Prose before hos

Sometime in March, I believe, I wrote about the first trimester. I could have fucking waited a month and called it a quarter but the genius that I am, decided to jump at the first instinct. Either way, this is Quarter 2's report. I'm pleased to say everything that was looking up in the last post is now down the dumps.

Also, please stop reading posts from 2008. They exist so I can be grounded about how terribly I used to write. And perhaps, still, do.

For reference, this is the "First Trimester" report. To enjoy *this* piece, highly recommend that you read the last report before you proceed with this.

Taking forward from where I left, I am no longer moping.
Well, I couldn't, in the last quarter, cause I was busy fighting severe anxiety. Cause? People who won the elections were the trigger. Each time, I'd read the news or watch the same, I'd be down being catatonic. Imagine, those guys coming to power in full majority. I mean, you don't have to imagine cause that's exactly what happened.

Anti-depressants are just as bad as Dementors. I think I deserve a round of applause for basically surviving the hell-whole the medication was. I finally understand why they celebrate folks who have fought depression/anxiety/mental illness'. This shit sucks and how.

I'd like to think I got out of the funk, that had taken over me sometime last year, during my trip to Bangkok. This couldn't have happened without P breathing down my neck each day at work, just checking on me whether I'm doing okay. I lucked out there.

Speaking of work, I quit my job. What was the center of attention in my life, and perhaps the only thing working out. I signed out for good, and well, I'm hoping it leads to better things. It was a difficult transition, one that resulted in a big change.

The change, you ask, is that I got a drink.
Fine, I got half a bottle of whiskey with an old friend who may or may not have helped me quit my job. I'm terrified that I might be enabling his narcissism if I give him any more credit on that. But, it was a lot of alcohol for someone who resisted alcohol for a little over half the year.
Following that, I got a bottle of beer and then some more with my old bass teacher, who has blocked memories of me sucking at playing the bass. Thank the lord for that.
I'd like to think there's been no looking back but I can count the total number of occasions during which I've had alcohol. Four. Each and every sip was worth it. Quality over quantity, baby.

I would also not beat myself up for alcohol because I think I needed it the morning after I found out that I got dropped from the book deal I got. Apparently, things didn't work out. Things such as my writing. I'd like to take a moment and acknowledge the WhatsApp I received earlier in the day when I got rejected, "I liked you better when you could write."
Me too, buddy. Me too. I liked myself better when I could.

On the bright side, I have a fantastic new rejection story along with the one where I got rejected from Fulbright Fellowship. My letters of interest from four different universities are a total waste. It's been a delightful month, really.

Lest we forget, credit where credit is due. Gotta thank Cuddle Boy for talking me into trying for Fulbright. He really seemed to believe in me, more than I did at the time. Nobody has ever looked at me with such conviction and asked me to pursue academia. Ofcourse, my friends would like to think it was a way of getting in my pants. Well, about that...

Safe to say, Cuddle Boy and I are a thing of last quarter. We parted ways amicably since he decided to be in a committed relationship with someone else. The fact that he talked it out and gave the notice to withdraw his services is well appreciated, to the point it should be normal but we don't get that normalcy in Delhi. Do we?

On other fronts, I've gained a total of 10 kilos back. My diet is at an all-time fail. I've nothing, nobody to blame for it but me.

It's also my birthday in about two weeks or so and I'm fucking off to Thailand again! Well, hoping to, since my connecting flight is in about an hour and I've to do visa-on-arrival at the first airport so pray for me, my non-refundable hotel bookings, my bank balance (which is really a thing to worry about in the absence of it being employed), my body weight and also my sister who's joining me on a trip after 3 whole years. Could have found a Tinder match and ruined my life for the next two years but oh well. We did that last year. Can't repeat our mistakes in under 365 days.

I'm so excited that I've added an exclamation in the subject title.

No, not drunk. Stone cold sober, been since this Thursday.

To be honest, two drinks don't count. Especially if you intersperse them with the conversation of 3 years long employment and leaving that without a degree. Whoever said I'm a commitment-phobe has not met me in three years. (to all the Tinder boys I've stood up after the second date)

Okay fine, two years and a dissertation didn't give me a degree (yet) and I still did it. A job atleast pays.

No better day than today and no better time than now to compile this wishlist cause baby, I have a writing deadline. I should be planning a vacation, eating clean ("I will STOP all carbs the day my notice period ends" has become only, and only carbs).

I'll stop. Long story short, my last day at work is round the corner. I'm nervous, for good measure. I want to squeeze in a lazy beach vacation but somehow everyone around me has suddenly become oh so busy and I'll probably shoot myself in the head if I travel alone.
Okay fine, I won't. But I can't come back with 30 kilos baggage limit especially when a beach vacation has to have a complete wardrobe overhaul innit.



