Prose before hos

Kelly Clarkson got nothing on me; that's how strong I am. 

Or well, I had to be. 

A friend reminded me that I couldn't go an hour without crying if I brought up the subject to discuss my break-up, and somehow, running into my ex during our respective run (walk?) was...monumental, if nothing else. 

"You know nothing," weighed in the ex-colleague, "men know the ways to crawl back."

If that were the case, then he'd definitely reply to me and not leave the meme on reaction alone. 

Of course, my ex-colleague went all, you-fucked-up-big-time, as did two other friends who've heard all about the said break-up. People love to give unsolicited opinions on break-ups and I love to hear their view, as long as it's not my life they're commenting on. If that's the case, then fuck right off. 

Earlier last week, it had been over six months since our last date, and five months since our break-up; you can say four months of absence purely on a technicality cause the break-up timeline is hazy. 

We caught up on our lives after this meet-cute, but it didn't feel heavy.
Strangely, it flowed, it felt like nothing had ever happened, no time had lost, except there were glaring gaps that we were filling in.

Gaps, which showed that a lot of time had passed, but nothing had really changed in terms of our personalities. I was still overthinking and worrying myself to death, and he was still juggling exhaustion and long hours. A match made in heaven, unlike us. 

So, when the momentum died over text the next day, the status quo as "ex for a reason" was restored, I lived through the realisation that we're not together in any capacity, loud and clear. It was like taking five daggers through my body, extremely painful and very heavy throughout the day, and it even spilled into the weekend. 

Thankfully, this time, the damage was only cleaning my room, packing my luggage, buying a saree, organising my closet and sorting my lingerie. Imagine, if I worked with my ex, the productivity would shoot through the roof. 

I don't know how and when the pain subsides because the yearning sure did; infact I was recounting the same to the friend minutes before the run-in. The dull ache though? That goes on. It shows up in the middle of a joyous occasion, a moment after lunch when I'm wondering who do I rant about my work-performance reward, a memory when I'm in the car; none of it stops ever. You learn to live with the pain but it's unfair how it continues to be there. 

Obviously, the event was detrimental to the yearning in control. I spiralled back into a lunatic for the first 48 hours, went completely batshit at picking my skin (it's swollen, palms have hives, rash on thighs), ate more than I should have, ate breakfast, just went ham at my life. Not to forget, added more walks in my schedule, but in a different park. Didn't bother arguing or convincing my friend who I go out with to go to the same venue where we ran into each other. 

The reason I write about this is not because it's the only monumental thing that happened to me, but it certainly did affect me more than my sister's engagement, the appraisal (that sucked), planning a whole engagement party and an after party, dealing with disgruntled family. None of it broke me like this blip did. I have been speaking to my therapist on the regular, I feel I'm working harder than ever and yet, none of it had any effect, not the way this episode did.

It's been a month of way too many things going down, a lot of emotions running wild. A lot of me splattered into corners where I've no business being around. He made me feel the same, "what are you doing here at 7 am?" I couldn't gather anything except "hey" when I wanted to say, "it's 7:51 am, what does it look like I'm doing from my outfit and sweat and is this hard that I can't do it?" Instead, I just froze and smiled. 

I spent a lot of time with family, friends, extended family over this weekend. A lot of camaraderie to distract, spaces which offered me a respite from this constant badgering of what was the purpose of this episode, and times when I could disappear and nobody would say anything. Yet, the only thing that mattered was, how I came undone at a simple question from him, "something on your mind?"

I fucking love boomers aka folks born in the 80s, cause they got their hatred for the "reaction" right. If not for that, I'd be simping on the man in this post. Thank god for no-reaction because the way that reigned me in should be studied. 

A colleague at work quit his job the same day I broke up with my (now) ex. 

It went something like this— my ex and I had the break up conversation while I was on my way to work. My colleague called me shortly after I had reached office. 

I was sitting numb, nauseated and wondering if I should get to checking numbers for the week or go to the washroom and attempt to cry. Instead, I took his call. He started screaming; he was complaining about the person seated in front of me, and told me they're the reason he wants to put in his papers. I am not particularly fond of the person, but in that moment, I was barely able to comprehend anything that he was saying. 

After 15 minutes of his monologue, he told me he has a job interview and if I could help him prepare. Two questions in, I realised I had to hit the washroom. 

"I just broke up. You're the first person to know. I am feeling sick. Can we talk in a bit? I'm really sorry I'm just not okay." 

I felt guilty as hell; I remember my outfit. I remember what he texted me after. He was the first person in my life to know. 

I think it sank when he was talking to me how much he loathes the person who was seated in front of me. 

This colleague and I worked together closely for a year. We had nothing in common, we have nothing in common. He was always a call away to help me and I'd like to think I was always bothering him asking him for one too many things. 

