Update on nothing

I'm on Day 2 of a productivity kick, where I have resolved to do four things daily - reading the newspaper, physical exercise, reading something policy related and writing. Now that I have written it here, it's possible I will never get anything done.

On the writing bit, I started a short story, for which I wrote one paragraph last night. And tonight I got hit by writer's block. So naturally, I revived the blog - where I let my mediocrity thrive.

Talking of mediocrity, I adapted Macbeth in Hindi. I think I should similarly mangle all of Shakespeare, while ensuring the women get the meaty dialogue, while playing with the men.

Now that I think about it some more, it's definitely an idea.

I want to write about something else here, but I will censor myself for the time being. But this is a placeholder, so that I remember to write about it in a couple of months. I'm sure my wide readership will not mind.

Observations 1

I really have none.  I don't know whether this was caused by some recently acquired self absorption or the fact that I rarely see any other people, like those leading vastly different lives anymore. All I notice is my strong panic every morning,  and especially on Mondays. And it apparently shows on my face because everyone in the world recognises it. My mother comments on it,  my cab mates adjust their seats to ensure I have more space,  and my colleagues do too.  But they are mostly panicked themselves so I think being near each other calms us down.

Also even though I am not doing a great job of observing people,  I do understand that this would be another great way of stress management. In general when something bad happens to me I assume that it will make my memoirs more interesting. Now I have to consciously imagine that life is a movie and everyone is a character whose motivations and behaviour I must observe.  So my boss is not yelling at me,  he is a boss,  yelling at his employee, and I must notice how he is executing the yelling scene.

My instructor/director has also spoken about how stressed out actors are though,  because of their job insecurity. That makes them adopt tricks like yoga to stress manage. And I saw a video of a YouTuber who claimed to be stressed every morning as well. So it's possible that doing anything for a living seems to automatically be a stress creator.

The only working person who I see never being stressed about his work is my brother in law. Maybe I  spend some time observing him.

Theatre classes: the announcement

I joined a theatre workshop and to no one's surprise,  I love it. 

The instructor has told us to write  daily log of stuff that happens to us,  and how we responded in the moment. So that basically means that this space is going to become active again!

I don't know when I stopped liking my grandfather. It was also the same moment that I stopped loving him, I think.

Or maybe I never loved him.

Growing up, my mother used to tell us stories about he had been a strict disciplinarian. Though I think I always thought that was code for distant. She told us a story about how a colleague of his asked him what class his daughter was in, and he had no idea. That was the first and only time, he came back from office early, and went through my mother's books. I thought this was unthinkable, given how over-involved my own father was.

He wasn't necessarily the greatest father, especially if you ask my sister. But he was my favourite person for a very long time in life - the only person besides my grandmother who would tell us stories (even though they were largely from his head, and not from the large stack of literature that was Dida's source material), the only person I would trust to teach me math, the person who would run after me on Sunday afternoons to get me back home to have a bathe and eat after a day in the sun, goofing about with other children in the colony. I used to be terrified of my dad turning up for PTMs in schools. Other parents would scold their children if they got bad marks, my father would scold the teachers. He told my third standard class teacher that she made us carry too many books to school, never once entertaining the thought that I was the irresponsible child,  merrily carrying everything every day, instead of sticking to the time-table. In seventh standard, he genuinely wondered how I could have gotten a C in Physical Education. Though he and I don't get along as well now as we did when I was a child (mainly because he is losing every filter of his with age, and has a tendency to say the most hurtful things, extremely nonchalantly), I never think of him as a person I would be scared of. And no matter how many arguments I have with him, or how far I want to be from him, to escape his over-attentive fussiness, he is someone I will always count as being on my side.

My grandfather was definitely not that type of father. He was a fun grandfather though. During our Calcutta summer breaks, there were some days that were reserved for him. He would take my sister and I out - mostly to Nicco Park, or Bonobitan, or Nandan, buy us knick-knacks and then bring us back home in time for lunch. We knew that he was terrified of feeding us junk. So if he took us out to eat, it had to be a suitably darkened restaurant with sombre waiters and dignified menus. My sister and he also had a friendly camaraderie, which I was not party to. Everyone loved, indulged (and pinned all their dreams and hopes and ambitions on) the first-born. She used to compare Dada to Amitabh Bachchan, and I secretly agreed, too shy to say it out aloud, too introverted to even have an independent relationship with him. He was after all someone who seemed to terrify both my parents. (It was different with Dida, who was my other favourite person for all of my childhood. She was the type of grandparent who found a way to brag about her grand daughter to sundry relatives, old neighbours, random cell-phone salesmen, once a ticket-seller at a movie theatre).

And then Dida fell ill.

Seeing my grandfather respond to it, through the years, killed any secret childhood admiration, or love, if there was ever any, bit by bit. I always found him resentful. She was everyone's favourite, even his siblings loved her more. She had lost a younger sibling, and then with it, her will to be healthy or even live. And she was a hindrance. The help who had to be around to care for her, annoyed him. Her health impinging on his social calendar irritated him (I think I have inherited this selfishness from him, another reason I think I will be terrible at marriage.). He couldn't understand why she was weak, why she couldn't summon the will to be better. And he seemed to be waiting for her to die. Because then he would finally be free.

