Life in moments – The Writer's Nest

Overthinking In The Times Of Google

Me: (suddenly wakes up early morning on Sunday)

Me: (groggily) What’s the time? Only 7.00… Hmm.. Might as well get up early now that I’m awake..

Me: (turns to the side, and suddenly clutches stomach) Ow!

(Pain in lower right side abdomen)

Me: Maybe it will pass. Will wait for a minute or two.

(After two minutes)

Me: Ow!

Me: (suddenly realizing something) Why is it hurting at such a specific point? Lower right-side… Appendix? Is that hurting? Have I got appendicitis? No wait! That’s an over-reaction. I can’t even remember whether it is supposed to be on the left side or right. Let me Google it… No… Then I’ll start reading about all the symptoms and assume that I have a tumor!

Me: (after a minute) Don’t be silly. I am educated, and well aware that Google is not a doctor. And surely, I have some restraint. There’s no need to see the reason of symptoms. Just check what side the appendix is on.

(Tries to get up. More pain).

Me: Okay. So, it’s a shooting kind of pain in a very specific part of the abdomen. There’s no need to worry even if it’s appendicitis. That’s pretty common, and has been taken care of by doctors for years. It’s just a simple operation.

(Conjures up a picture of the doctor reassuring that the operation won’t take long. Immediately follows a picture of knife and stitches)

Me: Okay, stop overreacting. It’s a simple enough thing. Loads of people get it done. And it’s not like I’ll be able to feel anything. But it would be local anesthesia, right? I’ll be awake. I’ll still know that I’m being cut up…

(Takes a deep breathe. More pain).

Me: Mum had woken up from anesthesia when she had a tonsils operation as a child! What if the anesthesia stops working in the middle of the operation? Now, really! Appendicitis operation is not supposed to take that long! And that was decades ago! I’m sure there’s been progress in medical science to ensure nothing like that happens!

(Wonders whether to ask a doctor friend about the details. Wonders how long the hospital stay would be. Probably a day at most? Wonders about taking care of stitches. A large knife looms up in the mind).

Me: (Tells self): You are a grown up! Act like it! You are supposed to be mature enough to handle situations like this. What about when you’ll be living on your own! You were looking forward to proving that you’re an adult, right?

Me: (Continuing rant against self) This staying at home has had a bad effect on you! You weren’t as silly when you were staying in hostel.

(Recalls tuberculosis scare of rural internship in college).

Me: …

(Remains lying in bed for another minute).

Me: Papa! Will you come here a minute?

(Papa comes to the room).

Me: I have a shooting pain in the lower right abdomen. That’s where the appendix is, right? Wait, let me Google!

(Papa tries to get a word between)

Me: Yes, see it’s on the right side! But wait, what’s this about appendicitis? The pain is supposed to start in the middle of the tummy, and slowly spread to right. Hmm. And look, it says that it starts with fever and chills.

Me: (checks forehead) Right. No temperature, no chills. And the pain started wrong. Can’t be appendicitis! And definitely can’t be anything more serious; that would obviously be too much of an overreaction.

Papa: Right… maybe sleep for a little longer. It’ll subside.

Me: Right.

Me: (Turns to side. Mild pain). Hush tummy! It’s not appendicitis. You’re being a humbug!

(Wakes up in an hour)

Papa: (Grinning) How’s the appendix?

Me: (takes a few seconds to recall) Oh, yeah. Hardly any pain now…

May 6, 2017

Health, Humour, Overthinking

The New Life

~~Engineering student~~. Engineer.

So, the last semester is over. College is officially done. I don’t know how I feel about that really. I suppose I would have felt more of a change had I gone to a different city. But since that hasn’t happened, I guess it’s not really sinking in that my student life is over.

I finished my last semester doing an off-campus internship, and am currently on a break. The past few months have not been easy. Adjusting to not being a student is a difficult process. Top it off with other personal disappointments, and you have the perfect recipe for becoming “mopey”.

However, I have been trying my very best to not let that happen. In order to overcome my funk, and the consequent writer’s block, I have been taking an online poetry course. It’s called “How Writers Write Poetry 2015“, and is conducted by Iowa university. It was suggested to me by one of my favorite professors, who knows that I enjoy writing. 🙂

It’s definitely a great experience since I’ve never taken a formal course in creative writing before. I have learnt about some really interesting forms, and I hope to add them to my writing practices. I will be bombarding this blog with a lot of poetry in the coming few weeks.