Shortly after my break up, the project I was assigned to do with him changed and I was no longer an associate there. I was told both our replacements were extremely thrilled. His resignation had gone through and my break up was well underway. 

Coming Monday marks his last working day. 

Through the first month of his notice, he had reached out asking if he should rescind. "Don't even think about it." They had extended his notice and had refused to accept his resignation. My break-up was instant. Atleast, I think so. I don't think he (aka my ex) would agree. 

He (my colleague) was asked to extend this notice, it's been over three months since he first dropped that he's leaving and now five months in, he's almost out. 

Kinda like my break up. 

On most days, I know it's gone through and I'm single. I tell confidently, and I believe every word when I say the closure was helpful. 

And then I come home and have an ugly cry. I think of all the times last year I had both these people in my life and I could just count on them to be there, to root for me on my bad days and support me through low points. 

Today was one such day, I was reminded this colleague is on his way out. I was reminded it's been over three months since we discussed break up. 

I wish I could rescind the grief, that I'm so tired of holding out and waiting for my ex to come and hold along with me. I wish it wasn't me crying in bed but moving on, like my colleague did. I wish I was brave to see through endings when I know I'm done. 

Instead, I'll wallow. Another night of despair, another year into this job, another failure. 

I think I finally understood what my friend meant when she said break NC. She saw how much he meant to me and felt I deserved to have people who root for me in my corner. 

It's okay, I guess, to have them in my memory alone. 

It's been a perfect day. Perfect because it started with a call from you. 

No, really. I didn't pay attention to the fact that I got rejected by two Uber drivers while on that call. I didn't even pay my Uber driver, and when I reached my desk, I realized that I owed him INR 576.44 for a ride Uber promised me for INR 424. Did I file a claim? You bet. This is even before I realised I hadn't paid him. Then I proceeded to panic and feel bad in equal measure that I hadn't paid him and he deserved his due for driving me when everyone else rejected the ride

I tried so hard (and got so far?) to get to the driver and despite leaving multiple helpless messages to faceless help chatbox, I got a call from the driver himself. Aisa hota hai ma'am, koi baat nahi. 

On my way out, I was rejected by two drivers again but the weather made me forget that it's okay to be denied a ride just when you're about to enter the cab. Cash payment nahi hai toh ride nahi hogi. 

Fucker. 

I walked over 5k, when all I wanted to do was nap. I changed my bedside table contents, I added a gorgeous tray and an open perfume— fuck, am I that ballsy/confident/rich? Or am I just bored? Perhaps, I'm bored. I switched the side where I sleep on. I am now fervently in the middle of a king bed alone. Living like a king. Not really, I've been living out of bags, two broken cartons, all old packaging. I repainted the room with the same colour. 0 risk, all reward; just like you reader no. 0. 

I love the fact that you go as far back as my memory allows. First annual day in school, our first Christmas lunch; you are the reason I broke NC with my latest ex and you'll always be the person I'll praise in therapy. 

Even when I've had horrible sessions when I've cried my eyes out and opened about my family (only took 5 years and a massive family announcement), I've praised you. "That's the only relationship which gives me hope at present."

My college friend disagrees. She thinks I'll never be able to purge my favourite ex; that he's a permanent fixture in my life. She hasn't met you, she'd change her stance if she did. He texted me ten mins ago; checking in. I wish my latest ex would do that lolololol. But, instead, you tell me to text him. You tell me to keep my ego aside, and let my love flow. I try. 

I am aiming to be forgiving this year. I've tried gratitude and I've tried kindness but forgiveness is a ,lost cause. I enjoyed trying empathy but not for me. Makes me too weak. I fought for a disabled couple at a cinema hall recently. I felt I'd write a whole thought-feature and request an editor to publish. But, like a lot of other things, reconciliation, forgiveness and writing are not coming to me. 

You're the only person who's consistently asked me when am I updating this page. Truth be told, there were days. All these days that I wanted to, but changing your routine and life by 180, and then finding any pocket of time to write is criminally hard. I'd rather crush the NRC app with personal goals (my cadence is decent but my pace stinks). 

Covid is back. Everything returned except him. It's so funny, I'm doing the exact thing I swore to myself I'd never do— befriend him— but forgiveness, that evades me. Not that he needs forgiveness. But, I do need a space to compartmentalize all the care and the love I have for him. I don't know where to take it. He doesn't need it and I can't burden him with it. I miss him, but I don't need him in my routine now. I spoke about it to my other pal- you know her. I told her between an uphill climb, I used to miss our routine but now I just love him and miss him from a distance. I don't know how to get rid of that but I'm trying to settle those emotions and trade them for sweat in 36 degrees that feel like 45 degrees in May. Humid, sweaty, but perfect. 