Here's a concise wishlist for my upcoming birthday, that I was dreading all year long, especially since the last one was ahem, so eventful.

1) Chocolate fucking cake. Chocolate fucking cake slice from Big Chill. The kind with buttercream icing and the one that's kept on the front fucking counter. I can't remember what it's called but it's right up front (along with another that looks deceptively similar). Ask the server and get the one with the B-U-T-T-E-R-C-R-E-A-M and buttercream alone. Not the ganache one. You'll have to go to the store at Khan Market, it's on rack starting 12 noon. You can call them up for details but they don't take advance orders. Yep, I researched ALL this for my own fucking birthday cake cause that's what people who like cake do.
Alternatively, if that's unavailable then the Red Velvet with Cream Cheese that I love. Contact my family for details.
If you can't get these two right then try Red Moon's Double Chocolate Cake. It's the laziest option from this entire list and I won't hate you completely. Please don't forget sparkler candles.

Don't @ me. It was a shit year for cake and I won't take a repeat of that. Not on my watch.

2) Water brush pen for watercolour since I'm not going to invest any more in my hobbies. Some paper to paint and general watercolour supplies would be good. Hit me up if you're taking this up. I'll share my list of what all I need. Bear in mind this is a fairly expensive endeavour, which is why I'm not particularly keen on buying this on my own. Expensive for art supplies, not like that 3.5k lipstick expensive. We're looking at the paper, glass paper mount (don't eye roll, please), maybe an easel, a beret, the works.

3) Birthday card. Each of you please send a personalized birthday card/postcard regardless of what you bring or not bring along with it. Handwritten, please. No e-card business. Post/courier preferably. Don't bring it with you.

4) Any 2000 piece and plus puzzle set. I think these are quite steep, please pool in with someone to get this. None of my gift-giving friends are earning in dollars yet.

5) Bookshelf for my room. Been asking for over a year. Either that or a sofa set. This is for those earning in dollars if you felt left out.

6) A pair of new fucking sneakers. I pitched in all my freelance money this Feb to buy a pair of Adidas Continentals only to find they're giant for me and ended up wearing them for two months. As a result, nobody's buying them off me and I don't want to spend more money on that. My shoe size is women's 6 (I think?) or men's 6 (are these different?). I bought a 7 and it was too big, which makes me wonder cause my 7-year-old sneakers from Adidas are size 7 and they fit well. Help. No, seriously. Urgently needed. Again, this shit is expensive. Maybe 5 people can pool in money together. Have you started Snobster's birthday crowdfunding project yet?

7) Doc Martens. No way in hell am I spending my money buying those but man, they look so fucking good.

8) Shasn. Mia K thinks it's a terrible idea to put money into something that I won't get before 2020 but then I put 2 years of my life into MPhil and got no degree so I'm that person just about any-fucking-way.

9) A new swimsuit. Ooh, this is interesting. I've image references for what I'd like (text me) and I can't seem to find a place to buy online. I'm thinking black, understated, sexy or fuschia fitted or gold with just a hint of sexy. This can't be mass-produced or bought from a crap e-commerce website that all of Delhi Metro women compartment buys from. Please spare me that stuff. Come empty-handed to wish me if that's your instinct to buy. This is more research-intensive than expensive.

10) Uber gift card? I don't know why are you reading this if you want to get this?

11) Crockery. I'm that person now, yeah. I could do with chic whiskey glasses (please, please text me for image reference) or giant wine glass set. Maybe even blue pottery plates and serving bowls.,

12) Single bed black cotton bed sheets. Double bed would do too. Remember cotton and black. Plain fucking black. No embroidery or design or texture or anything. Plain black.

13) Gel fucking eyeliner. Check if my sister has bought this. I don't have an eyeliner. Can you fucking believe how the mighty have fallen? I think Maybelline's is okay unless someone has a better recommendation. I was told Mac does it well but they test on animals and ever since I found out I make it a point to avoid any new Mac purchase.

14) Victoria's Secret Body Mist. If someone's coming down from the US, catch hold of them. These are the cheapest there. Don't bring me Bath and Body Works Body Mist or buy VS' from anywhere but the US. They all suck except the ones listed here.

15) This calendar.

16) A backpack that looks exactly like this or better still this. The brief really is a classic black backpack. Don't make me cringe with your choice.

17) Body shower gel from Marks and Spencer. International outlets have the best ones. Even handwash gels are great.

18) Clothes are a great idea but only if you'd like to take me shopping. Socks aren't a great idea, I've too many of them. We could go to my favourite boutique in Humayunpur and you could get me more clothes that I have no place to wear except dates which I've stopped going on completely. On a serious note, basic 3/4 sleeve t-shirts are a welcome idea but in person, please. I like to feel the material and know what I'm signing up for.