On the whole, I’ve noticed that this blog has seen less of personal blog posts and more of poetry. I know the reason. It’s easier to hide behind poetry and other creative writing than write what’s really on the mind. And there has been a lot on my mind lately. When I started blogging, one of my goals was to make this blog reflect a part of me. And cutting out the personal stories would be detrimental to that. So, I will be making a deliberate attempt to communicate more on this blog.

I know that I haven’t been exactly regular with the posting, and I’m glad that the readers have stuck with me in spite of that. This is my effort to start engaging more, and begin anew.

May 25, 2015

Change, How Writers Write Poetry 2015, New Beginnings, Poetry

One Last Time

On 20 November 2014, I attended the last ever lecture of my college life. Over the next few days, consciously and sometimes subconsciously, I was aware of the “last” time I would be doing certain things, saying certain things, meeting certain people. The last lecture, the last pen-and-paper exam, the last day at college, the last stroll around the campus, the last visit to every corner of the campus, the last tea in the cafeteria… the last day of living in the hostel, the last memories with friends.

There are of course new things to look forward to. A new job, a new life. But the truth is that I was terrified; terrified of leaving that comfortable place that I had grown to call home. I was afraid of not being a student anymore, not belonging to that wonderful university anymore. I was afraid of growing up, and going out . I was afraid of finding out that life turns out to be very different from what I imagined it to be. I was scared of looking back one day and smile ruefully at my Plans, with a capital P. I still am.

I know all of this is as clichéd as possible. I’m sure every single student goes through the exact same thing. Every college churns out tons of nervous/excited/naïve new adults every year, by the batches. I’m sure every one of these people find their way about. And yet, I don’t know it. For myself. I’m afraid of stumbling through unknown mazes.

It comforts me that there is technically one more semester to go, even if I am doing an internship off campus. Although I won’t be living in the hostel, it is a relief that I can visit sometimes. It is true that I love the idea of new beginnings. But for now, I cannot help but focus on the strings that yet tie me to the university. I cannot help but cherish the small moments of my student life, one last time.

January 14, 2015

Goodbye, Memories, New Beginnings

Blog Review: 2014

2014 has been a very happening year for me. There have been many defining events. The coming year is going to bring even wilder changes! I hope that my blog will continue to reflect the things happening in my life and that my writing will stay true to the person that I am. 🙂

Blog-wise, the year saw a lot of poetry, and some life moments in between. Here are some of my favourite posts this year:

Stories:

Poetry:

There Was Nothing To Be Done

Life/Personal:

Not Being Able To See

Being Enough

On Vulnerability, Bravery and Failure

Last year, my Reader was filled with these wonderful blog reports. I started blogging in February of 2013 and hence, did not get it the last time. This year, this little surprise was waiting for me in my inbox. 🙂

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,000 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 3 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

I hope the following year sees more eclecticism in my blog posts. 🙂

Have a wonderful year ahead!

Happy New Year – Festive, sparkling and glistening cake pops | niner bakes

December 31, 2014

Blogging, Poetry, Stories, Writing

Seeking Solace In Your Past Self

Often, in moments of fear or anxiety, I go back and read my old blog posts; the ones about bravery and growth and optimism. I smile a little, nod a little, but a lot of times, I just wonder. Many times, I start reading and get lost in the words and suddenly, I realize that I’ve been reading the words as if they are by some stranger, when in reality, they are mine. Was it really me, who wrote these uplifting words? How did I know then?

I used to think that knowledge and experience are things that only grow with time. What I learnt once would be remembered always. Maybe that is not always true. Maybe “knowing” is an ever-changing entity and you may gain something several times and lose it as many times too.

trust yourself...... — Image via Pinterest

Maybe growth does not always mean adding to your reserve of strengths. Maybe it just means that it evolves continuously, and the what was once a strength may as well be a weakness now.

I have a love-hate relationship with crossroads and decisions. I like to believe that perhaps everyone does. I like the anticipation of beginning something new. I love that the thought that what may be coming may be wonderful and colorful. But at the same time, there is of course, this fear of choosing the wrong road, and ending up lost. What if that path was better? What if that school was better than this? What if that branch was better than this? Am I in the right place? Am I going in the right direction? Am I making the decisions which will lead me to that life? The one that I have planned?