It's not even been a year since her passing. He is now unwell - a mild jaundice compared to her Parkinsons'. But he is still selfish as ever, refusing to eat. My mother is still scared of him, so can't stomach the idea of forcing him to do anything. And I feel very little sympathy for him now, only anger. Anger for making my mother see her own father willfully kill himself, in spite of her best efforts. Vindication - hoping he finally understands what he did to Dida. And hopeless - hopeless that age will rampage even on limited (and terribly selfish) dreams of happiness.

Work notes 2

In the morning a few days back,  the fire alarm went off in office. A few seconds later an announcement clarified that it was a false alarm and asked people not to panic.

No one even looked up from their work.

Who are these people migrating from Nepal to Eritrea or Burkina Faso?  Really,  I want to know.

I just internally sniggered after reading 'Netherlands'.

I think the first sign of truly settling into a job is when you start dreading Monday mornings again.

Are almost 30 year olds allowed to cry out of jealousy?  Like literal shedding of tears.

Work notes I

The NSSO Consumption Expenditure Survey asks households about the grams of ganja they consumed in the last 30 days.

It's probably not much, given that India ranks 140 among 156 countries on the World Happiness Index. Before you start accusing the publishers of bias ('Happiness means different things to people in India' etc.), know that the index is based on a survey of citizens where they were asked to evaluate their lives and place themselves on a ten-step ladder based on the evaluation.

What could possibly be making Indians so miserable? Lack of work-life balance, the upcoming elections, the dementor-like electronic media, agrarian distress, unemployment, fears of war would be my guesses. Apart from the daily drudgery of human existence of course.

By the way, for those keeping score, Pakistan is at the 67th rank on the Index.

I'm currently obsessing over a colleague who bad mouthed me to the boss.  Well,  obsessing less than I did on Friday when I first learnt about it. But I think there are two learnings from this: 

- I'm much less cooler than I thought. 

- people can dislike you for the most random reasons. Reasons beyond your control.  So as long as your own conscience is clear,  it's best not to give a fuck about what others think. 

Checking in

I read some of my recent older posts, and thought I should update my vast readership about what's going on.

• I quit my job. Currently on my notice period. Which, you would think, would make me happy, given that my primary source of unhappiness was it. But who would have thought - my unhappiness stems from more deep seated insecurities and inadequacies I have within. Really, big surprise.
• My parents don't know I have quit. As always, they will be the last people to know about any decision I take. They actually think I'm blissful in my current job, so my next life step should be to 'settle down'.
• A friend of mine just found a job in Jaipur. Which sort of renewed my faith in God. Or coincidences. Two of my favourite people are now in the same state capital, a few train ride hours away from me.
• I got over my ill-advised crush. The recovery has been so amazing that I absolutely cannot believe that I used words like pining and longing in his reference. I also called him a cunt though, which is, well, accurate.
• My sister took me to a Buddhism meeting. I felt very very divorced from that group, though apparently all first timers feel that way. I don't know how these first timers get over their disgust of other believers admitting to praying for big cars, however.
• Last weekend, my family dragged me for a road trip to Keoloadeo National Park in Bharatpur . The rickshaw wala who doubled up as guide was very helpful - pointing to the Palpal Heroine (read Purple Heron) and Pentistlor (read Painted Stork). I wasn't too miffed about the pronunciations though - he admitted he was not an official rickshaw wala early on - just the regular type who ferried passengers in the city, but came to the Park whenever he could get away with it. I was also convinced he had a secret life as an underground boxer, looking at his mis-shapen cauliflower ears. I think that's a question I could have asked if I were on a solo trip - not with family who would look all surprised at my new found precocious ability to make casual conversation with North Indian male adults from a different economic strata.
• I also secretly drank rum in the hotel room, and then went to dinner, suitably tipsy. I would think my mom would suspect my cheeriness but she probably put it down to the nice weekend I was having.
• The return journey was terrible though. Was stuck in traffic for half the day with a squabbling couple. Also ended up missing the engagement ceremony of a college friend. She is getting married today. I'm going for it, I think. Though I don't have clothes, logistics, or a gift, planned.
• I'm currently extremely resentful of everyone who is getting married. Not the ones who are already married - because they got married unreasonably early and I almost feel sorry for them. But the ones getting married now - in their late twenties. Like by all accounts, this seems to be the 'right time'. Most of us know ourselves fairly well now, have some sort of clarity about our careers (however bleak the future may seem), and have the sense to know who we want. Except I still feel 14 - where I absolutely cannot imagine being tied to a person (a man, of all things) whose feelings and ambitions and desires I must keep in mind while making a decision about my life, which consideration may not even be reciprocated. Forget about the love, and the sex and the household chore division and the feminism and other complicating factors. And I am resentful that others seem to have matured faster than me. 
• And I also hate the dynamics-change. Like I realise, that for most of my married friends, their priorities are going to change. I mean they should change - if they are tying their lives to another person, that other person should come before me. Especially if it's an arranged marriage, in which case all the time that they have before the wedding, should be spent getting to know the person they have to live with, forever (ideally). So the logical part is clear to me. It's just that I am absolutely hating seeing it happen. Where I'm supposed to be mature and logical and not pushy and clingy (and therefore truthful), but I can't help feel very afraid that everyone is growing up, and my parents are right that if I don't get married, I will just end up being a bitter, lonely, single lady with no friends. Because really, I'm halfway there already.