19) A Bobbi Brown Lipstick. Ask AJ the shade she has that I've been trying to steal from her. It's steep as fuck, please don't buy it yourself unless you earn in dollars and definitely don't buy a replacement from another brand. Unless it's Nars. Nars has really cool stuff. Actually, a nice milk chocolate matte would be good. Don't get Lakmé, please.

20) Bunny.  a kitten would be good.

Consolatory ideas: skipping rope, The Office (US) merchandise (no round neck t-shirts), a new cellphone, cinnamon toothpaste, a paid vacation to Sri Lanka, my friend Lucas Moraes from Brazil, film tickets coupon, a tall man to cuddle this Fall, fix my laptop, gym membership, yoga lessons, rainbow cream cheese cake from my erstwhile intern's mom's kitchen, bedside lamp (check image references with me). 

Not sure if I should be glad that the universe spelt it out for me that research isn't going anywhere or unhappy that I'm still gonna pay my dues?

I really want to get shitfaced, high out of my mind and be on a date while I do that. Talk shit, and hope to god (despite that agnostic status on Facebook) that the bar I'm at is playing Arctic Monkeys while I laugh and look sideways, and wonder if my hair is looking just as glorious as it did when I blow dried them before leaving. Realizing I was worrying for nothing about not coordinating the lingerie because it's not as if this is going to go anywhere besides our respective home and he'll possibly jack off to his last girlfriend, and I'll crash in bed without brushing my teeth and that's as much fun I'd have had from these numerous drinks and a joint and a half.

Sometime this week, a colleague asked me to shut the hell up about the Retrograde. It's not the first time, and probably won't be the last, however, I find it easy to pass the blame about everything on the blowing up of the planetary positions. Never mind, science or logic (that I actually fucking studied in college, thank you very much). Truth be told, she invoked my PhD card and told me that it's embarrassing to be speaking about and expected to be taken seriously given my line of work (academia!). Who the hell wants to take a babbling researcher seriously who's pinning all possible issues on a fucking planet (again, why aren't too many people doing this beats me).

Okay, I didn't kill myself. I'm still kicking it in this 27 Club and hoping it's got more of a 27 Dresses ending than the former. Only since all my friends are oh so busy that if I give someone a call at 22:00, they're all exhausted and dying. Perhaps they'd be too exhausted to attend my memorial concert. Someone better fucking get Dave Mustaine to do a set before Cancer consumes him.

We're not even 30. For fuck's sake, stop sleeping at 11.

Meanwhile, to the one person who reached out to me reading my last post, thanks. I'm going to hold it together until all my interns are done working since they need the letter of recommendation that nobody at work will bother writing for them. Also, it's been a Summer to remember, alright. Reasons maybe notorious and even disturbing, but oh-so balmy. 

At this point, most of the internet is aware; might as well do a press release-ish. I had a nervous breakdown last month. Maybe it was two months ago, I don't quite recall. It had been building up since March, and truth be told, I'm surprised at my resilience. I read some of the old posts here before starting this and man, am I clinically depressed or what. Perhaps, self-deprecation leads to this or just wallowing in pity does, I don't know. I wouldn't know.

All I do know is it sucked dead monkey balls. I should have seen it coming when I cut every single person outside my family out for a solid month. Radio silence and meeting deadlines. Each day as I woke up, I was thankful beyond belief for having a job to report to, despite not quite feeling like waking up. I confused depressive spell for laziness. "I'm exhausted" was thrown like confetti. Never bothered to address or come close to explaining the exhaustion bit.

Have all the men lost interest and checked out the updated shot of me in that bikini on the right? Have they left the page? Good.



A large part of running away from explanation comes from mansplaining. Being mansplained at work. Did I tell you, I attempted to quit my job?

The only one stable thing in my life - and I decided to throw right out of the window. Well, still trying.

Trying times, these.

Jesus Fucking Christ, I have new found respect for every salaried, regular office going people who deal with men on a daily basis in their workplace. How do you do it? Where do you draw the line? I've recently encountered the first of (perhaps many?) gender disparity situation in professional space. Addled with a fair bit of idiocy being peddled to me as life-changing advice or just friendly small talk. I find myself trying to ignore and walk away without a reaction in sticky situations which are becoming an epidemic at large now.

"...you didn't hear from me..." and "...between you and I alone..."

Fuck right off. Nobody gives two hoots.


Without putting too much out there, I find it difficult to navigate my work life under the scrutiny of someone with less than obvious work experience in exactly my line of work; being told how to do my job; all this while, being a patronizing pig to my quips or straightforward responses.

