constant defiance of his doggy-ness and a consistent effort to be human in the way he carries himself. Inside his large head with impossibly big ears is a small brain, from the looks of it because he is dufferest of duffer dogs I have ever come across. But aren’t they the best kind?
He is VC’s favourite, and vice versa. Nobody in this home greets VC with the kind of unrestrained enthusiasm that Lego does. When VC walks in the door Lego loses his shit and doesn’t know what to do with himself. So he darts back and forth, between jumping on VC to bouncing off pieces of furniture like a crazy ball. Except if VC walks in with his full-face helmet on, or with a broom in his hand like he did the other day. Then Lego has no idea who he is and the only way he will run is in the opposite direction. We’re major fattu like that. Despite his small brain and easily triggered flight response, he has the body language and demeanour of the man in charge. Restlessly pacing about, investigating and inspecting things all the time, always walking around with an officious look on his face that would make you believe he’s the boss around here and everything runs on his watch.
He is also completely oblivious to his stature and size which, when he is standing, is about four or five times Olive’s. So sometimes she gets caught underfoot, as he tramples over her like collateral damage to his attacks of excitement.
After a morning of all these adventures warding off humans from leaving the premise, or pacing up and down in anticipation of our return (which leaves them quite hyper and wound up, borderline traumatised on occasion), some semblance of normalcy returns at lunch time, which is when I am usually back home. Nothing settles them like the sight of a plate of food in a human beings hands. They turn into the quietest, most docile dogs with the sweetest, googliest eyes. They sit, transfixed by the food focusing all their attention on the plate as if willing it to float towards them. At that moment, they’re a picture of perfection, the most innocent, angelic dogs. Until Olive’s drool pool begins. Depending on what’s in the plate it varies from being a drippy, leaky tap to a full-on open tap.
Afternoon naps follow. For the first two days after D left, Olive staged a massive sulk by hanging around us but at a safe distance, refusing to respond when called, making no eye contact and generally avoiding too much contact. But after 48 hours, something switched and she has become my tail. If she had it her way she would be attached to me, I suspect. And so we regroup in the afternoon, almost to assuage the trauma of separation from the morning, usually clustered on the couch — me stretched out reading or working, with the two of them curled up on 2/3rds of the couch. If I so much as stir or move, they wake up. If I get up to leave, even to just go to the loo, Olive follows me while Lego looks on from a distance.
Evenings are easily my favourite time of day. I have been walking Olive, while VC has been walking Lego. I didn’t know it, because I have no experience with dogs, but there is something so very grounding about walking a dog every single day, on the clock. The rhythm, the trail, the clicking of their nails on the tarmac, the same spots they stop at, the other dogs we encounter, the predictable fashion in which they behave at all the known spots.
In all of this, I deeply feel the absence of Leo’s presence. I feel it the most when we walk because I remember how different it was walking him. He’d saunter like the King of the land, scoping his field as far as the eye can see, his head held high. I find myself wondering what it might have been walking three instead of two dogs and I yearn for the missed opportunity. Yesterday especially, I was lost in a daydream thinking about him when we were out on our evening walk carrying around a heavy heart like I was aching for a person.
Evenings have been passing in a mellow, quiet fashion. It really is the time when the frenetic activity of their days too, winds down. I’ve found comfort in sitting together with the pups in silence. Them chewing on a bone, while VC and I read or Netflix before we eat dinner and turn in. There is companionable silence and an unspoken togetherness in sharing your day so closely with animals who so easily make you their own.
It’s taken barely 4-5 days for us to make this our routine and figure out how to manage the two of them together.
It’s not taken much doing really. The simple life that a dog loves, makes it easier. There’s barely any managing needed beyond feeding them and walking them on time, giving them adequate pets, belly rubs, back scratches, watching their poo for anything suspicious and holding them close when Diwali crackers begin to thunder around us. They make it very easy because they’re ruled by their hearts, and they know nothing else. So they go after what they want, demand it with all their might and don’t rest until we’ve understood just what they need. And in return for just that little bit of care and attention, I’ve been at the receiving end of a love so, so very pure. Filterless, distilled, concentrated love that is very hard to fight and not feel. It has swept me in, into a life-long snug embrace.
This kind of filterless love, this way in which puppies go all-in with all their heart, the endless giving even in the face of everyday little betrayals and disappointments (I still leave every morning, I still withhold that little morsel of food), this is the stuff worth aspiring for. Who knew, these doggies might teach me a thing or two.