Like today; in 2007 when I wrote my first blog post here in May, you were the first person I informed. 

Nothing has changed. Except you got married and we're watching our siblings go down a road at the same time, once again. I'm still writing and you're still reading. You're still here. 

Perfect day. Couldn't be better and couldn't ask for more on a day when I'm in my ovulation cycle, the Sun is out till 7 pm and I'm glad I can move around. 

Okay. Okay. 

I paid 10 plus dollars on renewing the domain so I need to make an effort in writing here and I've got a pestering friend/fan/reader who asked what he did so here goes. 

Over 10k spent on workout/athleisure.

26.4 km walked in Winflow in a month-ish? (with Delhi Summer, Del-Ggn bs, debilitating health scare, 2 cycles of PMS, one major heartbreak scene)

—wait, that's why you called it off, right? You were finding it hard to focus a night before

I wonder if you remember my quirks. The Oscars are tomorrow

I will watch all the films I possibly can, and complain that people in the theatre lack etiquette

Will you remember that the two Award functions last year and one this year were fucked? 

I remember your level of interest. You followed up more 

I'd unpack the care, the curiosity and the interest on a night like this

I don't suppose you wonder if I miss you

It's easier to convince oneself that the other person is a villain because you are tired of waiting for a sign,

a relic that breathes life into your dead relationship, other than wonderment

Then why do I sit every hour, between get together, engagement parties, long car rides and catch-ups with friends and cousins alike

Why do I ponder if you ever found the peace you were craving or the answers you were seeking

What broke it and what was it? 

I wonder if you have palpitations when you get sick,

I keep thinking that there's some other pain other than the matters of the heart and that despite struggling to breathe, this is easier to get through

I don't have to remember you not being there when I was sick last,

or you pushing me away when you were sick last

I wonder whether you've already forgotten everything and me;

Did you cage the memories or pack them and stored away like everything that makes you uncomfortable

I wonder if you perceive me differently now? How did you perceive me? Is that negotiable? If so, I'd like to be remembered as someone who tried with all her heart and might

I wonder if you think of me and wish for things to go back, on a plucked eyelash

The grapes under the table were treacherous this year— it's been a sinking, losing downward battle in every way

I wonder if you were always intending to run away and it was your curiosity about me that kept you here

I wonder if you know this is about you. Everything has been about you, how we started and how we parted

I don't suppose we'll cross roads again, but if we do, I hope we think of each other as fondly as we once did on that cold winter night when I thought to myself, he's nothing like anyone I've ever met

I used to think the year my grandparents died respectively were possibly the toughest years of my life. I don't quite remember the years exactly but losing two grandparents in the years when I was a teenager shaped a big part of my life outside school, and probably inside there too. By the end of it, I was counting days for school to end and to start a new life. Then, it hit again, in 2020. I lost my grandfather among other things including full-time employment. 

Then, why is it that I'm equating a year like 2020 when the shit hit the roof with one like this? Half a decade ago, I knew this career option was closing in on me and ending and yet, the grief was short-term. Why me and what did I do to deserve this? Today, there is grief- long-standing, physically painful and mentally given up. 

In a lot of ways, I see patterns repeating from 2019-'20 in my life today, there is an ending in the corner. One with this job, with the career I nurtured and the person I became. I'm probably mourning all of it while balancing the pain of coping through the trauma these have afflicted. The employment situation has let me down tremendously. A gross act of betrayal, if and when I get the courage to open this pandora's box. I haven't spoken to my therapist in months and I suspect the day I do, I'll probably be referred to a psych and depression medicines because we anticipated I'll reach here and in a way, my worst fears have become my very reality. 

Sooner or later, this trickles into personal life as it did over the last few years. First there were friends, then there were dates, then the hobbies, everything has seen the exit in me trying to survive this shitshow. I live with a constant headache, my mouth parched and tears swelling my eyes at all times. I don't deserve this. I deserve to be happy. 

The other day I got to a point of trying to have a day dream, what would my perfect day look like. 

I couldn't. 

I couldn't come up with visuals, words, images. Imagination was lost on me. I just couldn't get myself to think what would a day look like when I'm truly happy and genuinely enjoying myself. Clearly, shopping myself out of grief has stopped working. Buying 3 gold bracelets, a book, a flower subscription and taking myself for desserts and films has done nothing for me in the last 30 days. 

I wonder if the girl at 15 who felt she had no plan in the future or no clue how to live her life would be scared to see where she is at 33 or be proud that we survived. I had hope in all those shitty years, hope that life looks better and gets better, and it truly did. 

For some reason, life feels out of hope. 

All of this, I was able to put forth with a single kernel of thought—VH1 is shutting down. 

