NaMoWriMo #5

ok so technically it should be #6. I know the math. but in order to do my one month of writing justice, it will just have to be #5 for now.

so what was I doing last night that I couldn’t write based on the one single promise I made to myself? I wish I could say but my dad reads the blog and I’m going home tomorrow. (sorry appa!) but let me not get ahead of myself.

this weekend is Cascade, a three day intra-college fest that we have every monsoon semester so that we can chill out and have some fun before the end semester final exams mania starts. it’s a fun little way to get the tension out of our system, meet with old and new friends, have good food, dance, and dress up. it’s a party!

now, it was also a Saturday and I have a 3 hour class in the morning. I could only get free by 1:30 pm after which we had lunch and we had a great conversation, thanks to which I did not get to my room before 4. there were two of us, me and my friend, who also had to make an itinerary for an upcoming trip. all in all, we got no work done and finally left for Mahesh. it is this lovely dhabba that we have right in front of our college that serves piping hot paranthas, amazing Maggi, french fries and similar snacks. me and about 7 other people went there yesterday, and with music blaring from our speakers, we had the most amazing time imaginable. I had such good food, such good company, such a good time that it was almost unbelievable. and the cherry on the pie was that we had a DJ night to get back to once we got to the campus. and you all know I’m not one to brag.

anyway, that’s how it was. I had some things to take care of, but I still got to dance for about half an hour. and even after the DJ was over, the conversation was prolonged till it was maybe half past midnight. and it wasn’t anything serious. there were four of us and we kept talking about the most random things before finally retiring. I’m not kidding but I had one of the most fun days yesterday.

so forgive me for not having writing but I was out there, living my life at least once, for a change! even this one I wrote half sleep, but I hope you get the sentiment. this is not the blogging attempt where I give it up four days in. let’s see. thanks for being so cool. also thanks to myself for having stepped out of my comfort zone and having great fun!

NaMoWriMo #3

today was a good day.

this may come across as a surprise, especially since it comes right after my existential crisis but it is true. the effects of the crisis still linger but this time, unlike anytime before, I managed to turn it into something productive, and that did, in fact, make all the difference. it’s so funny to me that the difference between a good day and a bad day depends merely on your action or inaction. maybe also because I’ve tried really hard this week to not resort to the unproductive, isolating activities I’ve indulged in, over the course of the last three years. but whatever the case, I’m happy today and that is what really matters.

the day started off slow, with me missing my 9 am class, because sleep. I was determined to make it to my next and only class on the agenda for today. in feminist theory lecture today, we decided on out final text for the semester, this essay called In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens by Alice Walker. Walker has been on my reading list for so long now so I’m happy about that. it was when I was leaving the class that I met a friend I had not seen for a long time. we talked about the sun and the weather, thesis advisers and proposals, surrogacy, depression, Dadri, placements, and Raag Darbari, and it was such a pleasant conversation to have. towards the end, we even talked about our experiences of the semester, where we discussed the need for positive thinking and the importance of relaxing and taking things lightly.

the thing is that I know what exactly I should do when things aren’t going my way (my dad must be chuckling reading this). more often than not, it is only due to my laziness that I generally don’t end up doing it. I know how I should try to orient my thinking, what thoughts I should filter and what thoughts I should actually have. I know what kind of a thinking (positive) I need to develop to not get wrapped around silly ideas and mental exhaustion. it is only that I don’t end up doing them.

after a similar conversation with my friend over lunch, where we also discussed a couple of things that were bothering her, I retired to my room, fueled (and somewhat warned) by the reality check I got yesterday, where worked for bout an hour, filling applications, looking at instructions, getting my paperwork in order, preparing my schedule and everything else. a little exhausted but also very distracted, I don’t know what struck me. maybe it was my conscience telling me something or maybe it was my sore muscles after my workout from the day before, but I decided I would go to the gym. me, a socially anxious girl who was going to the gym for the first time without a partner, who was going to work out in fit college students, yes, me, decided to go to the gym. and I did. I worked out for about 40 minutes and I felt so…almost vibrant after such a long time. I felt like I was the protagonist of my own show, who’s just overcome this challenge, and on whom the brilliant white light shines from heaven, as the enlightened being transcends all humans to become the first superhuman. it was glorious, and not a word of this is contrived or exaggerated.

anyway, I go for dinner, come back and as I settle into my bed, having changed my clothes and having turned the lights off, I felt this glow in my heart. I felt the love of everyone who loves me and I did something that I rarely do from college. I called my grandparents. first my dada. he told me the same story he has told me before, he asked me the same questions, and he blessed me like he does everyday. but I don’t know why it felt like it worked today. then, I called my nana. I had been thinking of my nana since the morning, about his health and how strong he had looked during Diwali, and seeing his face brought me happiness like I haven’t felt in a long time. I felt so loved, so blessed, hearing him ask me questions, ask me my whereabouts, telling me to come over the weekend. it was the first time in a long time where I actually realized how lucky I am to have grandparents who love me the way mine do. it was with this warm feeling in my heart that I returned to my work.

it’s been about four hours since then, and the feeling hasn’t receded. you know there are times when you feel like everything happened exactly how it was supposed to have happened? that is how I felt today. I felt like everything was exactly where it should have been, like I was exactly where I should have been today, like I did what I should have done today. I felt successful, I felt productive, I felt like I had achieved something. I felt like, I feel like I have a candle in my heart that refuses to burn out, providing me warmth and heat and light. that’s how I feel today.

that’s how I know it is a good day.