Two years ago: Day 311: Okaybye
Finally getting my reading grove back, as per usual, in Goa. Even with the crazy days we’ve been having, I’ve managed to read more in these last ten days than I have in the past two months. Mostly catching up in the afternoons, with the puppies at my feet and the sunlight slanting just so like it does in Goa, compelling me to slow down just a little.
The first two of these updates are books I read in August and September that I’m only just catching up now. That’s how much I fell off the reading bandwagon.
Cyber Sexy: Rethinking Pornography, Richa Kaul Padte
I really, really enjoyed this one! The book is an attempt to define what constitutes porn in a modern Indian context, specifically given digital media. But it reallly felt like a lot more. It’s an intelligent, intimate journey through all the sexy-stuff on the Internet, stopping by everything from homemade videos to nudies to camgirls and fanfic. And along the way, it deftly discusses and dissects topics like consent, violation, sexual abuse, privacy, cyber law and so much more. Thoroughly researched, peppered with the right amount of insightful and intriguing academic references, yet written in a relevant and relatable style, the entire book is meaningfully put together. Cyber Sexy brings together such a wide variety of topics and touch points in its deep-dive into the world of porn in a way that is brave, yet casual and very, very normal.
A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf
I picked this up on what was meant to be a ten day break by myself in Goa, which unfortunately got hijacked into a work trip to Goa. I read it never the less, but it didn’t quite have the same effect as I had imagined in my head hahaha. I thoroughly enjoyed it, all the same.
S recommended it to me at class, when I was discussing with her my growing need for space and how for the first time, I am experiencing coming into my own, separate from everything else around me and all the strings one usually finds oneself attached to. An apt, apt book for a time like this given the ideas swirling in my brain. It was all that it was cut out to be, fiercely independent, bold and so invigorating. And yet the language isn’t harsh and forceful. There is a quiet power in the subtle and polite way in which Woolf owns her space and place. It’s a quick read — about 120 pages or so — and even though I dragged it out for way longer than I needed to it left me feeling so energised and inspired.
Born a Crime, Trevor Noah
OMG Trevor Noah can write. Man can he write! And because I absolutely love memoirs this was an excellent read. And a great pick to get back to reading again. This is the incredibly moving story of Noah’s life before he became rich and famous, with it’s devastating beginning in apartheid-ridden South Africa. He was born in abject poverty and difficult beginnings, but tells an incredible story of how he was always surrounded by kind and powerful women who brought him up to be who he is today. Right from his years as a toddler, traversing his difficult teenage years, life with an alcoholic stepfather and a misguided early youth, I found out so many things about Noah’s life that I didn’t know about, but that also make his journey of triumph so much bigger. It’s fun, funny, moving, inspiring and entertaining all at once.
Two years ago: Day 309: Invitation
The #metoo updates have been consistently triggering for me. Much as I have tried to measure how much information I am taking in, I find myself drawn by the seething rage and the collective bubbling over of the resistance to silence with mind-boggling numbers of women continuing to bravely speak up. The last month has felt like the unclogging of a long-blocked pipe, and there is just no stopping it now. I’m enraged, yes, at the sheer extent of the extreme atrocities, violence and exploitation women have put up with for decades and decades. But I am also flummoxed, watching from the sidelines, at the uniform confidence and entitlement male predators possess. Across the board. I’ve watched as so many communities that I have belonged to or engaged with at some point — advertising, journalism, tech companies, the dance and music fraternity — have had so many of their star men and heroes fall. I have felt deep empathy and connection for every single story from every single woman, and a growing sense of blinding rage at how much we are all in this together. Every story (and there have been oh, so many!) that sounds eerily similar to a experience I have had has driven home the truth about how the casual and brazen this violence and exploitation is. How much this tendency to take advantage of women has been normalised. For us, and by us. And just how much of it has continued to grow and be strengthened by our silence.
But it was this clever little comic that hit closest home for me, bringing back a flood of memories from the time when my trainer came on to me in a way that violated my personal space and consent, left me confused about what I might have done to bring it on, wondering whether he was really being inappropriate or just doing his job as my trainer, and most of all gripped me with worry and fear about whether speaking up would mean having to stay away from and essentially give up what was actually the best form of exercise I had ever experienced.
This was too powerful, nuanced, familiar and clever not to share. I hope you’ll pass it along, far and wide.