Last year, on my birthday vacation, I checked myself into a room in the seedy tropics and watched MTV on repeat high out of my mind. I drank Pepsi Blue, survived cramps after edibles and ate on the bed like no tomorrow, all because I could see MTV back to back. 

Somehow everything going to shit in the last 60 days or so didn't break me down enough to write about it all, till VH-1's departure did. 

VH-1 was my ride or die through school. I saw it knowing I've an ailing grandparent at home. I saw it through my well earned study breaks and felt I belonged in a world different from the one I was physically living in. It gave me hope in my darkest days at the time. 

And today, it's probably the last nail in the coffin of me feeling hopelessly alone and tirelessly worn out. Instead, those who brought me here won this round. 

Somehow everything about this job and state of affairs feels eerily similar to school, politics and tenth grade bullshit. I am reminded of living life through the lens of playing minesweeper with my academics and people I was forced to reckon with. None of it feels remotely safe or nurturing except being at home and placed in front of the TV set. Admittedly, there's no VH-1 but there is that telly, there is a sofa set and thar's probably the only thing keeping me going. 

These two months have been the hardest I've dealt with so far, to the point I can see it greying and slowing me down. My metabolism is at an all time low and the fight to survive is dead. 

Most days I've thought of dark things, of easy ways out of this misery and then numbing myself and those thoughts with a mindless purchase or deep endless scroll in the pits of the internet. I've stooped low and I know what it's like so I know I'm scratching the rock bottom and asking for help, I'm knocking the thin covering and begging myself to be taken out of this cause there's only so much I can take in the name of doing the right thing and waiting for results to take shape. 

First step to recovery is admitting you need help. Here I am. 

2025 you suck balls and I will need all the help I can to survive and outlast you. 

The first time I heard someone sing and play Que sera, sera was in our school's music room. A tiny, damp, stinking cubicle with no utilities, we were made to sit on the ground and the lyrics for the new hymn would be on the board before we could settle inside. In a year, we probably learned 5 new hymns, even if we had a music class once every week. For one, the teachers would frequently resign, and when we did have the staff, some other teacher would take that class to finish their respective syllabi.

The music room itself is another story. The board was cracked and overused; you could smell feet and heaps of carpets, leaving little scope for learning after countering the olfactory instinct to throw up. 

Yet, Que sera, sera was etched in my mind. As was Iko Iko. Two tracks I learnt at school. The most memorable of them all— one of the many—this music teacher was a young man from Goa, who was instrumental in getting the school to win prizes for several competitions for years. Despite that, he had little interest in nurturing any talent. Sure, he taught when he wanted to and passionately at that; but having the music room next to the most strict nun's room wasn't helpful in nurturing any wunderkind. I recall him calling her names and making the kids laugh. Probably his biggest contribution to junior school (aka my batch) was that he was sternly against the management, perhaps because he abhorred authorities. 

In years to come, when I left school with half-baked bass lessons and got shortlisted to play for college in the year first year, I thought about my time at school a lot. My friends and others who I played with, had been taught. Their parents paid for lessons over the years and the other pals had attended institutions where the school paid attention to teaching music, or well, attempting to hone the skill. I lacked it all, but it was probably intent that put me on equal footing with the folks I met. 

A few years after college, I learned that a senior who had become a prominent figure in music, had forged a sort of relationship (professional definitely, personal probably) with the erstwhile music teacher from Goa. He was, now, older and uglier but certainly full of talent. Cause why else would an impressionable young girl form an alliance with him. She was all sorts of popular in school and later in life too. One of those who don't stop peaking till they die kind. 

As life goes, she ends up marrying someone else. Traded the mic for an editor in chief role at a top music publication in the country, ditched the old music teacher (or whatever happened between them god knows) but basically she was out with the old and in with the new. It was magnetic, her new vibe. Everything about her screamed a makeover and the teacher? He was lost in oblivion. 

I don't know what propelled me to think about him yesterday, but I found him on gram. Complete with a story on how it's great to be single as an artist (it really isn't but sure), he's teaching/performing in Goa. I don't know what was I expecting, googling an old teacher after over 20 years but he was there. Performing Hindi covers, something I could not ever imagine him doing, at various resorts and hopping from venue to venue (to cover rent? alcohol?) doing the same thing. His old crew with the school senior abandoned (or did he abandon them?) and he found a new way of life in the new music; the kind I could never expect him to do. 

Since yesterday, I hovered to his account several times trying to make sense of what is it that really changed. Did I imagine the whole music class experience with him as a fever dream or did he really change as well with the time? I wish I didn't think of these things in the middle of the day as I counter anxiety hourly. Or that, every step we take changes the course of our life. If my parents had put me to a school where they focused on music, I'd be a music journalist today; if I hadn't swiped right on my last boyfriend, I wouldn't have rebounded with the present one. 

The future is always ours to see, only if we take accountability towards goddamn action.