Prose before hos

Love looks like an old friend; who's always stopped shared public transport to bring me ice cream. He doesn't eat sugar anymore so the Sundae was all mine. 

Ten years ago, there was peanut butter caramel ice cream between work. This time it was a local specialty, "Ice Apple Sundae, just try and tell me"

It's about surrendering yourself into the hands of someone who knows the city and knows you. That's the spot where magic happens. "If I can't take you around the city I've known all my life, what else am I good for?" I did the same, I would have done it for anyone, but he always surrendered, always gave in and trusted me. That's why we made a great team. 

Surrender, I did. 

How is it that your old friends know you better than anyone else in the world? My food, habits, fixtures, everything was unquestionably palatable. I was unapologetically myself- unbearable, impulsive, chaotic and loud and he complimented my ways- validated my unbearable lifestyle, and added to the impulsiveness with bad ideas ("Let the expert among us figure where to find a spot to smoke"), he was the calm to my chaos. Made me feel cared for (No, you need to eat dinner, just get something; Let's go to Town for breakfast, it'll be worth it) when I had abandoned myself (I was on ibuprofen, coffee and two Vada Pav). 

When you meet people from back when you hadn't undergone severe traumatic events one after the other, your old self comes to life for a hot minute. Bombay, between work, felt exactly like that. I was on fumes and caffeine but this man and his love for me kept me alive. When I look back, we befriended each other over a work project and little did I know I'd have found myself a person who'd be a walking antidote to my severe depressive state in 2024. "My mum can't make you Sabudana Vada on such a short notice but she's sending yous some Puran Poli you can take home."

I am so glad the butterfly effect of not having to go to the UK meant I met my old friend during this work trip. I realised that I must have done something right in my life to meet a friend who went above and beyond for me years after I dropped nail paint on his bed during our initial work meeting. 

 Does spending 4 nights in a different city count as relocation? If so, I have notes. 

Then there are tall buildings. I'm constantly floating between elevators running from the fifth, tenth and twelfth floors; there are views and there are views. If Delhi has trees then Gurgaon has skyscrapers. Trees don't do much at night but the buildings, they look fucking gorgeous especially if you catch a view from the twelfth floor, which is somehow incrementally better than catching the same view from the tenth floor. 

There are plenty of opportunities for mirror selfies in and around the elevator; so much so that I actually let a day pass without taking any, that's how spoilt I've been for elevator selfie opportunities in days. 

I can't say I miss my friends cause all my friends are about 20 minutes away from me at any given point in time. The service and support staff in and around buildings look a tad happier than their counterparts in Delhi. Maybe they're secretly celebrating the lack of micro-management. That's the one thing about Gurgaon I've come to appreciate—few people micro-manage and it feels like a weight being lifted off your back because fuck ups are welcomed with open arms, more often than not. Delhi version of these fuck ups would mean temper flares, anger, reactionary emails and texts—but Gurgaon? It's fucking chill, almost too chill. 

A few years ago an ex-colleague (then friend, now stranger) lashed out at me for writing. This email response reminded me of that chat; of how everything I write is so personal that unless and until someone knows anything about me, people won't care. I don't see how that's such a bad thing. Maybe the whole point is to drive the unspeakable to those who need to know? Maybe there's intentionality for re-doing things that once take place in life and once in my head and pour out as words. Maybe my version of stressing, anxiety and overthinking comes out here and you don't have to be an audience member or subscriber—god knows I have never brought anyone here out of the will. 

I've had people around me who have been curious about my life, and what I do and they willingly follow this and other spaces. It's an acquired taste and sure, you don't have to do this. I don't expect anyone in my life to do any of this and yet people do. I don't think I ever expected a man I date/am in a relationship with to read this page or coerce my friends to repost from here. I think I am allowed my space to express and the way I want to express myself—maybe with typos, convoluted random titbits from my life, ranting about the lack of water supply. I want to be able to express myself and make sense of this world because god knows I have spent most of my teens bottling things without pouring outwards.  

I'm sorry if you confused my well-being for self-pity. That's how I write and it'll happen again. This is not a eulogy about Gurgaon and neither is this is a love story, It is a deeply personal piece of shuttling between fifth, tenth and twelfth floor and how I am beginning to give in to this city I once I detested. 

There's this thing, that I have heard all my life from friends' parents and then from mine (but never directly uttered to me) on how people seem to move on past a certain point in your life and you're left to your own devices, and this is where marriage and a partner can save you. 

It's also not as if I have a lot of pressure (or any) to address this. I've never once been asked to see someone for the sake of it or think of it, it's just assumed I'm not fit for it, and there's really nothing to fight there. It's cool, it's fair, we get it. 

All these past years, it's been rather easy. I've seen people around me get married, have babies, buy houses and all that and be unfazed in my presence. Maybe, this is where bar drinking comes in and I have never felt like I left the cool train or whatever it is, but going out and seeing people, doing things, pursuing hobbies, all that really aided. 