Recently someone remembered me as that person with a strong aversion to people I have changed my mind about. It had obviously irked said person enough to remember me as someone who inexplicably rejects and moves on from people without so much as a thought.
I was taken aback when I heard this. The thing is, the description is not entirely inaccurate, but it isn’t completely true either. And even though better sense has prevailed, I haven’t been able to shake off the judgement. Perhaps it bothered me, and continues to bother me to some extent, because I realise fully why it might seem that way to onlookers who take the convenient position of watching my life from a distance and who get this sort of second-hand information passed on by other onlookers.
From the outside, if does really seem like I run through friendship like seasonal wardrobe changes, I’m sure. I have built and broken far too many friendships in the three decades I’ve lived, with most of the action in this department being concentrated in the last decade. And here’s the thing, I’m finally in a place where I am at peace with that. After years of longing for forever friendship, I’m more in acceptance of the idea that for some of us, that is not a realistic goal. And the more I accept the very transient nature of relationships in my life, the routine coming and going of people, the gradual building of some friendships and the natural fading away of others, the more it seems to make sense, and the less angst it causes me.
So in that sense, it is a bit like wardrobe changes with seasonal spring cleaning and doing away with that which no longer fits or interests me, while keeping some ever-green favourites that will never go out of style, and having that stash of items in the periphery towards which I have temporary difficult feelings, but that I hang on to for nostalgia’s sake or in eternal hope that we will fit again. Someday.
This no longer feels like a bad way to live. It works for me. However, there’s no denying that the uneasiness of this judgement bites me. And nothing makes it bite harder than a visit to Goa, because the judgement was based on the state of my relationships in the time before I left Goa.
I moved cities, yes, but much before that happened I had moved on from many people in my life here. But today, over a delightful few hours spent with C — fellow freelance writer and dear friend from Panjim — I realised that every time the uneasiness about being judged for this surfaces, I give away a little bit of my power. I dim a little bit of the light that is my lived experience and my agency — both which shined bright in guiding me through these choices.
Every time that I am affected by how easily I have been branded, I am weighed down by that opinion that is quite honestly only a half-truth. But most of all, hanging out with C and having the delightful time that we did made me realise that every time that I feel bad about this judgement and I wallow about being misunderstood for walking away from some relationships, I undermine all those relationships that I have allowed to remain. I lose track of those that I actively chose to nurture and grow. I fade out the light and love of those that I continue to keep thriving in my life, even 700 kilometres away.
Meeting C who I have such a soft spot for, had me overjoyed and so content. And I realised its a friendship that has had none of the typical markers. We barely hung out, we’ve met a handful of times in real life, but we’ve connected over so much more. And every time that we meet, we seem to have so much to talk about. It’s one of the few connections that has endure even after I moved on, and she is one of the handful of people I feel like connecting when I come back. We’re frequently sharing things of mutual interest over email, catching each other up briefly on where life and work is, sharing writing contacts and passing assignments on to each other. And I always feel a genuine warmth without the song and dance of it.
Most times I tell myself I don’t care what people think, but today, I acknowledged that the reason being judged in this instance bothered me is because it hurt to be judged and misunderstood. I have not done a very good job of dealing with that hurt. And so every time it surfaces, it takes me right back to that half-truth, misinformed judgement. It takes me back and it makes me focus on the lack. The lack of empathy, the lack of understanding, the lack of people in my life at that time, and the lack of my ability to deal with it then. But that was then, and I have come a long way since. But in choosing to focus on the then, I discount the abundance of all these little connections that I have now. Many of which have flourished in the time after I moved away. I discount all the relationships that stirred over a few commonalities that only bloomed as time passed, and I discovered friendship beyond the limited definition I had back then. I think of people like C, and a couple other “work friends” who I am in touch with virtually, and how despite how little we hung out when I lived here, are always quick to jump at any opportunity I present for us to catch up. I am overwhelmed at how my relationship with D and K has turned into so much more than mere friendship. I think about B and R who keep checking in on me to see if I’ve had enough of Bangalore and if I’m returning any time soon. There’s R and S and J who are some of my fondest friends from Goa, and how our relationship has gone so far beyond the time we spent together here. And there is A who I know I can always turn to and lean on, in times of need. I think of P in Finland (Hi, P!) and how we catch up over infrequent but frantic bouts of messages about things we feel deeply about. And all I feel is a sense of abundance.