The least you can do is be respectful of someone else's work, while I attempt to do the same. Our purpose or reason of being at the workplace is different. Perhaps, you need to fit in and buy yourself a lifestyle you envisioned whilst looking at the snooty kids in college live through the carefree haze of exams and deadlines. Maybe, it really is that you've lived a difficult life and find it hard to trust people at the workplace. Or maybe, you're just a terrible human being wearing the woke af and Queen Béy is my bff button badge on your batik kurta. The bottom line is, please don't be a cunt to the people at a workplace you join, and offend them by shushing them each time they're having a conversation about the work with you.

Most of my professional work experience inside an office space has been pleasant - and I realize now how awfully lucky I am to have had that. It has been every bit rewarding and without hesitation, I can say, it's been a safe space. This is one of the biggest benefits I find at my current workplace, I don't have to feel insecure about being who I am in my demeanour or professional self.

I also find this a problematic a statement to make that I'm judging men in professional space in a haste but believe you me, it terrifies me to imagine a workspace where I've to factor in how to negotiate sticky professional work situations. That which could potentially translate to a case of a sleaze fest work environment, in addition to the daily negotiations with the garbage that clients, slackers as co-workers, and dinosaurs who can't deal with technology, thrown at me.

I've personally seen sleazy shit go down, and women being okay with it just because they've had a household to run, bills to pay, family to raise and sustain. I respect for them for taking it, I do.

A couple of years ago, a man physically molested me and I couldn't bear to be in a room with men at all. It took a long time to change that. I have massive respect for people who deal with this on the professional level with grace. It takes a toll on you, and your boundaries. I appreciate their resilience more than anything else. It's taken me years to address it, heck write about it.

Coming back to this certain difficult individual; I don't quite understand his raison d'être to be this person when you can be yourself and drop all charades. It's the same as being 18 and trying to look cool by cheating on your perfectly likeable girlfriend with someone else. You do it to be someone you're not, but aspiring to be.

I've encountered a lot of things at the workplace but this is a first, and I've been told by other employed women friends, not the last of it. That this is fairly common and I've got to learn to live with this toxicity and gender disparity, right out there.

Maybe, this has been a strong factor for me trying to end my association here besides the obvious PhD deadlines, feeling in a rut, and more so, suicidal with my life leading nowhere except a block away from home, give or take.

It's the curse of my existence. For everything that's wrong in my life, I try to escape it at work, and whenever something goes off at work, I try and find reasons to end that right here. Maybe, it's all amplified inside my head. Maybe, I should really be okay with mansplaining my job at me. Maybe, even when I find out from the grapevine that who I'm bedding is the talk of the town, thanks to the speculative cunt of my co-worker.

Really, been a terrific Summer. Can't wait for the wettest July of this decade.

It me, in my bedroom. Crying the hell out every single day.

When I was significantly younger and things didn't go my way, I'd often come close to this state of funk.

The funk would last anywhere between a fortnight to months and would end in a big achievement that either I alone or coupled with family would celebrate. It could be anything, a byline in the newspaper, or a letter to the editor of a national daily. It could even be passing the math unit test. The point being, I would snap out of that funk, and only go back to remember it the next time I'd be in a funk.

I've been in a funk since the beginning of this year. All year.

Each time I came close to believing it's over, something else went down. In some cases monumental, in other, not so much. My state of being was paralyzed about two months ago. I landed in the hospital with a severe anxiety attack. My family was convinced it's because of my degree being withheld by the university, my employer believes it was an "innovative excuse for Monday" (may she get genital herpes), my friends think I should "widely scale down pride". I'm pretty sure the dude(s) I've been coddling online would have some opinion but I largely can't care. It comes down to not giving a fuck to anything and anyone.

I've self-diagnosed this to be depression. For over a month, even doing something as basic as brushing my teeth or taking a shower takes copius amount of effort, wherein I've to force myself out of the bed, and against my will to do it. In a way, if I don't move out of the bed, it won't be real. It'll be another day of my thoughts and I, before they become real and come back to bite me in the ass.

I hate to list, much less admit, the events this year that lead to this state. One after the other, every single thing I had going for me, has gone against. Each and everything I wanted to achieve has gone awry.

Few months ago when I discovered a gaping hole in my long term plan, I burst out crying for over two nights. I called a frenemy who is always down to showing me the worst, and in a way I forge that relationship to do one better. He admitted, finally, "The cards you've been dealt with are all bad. What can you do?"

Exactly my point. What on Earth can one do when the life allocated to you is rotten and going against you in every fucking aspect.

It's 11:40 pm on 30 June. Six whole months of this year has passed and I've barely written here, for that matter cared to see the stats or have an idea.

I don't know how will I continue and even for how long. There's nothing, absolutely nothing working for me and I've no will to write or read or even be.

For all those times when I've been physically sick out of my mind and wondered and hoped to stay alive, I'm going to go against and hope otherwise.



This one's on you, Universe. You've fucked me over. I hope you're happy.