In retrospect, my past self has always chosen the paths that ultimately turned out to be for the best. Sure, I may have certain small regrets, but by and large, I suppose I am right where I should be. And yet, whenever the time comes for something new, I’m terrified. How did my past self make all these big decisions? How in the world did I know? How did I stand so bravely in the face of all those changes, all those challenges? I feel awed by that self.

Maybe some day, I will read this again. And maybe I’ll have a clearer idea of what it all meant. Maybe someday, my present self will be a solace to the one in the future.

October 30, 2014

Change, Decisions, Hope, Optimism, Personal Growth

The Rainy Day When I Forgot To Make A Boat

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. I’ve got a LOT of stuff going on. It’s a period of learning new things, relearning old things, and the most difficult of all, waiting. I never rated myself high on patience anyway, but this has been the ultimate test.

Today was an idle day for a change. And a heavenly one; the rains look beautiful from our windows! I happened to be home from university. It was nice sitting with my parents, quietly, enjoying the rains.

There were children playing in the little water puddles. Looking at them, I suddenly sat up, thinking.

“What happened?” my mother asked.

A few seconds later I replied.

“I’ve forgotten how to make a boat!”

You know the ones; origami boats that we used to make in school. The ones we put in the water puddles during the rains.

Getting hold of some paper, I immediately started making one. I couldn’t see the steps in my mind at once, but my hands remembered. I guess this is one of the things that is like riding a bicycle; you don’t forget.

“Turns out I do remember how to make a boat.” I grinned at my mother.

I suppose this could have been the point where my mother told me to stop being ridiculous and grow up. Ha! She taught me how to make a ship! 🙂

July 29, 2014

Boat, Family, Mother, Origami, Rain

On Vulnerability, Bravery and Failure

Trying out new things; the thought makes my stomach plunge a little every time. You know the feeling; a sudden jab of fear, adrenaline, and a worse version of “butterflies-in-the-stomach”. In general, stepping out of your comfort zone, leaving behind “what you know” invokes similar feelings.

I’m generally very good at identifying “what I know”. While that can be a valuable quality to have in various situations, it is also a liability in personal development; I form unnecessary boundaries and define limits for myself.

This is not my thing: not making an attempt.

I’ll try my best but I’m warning you, I’m not very good at this: being apologetic in advance.

I know what all of these statements mask. A fear of failure. What if I try it and find out I’m not good at it? I won’t even try. What if people see me fail? I’ll claim I knew it in advance. All the while hiding behind a claim of self-knowledge and a show of courage.

I’ve spent a lifetime in a cocoon. I’ve cottoned my surroundings to lessen the impact of any stumbling block. All my life, I’ve held on to things that I know I’m good at. It has stopped me from giving a chance to things that I could have tried and probably enjoyed. And yet, I know I’m missing something; exhilaration. Devoting your whole and soul to something and simply hope for the best.

The past semester has taught me various things. Getting past the feeling of vulnerability is one of those things. I’ve tried to put myself forward, right into that uncomfortable spot, in small, everyday moments of life, consciously. A prick of fear, many moments of “What was I thinking!” and a final dogged attempt later, I’ve always feel glad of attempting the uncomfortable. And in most cases, it hasn’t been that bad. A lot of my inhibitions have been over-exaggerated and sometimes, downright irrational.

In this past semester, I’ve made myself face small challenges every day. I’ve tested and flexed what I thought my boundaries were. I’ve launched heads-on into things that make me uncomfortable. The results have been satisfying. I’ve found new strengths. I’ve discovered a depth in my capacities that I never knew of.

Unfortunately, I’ve found out that such attempts, while very enlightening, have not changed my basic instinct. Which is to save myself from failing. A few days of comfort, and coming back to facing vulnerability is as difficult as ever. Bravery then, is a product of not one (or a few), but many such attempts.

This is my goal now; to continue to challenge myself every day, to try my hand at something new, to conquer that discomfort felt in the pit of my stomach. My goal is to fail, perhaps in the eyes of the world, so that I do not fail myself.