So, I came away wondering why it takes so little to shrink that sense of settledness and abundance I know I carry within me. What is it about hurt that makes everything that’s otherwise solid, so fragile? And what do I need to do to make it go away?
Two years ago: Day 306: Diwali 2016
Find another day, with all the changing seasons of my life
I’m writing this from the balcony of our home in Goa, that VC and I are setting up yet again. It’s been a week of intense flashbacks thanks to being back here, not on holiday. I’m mega excited about having one foot in Goa and the other in Bangalore, with VC living here and me heading back home. I am raring to get ahead into an unknown and honestly blank future. I don’t know what lies in waiting for me, but for the first time ever, that uncertainty is sweet and promising.
It is a fitting time to be here, watching as parts of my being are being rekindled, flames of old memories gently fanned to life again every time that I see or do something that triggers a flash from the past. A past from that life I once lived here. I say it like it was aeons ago, but in truth it was not so far gone. It’s just been a touch under two years. And yet in so many ways, given the transformations that I have experienced, it feels like an absolute lifetime ago. I
almost do not recognise that version of myself, and I’m finding it hard to connect to the memory of who I was when I lived here.
Driving down the same streets, revisiting bits of my routine, my haunts have all brought back memories hauntingly close to my mind. And from where I am now, that feels like a sweet, innocent, soft time from the past. Every step of the way, I find myself revisiting how far I’ve come since this journey of healing and spiritual discovery began exactly 2 years ago, right here. Through therapy, making breaking and remaking friendship, umpteen conversations and lots of reading, some self-help and a whole lot of help from around me, active restructuring of my life work marriage and everything in between, it’s been two consistent years of seeking to find my centre again. A centre and a solidity that comes from within, that isn’t attached to any of the trappings I lean on to around me — not my friends, not my family, not my spouse, not my work, and not even to a city. And so it is even more fitting, this state of limbo, of floating between worlds not knowing where or how I am supposed to move ahead, because it is testimony to this very journey. Of finding a centre so deep, of filling
it myself up to the brim, of feeling enough, of knowing it is enough.
Of realising that not every one of life’s puzzles needs immediate solving. That there is space for the unanswered questions, for answers that are slow to come. And to make space for the unknown, and to be willing to find comfort in sitting with the questions alone.
I spent most of October (and September, for that matter) in a mad dash. October was meant to be about recovery and recouping. We returned from our vacation at the end of September looking forward to some peaceful regrouping as we pack up parts of our lives and set off to begin again on new shores. But as things turned out October was anything but what we’d set ourselves up for. It’s been the most hectic month of the year this far.
It was so busy. I was so busy and when I wasn’t busy, I was preoccupied about being busy. I was running through lists and lists in my head — work lists, packing lists, purchase lists. And that’s just how the entire month seems to have gone by, without so much as a whisker of catching my breath. It wasn’t the ideal way we’d have liked to send VC off, but I cannot complain because I found help in unexpected quarters, empathy and acceptance from near and far, togetherness with both my families, visits from dear friends, a superlative culmination of my course that added a flourish of a finishing touch before we jetted off on our drive to Goa — me by car, VC by bike.
In a few days I will head back to Bangalore alone. It is the beginning of a new chapter in my life, and in my life together with VC. It certainly has all the makings of a shiny new adventure, but at this point from where I am right now, I’m sitting snug in the comforts of a chapter about to close.
Since being back in Goa, I’ve ended every single day with a heart filled with gratitude for how help has come my way in these last two months, right up to here in Goa when our lives are in a flux with all the balls up in the air. For family and friendship. For this inexplicable fullness of life. For a future that’s wide open and up for the taking.
It is nice to finally be in a space where I am not fighting life, or vice versa. Things are in a gentle flow. There is peace when I go to bed at night, knowing just how much I am looked after. There is comfort in knowing I maybe walking this journey on my own, but I am far from alone. And there is an immense joy and a deep sense of contentment with knowing I am exactly where I need to be.
It has been a month of low, weak writing given how impossibly preoccupied my brain has been. So I’m not attempting to make much sense of my posts this time around.
That post-holiday snap back to reality that was the only day of repose we had. My sister fell violently ill and while it thrust me into action-mode that didn’t wane for the rest of the month, it also threw up moments of pondering about surrender, family and togetherness.
There were many days when I was so filled with thoughts, overcome with emotion and dying to let some of it drip over onto a page, but I just couldn’t find the words. Then the #metoo storm hit, and everything was grey for a bit. We lost Leo and that hit me harder than I expected.