And yet, one year and a few months into this fuckfest of a global shitshow pandemic, and I now feel FOMO about this life I don't have (and possibly won't). 

People around me are moving on; I don't know whether this is an absolute urgency or a moment of reconciliation with the situation around us, but I found myself knee-deep in confusion planning bachelorette for two different friends from a group of four of us. That is to say, 50% of my circle is getting married in the next few months and I'm supposed to hide and plan these surprises without the brides knowing about their respective parties. For a group of people where half of them are getting married and the other quarter is in a foreign country, it is an awful lot of stress to bear. 

That's the fun part, my stress is a privilege to count on. I am not moving houses in between the predicted third wave, nor am I looking out for ways to discuss how I don't want certain rituals in my inter-caste wedding, and I'm definitely not worried about letting my friends know that they're not invited for the wedding lunch. I'm fairly simple. I watch a sport, I eat food, I watch TV and I write about it. I have no bigger ilks to think about, including what furniture can I take from one home to the other and what can I drop. 

That for me is where my FOMO begins. It's perhaps the first time in the entirety of my existence, I have questioned whether choosing to opt for the person I am and the life I have is a bad deal or if it is really fine and I am just nervous about not being able to find people on my level. 

I don't expect anyone to empathize with my life or the problems that surround it, "I ordered too many fries and I didn't know what to do with them." I was told it's a nice problem to have, and it truly is, no two ways about it. 

This is where things get real- when you talk to your friends and they no longer care to want to get shit faced with fancy domestic gin or do whiskey shots to celebrate your biggest win or want to hang out for a meal. They want to build their life, with their partner, build a house, grow their career, look after the baby they've had after many problems with conceptions. Their life and your life no longer align and you find yourself bang in the middle of the words, "People will get married and move on and you'll be where you are."

Moving on, dear readers, is very fucking real and very fucking traumatizing. 

I think we can safely celebrate and specially mention two other kinds of moving on— where once a man who threw himself at me, and continued with that for months, is back with his ex-wife (or did he ever leave?) and another who told me things are not working out in his life with his wife and their relationship and sought me as a crutch to move on has a 4-year-old baby who started school this year. Life's really funny, people move on without you and you're reminded of the hike from a school trip years ago, where you and three other losers chose to get sick and stayed back at the hotel, empty stomach while the rest of the clowns went hiking, get this, in a car. 

Somehow, I found worth in getting sick and choosing to opt-out there, even after all these years. It's not something that I had to do but I did. Maybe, I will find peace in my choices of being stationary and letting the world move around and move on. 

Maybe, the 30s are all about uniting with others like you and starting afresh with a different road where you're no longer the central character in a sequin dress at a pub, on a date with the hottest guy in town, but instead, cosying up to other freaks like you halfway across the world cause they see you for who you are. Until then, we can hope they don't celebrate their wedding anniversary anytime soon. 

 I think I've finally cracked the code about people rekindling their friendships from school in their middle age— to find known people from their life and to have them join you in the journey when you become the care-taker instead of your parents taking care of you. 

Among them is someone close to me, one of my first readers other than my family, who continued to visit this page, even when we were pursuing completely different journeys and had transformed into two wholly different people. We kept in touch through the years, annual birthday calls and if we were lucky, maybe even met once a year. But as we got to different stages in life (job for her and another university for me), it got harder to keep up.

In the last six months, I've steadily aged. I recall when my mom turned 30. I remember overhearing conversations and I remember being an audience to concerns. I remember when her mother, my grandmother passed away and I remember the trauma she went through. She aged between those years and she transformed as a person. 

Unknowingly, I've been down that road for a few months now. It didn't strike that the big, bad world of aging caught up. I'm now responsible for the well-being of my parents, and not just in theory but in action. This was a big concern when I was watching my grandfather in the hospital, lose his will to live each day and yet, it didn't occur that this experience will be brutal and transforming. When he did pass away, this gnawing thought of carrying down of the responsibility was looming in my head but the application hadn't hit in a way as strong as this. 

Two days back when I discovered the fire and woke up my parents in the dead of the night, it was terrifying. What was worse is that the day preceding that episode, I was at ease. I was singing through the day, prancing around the house, and being uppity about everything else that I forced for it to fall in place, including my state of being. I guess you can trick yourself into believing that you have got to pick up and chase a goal, any goal and that immediately transforms pity to strategy. I was down that road until of course the very real issues of mortality and responsibility came knocking down my life as reminders. 

"Hello, darkness my old friend."

At 7 am, things escalated further and an hour later the cops got involved. I lost my police station "virginity" (if that's a thing) and saw the insides of a police station, dealt with the hostile staff and basically lived a ridiculous experience which was straight out of an unreal fictional web-series that would be trending for it's "representation" of the authorities in poor light. 