June 2, 2014

Bravery, Comfort Zone, Failure, Fear, Personal Growth, Vulnerability

A Fair World

It was more than a decade back. The Navratri celebrations in our society had Garba competitions. (I’ve talked about Navratri and my love for dancing here. For the new readers, Navratri is a nine-nights long dance festival. Garba is the dance form). It was announced that the dancer who dances continuously the entire night (excluding official breaks) will win.

I was nine, passionate and a fairly good Garba dancer. I held a wish in my heart. I wanted to win. Working up the will, I danced tirelessly. I did not stop when there was barely space enough to dance. I did not stop when the crowd lessened. I did not stop when my body started aching. I danced the entire night.

It was time for the prize ceremony. I was feeling elated. I had danced more than ever before. I had had more fun dancing than ever before even though I was tired. I was proud of myself. I had achieved something that I hadn’t thought myself capable of.

I did not get the prize. It went to the organizer’s daughter. At the risk of sounding, well, childish, I should mention that she did not dance for even one complete hour. I don’t have an accurate or objective memory of her dancing skills.

It was the first time I learnt that the world isn’t fair. You may not always sow what you reap. You may not always get the fruits of your hard work. You may not get any acknowledgement or appreciation for giving your whole, undivided devotion to something. I was too idealistic. The realization broke my heart.

Over the years, I’ve mainly had good experiences in this matter; most of my efforts have been rewarded. But then, there have also been a few experiences where I’ve felt wronged, resentful, betrayed. Experiences, where the child in me wants to cry out, Unfair! and fold her arms in indignation, frowning, and going all Calvin.

I identify myself with the work that I do. I gain satisfaction from a job well done. Anything less than perfect eats at me, though I’ve been working on not letting it affect me. The point is, I pride myself on working wholeheartedly. When that work is not appreciated, it hurts me. And there is not a lot that really hurts me. I suppose it is not healthy to depend on rewards for satisfaction. And don’t get me wrong; it is not the materialistic rewards that I seek; merely recognition for my efforts.

It is an age-old adage that one shouldn’t work for the fruits, just the satisfaction. And that Karma takes care of everything. Eventually everything works out for the best. I would be lying if I said that I do not believe in it. There is some part of me that is still idealistic, that still believes that rewards will come, albeit not in the form that I expected. But then, there’s this other part of me, a somewhat pessimistic part. A part that has been asking these questions lately:

Is it enough to get returns in another form?

The balance may turn out to be all right at the end of the balance sheet but is life mathematics, with each wish, each reward having an equal value? Aren’t some dreams and efforts worth more?

And at the end, when we feel satisfied at least with ourselves, is that satisfaction real or merely a consolation that we fool our hearts with?

These are some questions that I’ve been grappling with, especially the last one.

This is my answer to it:

I shall continue to put in my best efforts in whatever I do. I do not know any other way to work. The satisfaction of it, consolation or not, is very real to me. But at the same time, it is important to be worldly wise too. It is important to know where to draw the line between working tirelessly and getting taken advantage of.

I still do not know all answers. I still want to learn.

What has been your experience?

May 6, 2014

Hard Work, Justice, Personal Growth, Satisfaction

Being Enough

One year ago, I began this blog.

One year ago, I felt pretty lost. Everyone around me was doing so much, or so I felt. I didn’t feel competent enough. I felt I was being too complacent, too cowardly, too negative. This blog began as an attempt to revive my love for writing and… and something else; something that I couldn’t quite place.

I had been mulling over blogging for at least six months before I started. But for some reason I never felt I could go through with it. I had stopped writing since a long time, and it didn’t come as easily as before. I had no idea of what would be acceptable to publish. The first post had been sitting drafted on my computer for a long time.

One night though, I made a snap decision. Past midnight already, I opened WordPress.com, chose a cheesy URL, picked out the first theme I saw and hit publish.

When I started blogging, I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted to come out of it. I liked writing, but had pretty vague ideas about what exactly I would write. I was being affected by too many other bloggers who had their own style. There were bloggers who had weekly features, who wrote fun stuff. For some time, I tried doing all of that. There were several posts that I published and then deleted. Nothing worked; it just wasn’t me.

For several months, I wrote just for the sake of it, struggling even to publish just once a month.