Mid-month we began to consider this move, planning for it and I got a felt a bit overwhelmed at what it means for me, to consciously live apart from VC. To be living this dream of being in two cities at once. There were interesting turn of events with an unusual calm even in the face of this frenzy, a clear indication of change in the works, a glimmer of hope with small victories sparked by brave women speaking up.
The unusual calm seems to be here to stay, and feels like it means more. And finally, just when I allowed myself a mini breather, I unravelled and fell ill. But there was work to be done, goodbyes to be said. And a rather special journey together to Goa was embarked upon. Leaving one home, to come to another home. Our own home is WIP, and I’m gradually feeling equal parts envy that VC gets to have the new home, and excitement at returning to my old home for a newish life.
As always, there is gratitude. For ordinary, everyday miracles. For the abundance friendship has brought to my life these past 2 months. For the unseen gifts even in the hardest moments of my life. And for the incredible, generous offering that is a future into the wild unknown.
One month ago: Day 284: September
Two month ago: Day 246: August
Three months ago: Day 219: July
Four months ago: Day 184: June
Five months ago: Day 152: May
Six months ago: Day 134: April
Seven months ago: Day 92: March
Eight months ago: Day 60: February
Nine months ago: Day 32: January
Two years ago: Day 305: Light and life
It’s been a hot day today. After running a few errands out all morning, I spent the rest of the day trying to work. And I have only just finished a short while ago. Even though this window has been open the whole time, I haven’t managed to post it as yet.
On the up-side, the Goa home is slowly taking shape, even if more in our heads than in reality right now. But that too will change soon and I’m actually mildly envious that VC will get to enjoy the newness all on his own! Maybe we’ll manage to do a residence-swap sometime in the future.
I am sleepy and quite sapped from the heat today. Even a cold shower in the evening didn’t shake it off. So I am calling it a day. Tomorrow is a new month and I hope the writing mojo will return.
One year ago: More Goa postcards: walking through Mapusa market
I’ve been marveling at how the opportunity to puppy-sit has beautifully coincided with VC and I needing a roof over our heads during this time in Goa. I know by now that these are not mere coincidences alone. This is chance that works in beautifully orchestrated ways. Chance that works for and with me, rather than at odds with me or taking me by surprise. This is chance that feels like it was meant to be this way all along.
To feel at home in two cities, is one thing. But to also find a place like home that fits and welcomes me every single time is beyond heartening.
D and UTs home has always felt open and welcoming so while I was happy to volunteer my time puppy-sitting their babies, I make no bones about the fact that I felt confident and comfortable enough to do it because this feels like home.
It’s wonderful to be in this space where things work so symbiotically, where I can lean on and depend on friends as much as I can be there for them. There is as much give as there is take, and there is a quiet understanding of this that needs not much explaining.
There’s seriously something to be said about how much time, energy and my very being slows down in Goa. The rush of September and October had really caught up with me in the days before leaving Bangalore. I was feeling very rushed. In fact, it is also a part of the reason I am not ready to leave just yet — it feels rushed and like I am not done. Three days in though, and just like always, that rush dies down in Goa some how. Every single time.
Even as I’ve managed to make some calls, run some errands, do a little bit of work, it’s been a relaxed few days. Sleeping in later than usual, waking up rested and having leisurely cups of coffee — these are things I’ve missed in recent weeks in Bangalore. I’ve also managed to resume reading again. Naps have been taken and endless hours spent in the company of the puppers are being enjoyed. I seem to have fallen into a good rhythm again.
The limbo in my mind remains, I have no idea where I’m headed or when and how, but somehow it feels alright. The rush has calmed down and I am at home, even while I am in-between. Again and again, I’ve been telling myself this is such a new and happy place for me to be.
The last time I drove long distance mostly by myself, was when the boys cycled to Wayanad and I tagged along in the “support car” with all their supplies. Today, I drove halfway to Goa mostly by myself. I say mostly because I was in the car, all alone, but I was driving alongside (not literally) VC who is riding his bike to Goa.
With a car stuffed to the gills, and a bike strapped to the back, it really felt like a fugitive-on-the–run kind of scene this morning as we set off. And yet, it just doesn’t feel like goodbye. It’s the strangest, strangest mixed-up, turnaround of emotions that I just did not anticipate.