Lol. 

What may sound convoluted to you is my reality. My life is a bag of complexities and problems that nobody I know in my age group is going through/will go through/has to ever go through. People have spouses, partners, extended family, and strong friendships. I have my scholarship to fall back on and roleplay all these characters to make up for their absence. I have to give myself company in this solitude of being that person who's holding the fort, who has to be responsible for the meals of the family in the absence of the gas stove working and even when we are facing inaccurate and false allegations against my parent. All of it. 

Somehow, none of this is ever interrupted by a windfall gain, a random man I like calling to tell me how he likes me back, my friends physically being here in any capacity, and having some form of security. With my grandfather, I lost that layer of a blanket, the safety net that I had looking out for my parents and me. Now, it's down to me to help them and help myself. I lived through the first of many such episodes waiting to happen and that I didn't cry is an achievement in itself. Didn't cry yet. 

When I called my school friend this evening, the same person who's been one of my first readers here and in life, who's seen me since I was 4 and we were in each mess together till we graduated from school, she heard the first word from my voice and gathered something was off. 

At some point over two long drawn phone calls with her, she and I found more than the similar ground to bond over. A renewed "interest" even. "I'm terrified each time the phone rings, there's some bad news."

It got a bittersweet smile out of me. It's something my trauma about losing my loved ones is made of and something I've written about in great detail here. She and I have lived through difficult moments of being in emotional duress and being in the roles of caregivers with our respective families unknownst to the other. We only ever realized in this call today that even though our journeys post-school may have been vastly different and the personalities we acquired over and above the existing lining carried out from the school may have been shaped differently, we are the same people with largely the same paranoia and wired to respond in an absolutely similar manner to unfair situations and be the first to stand for our respective family members, not just for the heck of counting heads but also as primary caretakers of the situation, regardless of however much it distresses us. 

We can outgrow silly school things and change our course of lives, but maybe we can't change who we were and how we knew each other inside out and how that wired us back in the day. 

The older I get and the more sense of weight that gets added to my shoulders, the more I find myself going back to being the same person I was when I was 15— always wary of people and largely distrusting everyone and everything, with little regard for niceties, and finding it easier by the day to settle deep in my skin of the personality— a fucking fighter till I die. 

 I have this toothpaste that a friend got back from Italy. She brought other things too—egg pasta, truffles, limoncello, a shot glass—but the toothpaste, that was my favourite. When she got me the package home I got curious about her peculiar choice, why'd you ferry a toothpaste back? 

"Cause I know you like this stuff. I know you like toothpaste and oral hygiene."

She wasn't wrong, that is the best fucking toothpaste I have ever used in all these years. It was spicy and fragrant and fresh, enough to make you feel like you acquired a new mouth. 

I dug deep on the internet and looked out for ways to purchase that. Turns out, despite all the multiculturalism arguments and globalization policies, we still can't afford to buy toothpaste from Italy and they still won't sell that here. 

I did the most me thing I could come up with, I decided to save it. 

I told myself I'd only use it before a hook-up or a date, y'know, why waste such a thing? 

As luck would have had it, the opportunity to do that never came. When it did, I wasn't anticipating it and I never got to use the toothpaste from Italy. 

Earlier this year, the world was Covidized. When the outbreak in Italy became serious and the country came under a lockdown, I was concerned about the supply of Marvis. Would the locals finish it up? Would I ever get a chance again to get another tube? I was hoping to ask a friend and her husband to bring me two packs back, as a souvenir from their trip over the Summer. 

Their trip, like this year, was cancelled. 

Life's funny because of the timing of these episodes. About a week ago, the said friend who introduced me to Marvis lashed out and surgically removed me from her life. There were all these decaying thoughts and tangible memories in the form of presents and things we had exchanged over the years that languished around me and I didn't know what to do with, including Marvis. The miniature toothpaste stared at me, day after day. It was nestled between the bedside lamp and a box of hairclips that I store for easy access. I could have put it in the washroom, but somehow, it was too precious and too perfect to be relegated to space where you defecate. 

Last night, when I couldn't stare at my laptop any longer and my sensibilities were drained enough for me to physically move two steps, I went to brush my teeth and found no toothpaste next to my toothbrush. My sister had taken our regular supply to the hospital, where she was staying as an attendant with my grandfather who is hospitalized at the moment. 

I decided to use the toothpaste to finish it off. At 4 am I drew a pea-sized serving and brushed my teeth, and went to bed. It was finally the time to use Marvis, the miniature I was keeping for a good day to become better. 

 There's a very good reason, I'm writing this when I'm writing—at 7 minutes past 5 am— a whole day and a few hours since I actually slept. I'm running on serotonin and some other stuff (is that adrenaline?) and honestly, it doesn't quite matter, these details, cause in the next few minutes you'll know why. 

