My return to the dining table productive space. More impulsive writing. Updates from 2022 so far.
It’s been a couple months since I last wrote to you all. Back then I was immersed in the labor of bringing my consulting dreams to fruition. I did, to an extent; but I also didn’t. I have had a hectic couple months since then, and many life altering decisions later I am writing to you from another dining table, except this time — in Ahmedabad, and the home of a dear friend and classmate’s family. My relationship with writing on tables at nighttime is an interesting one, it’s often accompanied by an impending academic deadline that I am postponing or ignoring, and that fuels a burst of creative writing in rebellion. Funny.
I have been modelling more, and inshallah, will continue to model more. I also got the opportunity to act, and that was as enthralling as it sounds. I am lively, I am well. I’ve met some old friends again, lost some old friends, gained some. I returned to my Uni after a really long hiatus, longer than any of my peers did — and realized just how poorly I fit into that world. Classes, socializing with the same groups daily, and sitting at the same overpopulated hotspots where thriving social animals in their trendy outfits meet to smoke, stare at their college crushes and discuss their hallway enemies. I felt so lost each time I was sitting there, yet I felt calm when I walked anywhere on campus by myself. Calm when I sat for an exam, calm when I had purpose. It’s the moments in between having purpose where I questioned my place and fit. I suppose I am unable to feign an interest in the day to day mingling and relationships that dictate so much of my peers’ lives. Perhaps I still hold them and these petty social structures accountable for my loneliness through my first two years of Uni, and so I still mingle infrequently and selectively. To such an extent that people begin to think I am disinterested in them, which could be true for a lot of them — however for the most part I am disinterested in needing their company, or being the sort of person that is always surrounded, always with people — suffocating in conversation and friends.
Some people have helped me feel like I belong, though — a lot. Every call to ask if I’ll be seeing them, every reminder that they are waiting for me, every conversation initiated along when I’m leaving— has helped me navigate a maze of loneliness and familiar buildings. I truly felt nothing coming back, but whenever someone would overcome their anxiety over my disinterest and reach out to me — it would, hypocritical as it sounds, encourage me to perceive them with fondness.
It helped me feel remembered. It’s so easy for people to move on from someone’s absence. So easy to forget you exist. I suppose it’s easy for me to stop existing in people’s lives too. Many will say that I forgot them, but that’s not entirely true. More on that later.
I came full circle this trip. I rekindled a bond with the same boy I walked into Uni with on that first day back in 2018, and I cut ties with the same people who I adopted after this absence. The developments have been truly monumental and nothing short of fantastic. Almost dreamlike.
I have also moved to Bombay. Signed with a modelling agency. Faltered, and brought to my senses by the faith of others in me. I am truly grateful for everyone that has ever campaigned for me. Stood up for me. Wanted me. Thankyou for choosing me.
Those that didn’t — there will be a point in time, it might not be now, when you will look at all I am doing and wish you had. I’m just that bitch.
I am not nostalgic about leaving college, I am nostalgic for this safety net. For knowing that I was a student with a college with real people in my class. Who would be there whenever I chose to return. Now, I feel like I could come back endless times, and never feel the way I felt when I walked into the cafeteria last week the same way I did in my first week of college, next to the same person. That little deja vu was such a hit on my false reality of life. This is my life. That’s the thing though, as much as I had willingly detached from my Uni in the past two years, I won’t have that option anymore. I will be cut off.
I also entered the 21st year of my life, which is absurd because for the longest time I was a happy young kid. I suppose I can’t be that surprisingly young person anymore. I’m an adult. I wrote a piece on this feeling a while ago — for those of you interested in it, it’s on my page. I also got my driving license, which was honestly a relief. As much as it was a hassle, the training and test went by smoothly, and it all happened well despite me travelling almost every month this year.
I am also working on my dissertation — the only piece of real research (rather, any research) I have done in my entire academic career. I don’t know how much of it is real, I mainly just want to graduate without any lags or hassle. Inshallah.
There is so much to do ahead. Weirdly, I am about to work on my dissertation now. I feel like I could write the entire paper in a day — which I’m glad I feel because a day is all I have to finish it anyway. I hope you have a productive day too, and if you haven’t so far — just sit with your laptop or notebook open at the dining table, pull your back straight, have some coffee, and start. You’ll get there.