Few things make me feel like my father’s daughter like long drives and road-trips do. Today, all by myself, I felt it even more so. Maybe it’s so deep in me, this ease to get on the road and get going, we’ve done this so much growing up that I don’t give it much thought. I just agreed when VC asked if we could split the driving. 24 hours ago though, I was suddenly not so hot on the idea. A massive resistance to pack and get going came over me. I put it down to everything — PMS, the very full moon and even just the strangeness that has been this entire month. But it was too late to back out anyway.
So here we are. Thankfully, I had a really good drive. It was punishingly hot and dry, there was an inordinate amount of traffic getting out of Bangalore, but even so, once the road opened out and my playlists kicked in, I felt like I had slipped out of the funk and into a new energy.
Skimming the road, keeping an eye on VC either in front of me or like a dot in my rearview mirror, I enjoyed my music and solitude, the frequent chai breaks, the oranges I ate peeling them with one hand. It was a long and exhausting drive today. Strange, considering it’s only half the journey, and we usually do the whole 670 kms in one shot. I’m super glad we decided to break our journey, and so I get to post this from the comforts of my hotel room, where I am under the covers as I munch on pakodas and chugging a Coke, waiting for room service to arrive.
Driving alone means you usually have just your thoughts for company. And I had plenty today. Music-related thoughts, Bangalore thoughts, and thoughts about the twists and turns life has made this past year. Maybe some of them will make their way into subsequent posts. Maybe, maybe.
I’m determined to slow down the hectic energy that has consumed me in October, reminding myself to just keep flowing, just keep flowing. If today — it took us twice as long as it usually does to finish this leg of the journey — is anything to go by, things are on track to slowing down for sure.
Distracting ourselves from this unsettled limbo like feeling that’s gripped me all day.
You could call this a Bangalore-style goodbye of sorts, I suppose.
One year ago: On going solo
Reading this post from exactly one year ago sent me down a rabbit hole, going over how the last twelve months have really brought the “at home in both cities” dream to fruition.
Sitting here, on the brink of my better half moving back to Goa, while I exercise the privilege and the dream of living here, and enjoying the luxury of also going home to visit him there for the foreseeable future, I’m amazed at how what was a mere distant thought is today an unbelievable reality for me.
This year I had umpteen opportunities to visit Goa and with each visit the realisation that some part of me will always feel at-home there has grown. And so focused all our intents and thoughts on making this return possible. The funny thing is, now that the move is upon us, I find an equally settled, at-home feeling has developed here too.
This morning, watching and helping VC pack, I thanked my stars for this opportunity to stay. Because I am not ready to relocate just yet. This is a wild twist of events for me: I am not ready to go away just yet. This is not a reflection on Goa as much it is on me feeling at home here, with myself.
So it must be true then, when one door shuts, open it again. It’s a door, it’s how they work. Because it’s certainly what has brought me to this unexpected state of being. At home everywhere. Ready to go. Happy to return.
This agility is such a refreshing change.
Times like this, I’m extra glad for this journal. To look back on and see how far we’ve come. To see how lucky we are. To see how much abundance I have received.
I’m already recovering from the throat infection. It literally caught up with me between one day and the next, skipping a the usual signs of bugs festering within. It honestly felt like I was on the mend, and it’s the only reason I let go and indulged in the beer on Sunday. It was R and S’s anniversary and I found my favourite Goan beer on tap so it was hard to hold back.
But taking yesterday off reminded me that I’ve had wheels on my heels this entire month. Pretty much since the day we returned from Europe. There have been slow days spent at home, yes but I’ve been in charge and in fight mode in my head ever since the start of the month. It’s amazing how our bodies have this capacity to get up and run, endlessly, when the time calls for it. To stretch endlessly on and on, swallowing all signs of usual fatigue or time-outs. But everything has a threshold I suppose. And if it weren’t for illness, I probably wouldn’t have known to shut off that fight mode, which is honestly not needed anymore. My sister is all better, my father is back at his home, we’re slowly packing up. I don’t need to rush around.
It wasn’t until Friday when I drove an hour across town to spend the day with N at her home, that I realised that it was the only day I had to myself this entire month. I’m grateful for it. We had a good day of conversation, a walk about her unbelievably green colony, a really good meal and chai and banana cake to end it all. I delayed my departure by a good three hours over what I had planned. And I do not regret it.
Next week, though not entirely free, promises some quiet. I’m looking forward to it. I’m going home, after all.