I've not had the easiest or the best year. Hands down, this has been one of the more difficult ones. I have had to do the task of living with the idea of doing "nothing" and making "something" out of it, without my consent whatsoever. It didn't help that we're all going through a global pandemic and somehow, everyone sort of went cuckoo around the same time. 

I've been in therapy for close to 40 days and while I was reluctant to give that a try, it's been a ride. I've learned more about myself than I ever did. I learned what broke me earlier this year and then over the years and then some more about the patterns I've been falling prey to. This is not to say it won't happen again, the troubles and the situations I've been in with loved ones and acquaintances but more to say, I acknowledge yes, and now, onwards growth. That growth is not linear, I'm told. For now, we are good but maybe in time to come we won't. Hence, I'm accounting for it right now.

It only got worse when I went off. I called spade a spade, lost very close friends. Friends who I thought had my back and wouldn't betray my trust. There were those who intentionally chose to hurt me in ways unimaginable and those who were insensitive. Between these spectrums, I brutally slashed each and everyone out and really felt light as a feather. It's been a heck of a ride around the sun and I have to say, quite a mental adventure. 

Anyway, today, I think I spoke to close to 100 people over texts, voice and video calls. It was something. I don't think I've spoken to so many people in a year, not even last year, when I was prancing around town. To each and everyone who called, attempted to reach out, drop a text and just dropped a wish, thank you. I may have replied in a rush and I may have overlooked at the time but believe me, it means a lot, especially in the light of everything I have written above. 

I met my best friend Sinner for the first time this year since February. She and her partner (who is better friends with me than our other friends, yay!) surprised me last night with a home-baked cake in one of my favourite dessert flavours. More than anything, just seeing her show up out of nowhere and drive all the way from across another city was overwhelming. I can't explain what it feels like to hug someone you've shared so much of your life with when you've been deprived of contact. We've not exactly had the easiest year with each other and for her to keep up with me and being there for me, I'm going to be eternally grateful. I told her last night how she has a thing for assholes, in the light of one of her favourite motorsport drivers and me and she agreed. 

My family has had to deal with a handful with me. Especially this year, from my mental and physical health both, they've kept up with everything and had my back, even when I believed they did not. I don't think words can do justice to what I owe them, to be here and writing this and doing this. It means the world. For everything today, yesterday and all these years, I can't thank them enough. I'm too proud to admit I love people but I'll make an exception here. I love them, each of them to bits, even when I say I don't. 

My friends who I haven't listed here—Ud, Mad, AJ, Kneeps, Pal, T-Dogg, Sloth, Mia K, SSA, US, AGN, Nyk, Pup,—have kept up with my erratic behaviour this past year. You have seen me through so much that ideally if things were okay (aka non-Covid) I would be completely embarrassed to resurface, but here we are. I have no shame whatsoever in owning to up the wild, wild cycle I've had with many breakdowns, nights of staying up and crying, and sometimes even talking to one or more than one of you and letting you in on my deepest, darkest demons. It's been a heck of a journey together and while it's not been easy, I'm forever at awe of each of you. Thank you for having me in your life and taking my shit, whether it's the frosting of the cake-related essay or ranting about the man I like who won't like me back (aka all of them, ever). 

I am superstitious about writing about people and giving whole dedications so like this entire piece cancels itself out but if I'm risking it, I have to thank May. It's not easy to have me as your best friend and deal with my birthday tantrums. From literally coaxing me for days to talk about cake flavour to taking my F1 memes and hearing me talk shit 16 hours a day, she should be awarded a lifetime achievement already. However, we have a long way to go so maybe we'll talk awards posthumously. But really, for someone who's so painfully introverted and positively hating on birthdays of one and all, May goes out above and beyond to make me feel otherwise, whether I want it or not. She's sorta tied all my rhizomatic group of friends together and honestly, as social as I am, I would never tag my friends' other friends (especially those who I personally dislike and do not approve) but she went ahead, did that. There are other unmentionables that will be discussed on another, perhaps a more private platform. However, for now, I am out of words to thank May and tell her how much I miss her. I only hope she knows that. It's been the hardest setback about the year (yet).

Here's hoping to be a better sister, daughter, friend, date, student, colleague, and maybe even a girlfriend to people in my life, Whether you've been named here or not, you know who you are and how you've been instrumental in my life. You all deserve a better version of me.

It's quarter past six in the morning and I've cried a fair bit writing this. That's the thing about love. It hits you, unlike any other thing. Thank you for showing me how much you love me in acts, words, gestures, and in edibles. Here's looking forward to tying the last loose end of the 20s in a tight ribbon with all of you (if the universe grants us all that). 

Birthday photographs, cake images and all the rest of it will follow soon over personal messages. 

I had a normal day today.