Earlier today, the mother of my host family was playing with their dog Chase, who I adore (the entire family,) and I caught a few candid pictures of her and her son. Sprawled on the floor, the father in the background — happy, involved and loving faces. Like my mother would’ve done for me, and me for her. I sent those pictures to aunty, and an hour later — after hosting and seeing off some friends who had come over for lunch, taking care of the leftovers, getting the house and all its denizens in order — she checked her phone. She came up to me as I was at work on the dining table, and hugged me from the back. The loving embrace of a mother who felt seen. She whispered, “thankyou so much, I have never had such pictures taken of me. I have no pictures like this with my baby.” and I felt so overwhelmed I could cry. She is a mother to me, after all. She took me in when I had no place to go, and she has catered to me for the past two weeks. She has been kind and welcoming and warm. As mothers are.
Yesterday was also the launch of the cast of the new Archie's movie — which I auditioned for about a month ago, and sadly did not bag. I don’t feel too sad about it though. The girl they cast in it is distinctively not me — they probably had a specific look in mind. I can’t influence things that are beyond my control, I can only influence the future to be in my favor by making the most of my today.
My mother has been very physically active and diet conscious lately. As much as I am an aggressively fit individual, I have never wanted to push my mom to be the same. It’s different for moms, it truly is. Weirdly, if I was a mom I am still confident I would be fit and dedicated to my workout regime, yet the moment the question is about MY mom — everything is an exception. Man, she’s just done so much, so much that enslaves a person and makes you feel lesser than the rest. As was expected of her — she is a great mother, an unbeatable host, a kind teacher and an angel. So thoughtful, thought of too less in my opinion.
I wish the most for my parents. My father lost his dad when he was barely 18. Maybe 19. Unreal. I feel so safe because of my father. Knowing I have someone to pay for my college, knowing someone is paying for my mother and handling the house loans and the insurance. Someone who is keeping us all from falling apart under the stress of decisions we never had to worry about making. He couldn’t live life as easy and carefree as I do when he was my age. At one point, he was the only earning member in the family, despite being the younger sibling. He didn’t have a father to call like I did when I didn’t know what I stood for, couldn’t think straight and needed guidance and wisdom. He didn’t have anyone waiting up for him to get home, or unable to sleep at night because he was sick in another state. He didn’t have anyone pushing him to be his best self. My father has stood by me like a rock. His word has made all the difference for me when I needed to be supported by an elder in the family. He has been kind.
Then there is my brother — the kindest, sweetest, most genuine and smart boy. A true hero and a shining light in my life. There is no one, truly no one, I adore more than him. At one point, my friend Arunima was the object of my highest adoration, second to only Pragun. I would buy anything he asks of me, for real. I wish he gets the love, fame, success and joy he deserves. I hope he gets to party in all the ways that I didn’t. I hope he gets girls and has lots of friends and goes on lots of trips with his peers. I hope he has the best education, opportunities, and all the financial backing needed for it. I hope I can spoil him as I was never spoiled. Not to say that my parents didn’t spoil me, I suppose getting spoiled was not much of an expectation or part of our reality for us. It is such a fine balance, having to think of your parents, both of them individually and them as a unit, with gratitude and patience, and your younger sibling and yourself, with expectations and hope— together. We come from such different places even though we wake up each day under the same roof.
We come from such different places even though we wake up each day under the same roof.
I am so grateful. Each day.
A friend from uni just called. Twice. Thrice today, actually, now that I think of it. I do love when he calls randomly. I always know he’ll call eventually, but it still makes me smile, and my heart beat a little faster, when I see his name on my phone screen. The feeling is the same, but in a different font, when one of the other few special men in my life call. I haven’t really experienced that with any other guy. It’s funny how I’m so used to talking to them, but it’s still exciting each time. Is this how couples that last, last? They stay in love, they stay feeling good around each other, they stay feeling excited.
Note — It is about two months since I wrote this draft. I am in Bombay, on my desk, and I have touched my laptop for the first time since I finished my dissertation. Updates from between in another article. I’ve made no changes to the content except alter names that I shamelessly included in my heated night of journaling here that day. Hope this one wasn’t too aimless. Love, as always.