A change came around September. I participated in a blogging challenge. I wasn’t able to finish it, but I wrote more than what I was previously doing. I think it was significant in two aspects; one, that it helped me get rid of my writers’ block, and two, it gave me the courage to publish without spending ages on revising it.

I remember the first follower I had, the first time I got a comment, the first time someone “liked” my post. I wasn’t sure what exactly I was seeking; validation perhaps, that there were people out there who liked reading my thoughts. I remember signing in with anticipation every time, getting excited when I saw something orange on the top right corner of my WordPress account. A follow made my day, I liked being “liked”. The time I hit a 100 followers, I was over the moon; there were so many people who were reading my blog.

In the past few months though, a change has come. I still smile when someone “follows” or “likes”. But I am the happiest when the orange button indicates a comment.

I’ve finally realised why I started blogging. What I wanted the most was conversation.

It’s not like I don’t have friends; I do, and they are great friends. But they all know me in bits and pieces. I discuss books with some, poetry with some, feminism with a few others. I talk about stuff close to my heart, the things that make me wonder, the things that I fear, my musings generally, with certain others. This blog is where all pieces of me come together wholly to form the mosaicked self that I am.

Over time, I’ve figured out a rhythm for myself. I’ve developed a voice that I can see myself talking in. More importantly, I’ve become brave enough to put myself in the posts. I no longer feel the pressure to publish twice a week; I know now that thrice or four times a month is more suitable for me. I write what I actually want to write about, taking time to articulate what I have to say.

I never was comfortable writing poetry before. I think it has something to do with the fact that my father is a Ghazal writer. Ghazal is a very restrictive form of poetry; there are a lot of rules to be followed. Somehow I always felt it would be too much work to write poetry to be able to enjoy it. When I started blogging, I also started reading more blogs. Though I knew this before theoretically, it was only then that I finally internalised that poetry didn’t have to be restrictive. I have no idea whether my poetry is any good, but I don’t feel conscious about it anymore. I write it because I like to. Blogging has given me this gift.

It is here on this blog that I’ve talked about overcoming failures, about obedience, about being good. It is here that I’ve come to terms with why I am the way I am. It is here that I now feel I am enough.

Thank you. For reading, for sharing your thoughts, for conversing. I appreciate it.

February 21, 2014

Blogging, Conversation, Personal Growth, Writing

Not Being Able To See

In A Song for Summer by Eva Ibbotson, there is a scene, where the protagonist, Ellen is being interviewed by the principal of the boarding school where she has applied to be a housemother. At one point, he asks her what she fears. And she replies, “Not being able to see.”

Being blind isn’t what she meant. She meant being limited by something (prejudice, love) to be able to gain a clear perspective on a situation. Basically, she meant that she was afraid of being ruled by own emotions, her own fixed ideologies.

I’m sure that many of us struggle with this. There has been a time period in my life when I was so consumed by what was supposed to be, that I failed to see what actually was. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had problems with perfection. It was particularly bad during this period. I had such a clear vision of a Plan, that I couldn’t (wouldn’t) accommodate any curve balls. Admitting to myself that I tried something and failed isn’t easy for me. It’s not about other people; I don’t accept my own failures with an open mind. And this is the reason why I could only see my so-called “failures” instead of what I had actually achieved.

Today when I look back at that time, I realise that the situation wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like my life was doomed if just one single thing went wrong. My plans weren’t that off-the-track that I couldn’t redeem. I know now, that I could have avoided a lot of pain, tears, irrational fears, had I been able to see.

Today has been one of those days. You know, when nothing seems to be going right. When your judgement is addled by mood swings. When your own view becomes so myopic that everything seems a disaster. I was agonizing for half a day about what was going wrong with absolutely everything. For the major part of the day, I could only see the flaws.

And then I stopped. I decided to let life happen, in its own way.

It’s so easy to become lost in the perfect picture of the future. I’ve mentioned before that I make a conscious effort at trying to be in the present. It still doesn’t come that naturally. But I try.

I fear it too; not being able to see. Because I know what that kind of narrow-minded worry can do to me. Instead, I try to let out the steam; cool off, call up my mother and rant about people and things that she barely knows. But I try not to let that anxiety sit in my heart. It’s better to be annoying to others for a little while than harm yourself with worry. People who are close always understand.

January 23, 2014

Fear, Living in the present, Optimism, Personal Growth

Category: Life in moments

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