NaMoWriMo #2

it’s day 2 of NaMoWriMo, and I’m still writing. if I were you, I would probably commend me for even writing at all, considering the existential crisis I’ve been experiencing since 5:45 pm in the evening. yes, I am having an existential crisis.

the last time I wrote with a commitment to the blog and to my lovely readers was probably when I was nearly finishing high school. I was applying to colleges, to different programs, all the while preparing for my Board examinations, and I was quite worried because the future had never seemed more bleak or uncertain as it had then. it’s funny how history repeats itself.

because after four years, countless memories, uncertain identities and shifting loyalties, I return to writing, and to the blog, in a similar predicament. with four years of college behind me, and having about seven times the knowledge I had before, I am once again applying to colleges, only that it is ten times worse than it was for my undergrad. because this time, there are no do-overs. once I commit, it is for lifelong– rather, it is a life. normally, I would not be so pessimistic in my approach to the future, but the enormity of the situations scares me. the future is not that far anymore, and there is hardly enough time for me to slow down, and take on life one breath at a time.

so, my existential crisis. at 5:03 pm, I walk into my tutorial class. we discussed Kubla Khan for about 40 minutes after which we talked about Biographia Literaria, Coleridge, Mumbai, NET, why you should clear it and how you should prepare for it- in that order. you can probably guess where it is heading my now. my anxiety levels have already risen. it is 5:58 pm now and the next class is to happen in the same room. only then, the TA makes a primer for all the basic exams that any masters’ prospective student should give. evaluation scheme, syllabus, entrance exams, intake, question paper format, she does not spare any details. to add the cherry to the pie, she almost instructs us to apply to SNU as well, citing it to be one of the best in India for English literature. I was weeping internally by this time.

clearly, existential crisis had intensified. what was supposed to be a light tutorial session for a Romantic poem turned into a reality check that was just what I did not need. it will take me three days now, just to return back to my senses. the future is scary, it is uncertain, and I want to put off being in it for as long as I can. I cannot say that I enjoy it here, but I certainly do know what is going to happen, and that is reassurance enough at the moment.

so in honour of the TA being to freak me out, I am going to finish watching Vertigo that I started in the morning today but fell asleep halfway through. this is, I think, my second quality movie in two days. the one I watched yesterday was this amazing Spanish film called Even The Rain. I would definitely recommend it. it is amazing what a small but tight commitment can do. I can actually see my slow disassociation with binging and my engagement with better quality content. I’m saving time, I’m talking to people, I am writing!!

it is in keeping in line with this that I will also attempt to read a couple of articles on the consequences of demonetization due tomorrow morning, 9 am. don’t think I will be able to  get to a couple of pages by Nabakov, but that’s ok since I read for a while between my classes today.

this is day #2 of the NaMoWriMo, and this is Akanksha signing off for the day.

NaMoWriMo #1- Writing

there’s something incredibly humbling in returning to writing after a gap of over two years. two solid, foundational years of my adulthood that had been completely disassociated with an aspect of my life, with an identity that existed before that. don’t get me wrong- I haven’t have not written at all. I’ve written a lot of assignments, a lot of questions have been answered, I have written grocery lists and books lists, I have written recipes, but I have never written like I used to write. nor had I been completely dissociated from my identity as a writer. there has been at times a nostalgia for the past, for my talent (if I may dare say so!), there were some half-hearted attempts, some desperate attempts, some experimental attempts, all of which to add another layer, another dimension to myself. it was probably me clawing to my older self, and I was quickly outgrowing it. hence the two years.

a lot has changed since then. I am in my final year of my degree. I am about ten courses smarter and about four semesters bored. I try to but don’t really read anymore. I have stopped biting my nails, I am more confident, I drink green tea in the winter and snack on chana. I have a voter’s ID card. I have stopped using capitalization, except for in the I-s. it is more aesthetically pleasing. a lot has also remained the same. I still wear kurtas almost exclusively. I still eat out once a week maybe. I still have the same roommate, the same friends, the same family I did two years back. also the same Instagram account.

which is actually how I started writing this. over the years, I lost contact with most of the wonderful people who I had interacted with over WordPress, with contact getting limited to Instagram stories and maybe a couple of memes. then, I got a surprising notification about three days ago. it was Sucheta @scribblingowlet, telling everyone that she was embarking on the NaNoWriMo challenge, and she could use some company from her old WordPress circle, in doing it. and three days later, on 12:14 on a Monday night, I am writing this on a MS Word file. not WordPress, because I am worried I might not even complete it. like I said, writing after two years is an incredibly humbling experience.

now that I’ve caught up two years in two sentences, I bid adieu. this was the only high priority task on my schedule today. this is it for today. have Nabakov to get back to, and also a sociology reading that I hope to get done before 2 pm tomorrow. hopefully, I’ll be writing tomorrow as well. taking it slow, one step at a time. it may be the novel writing month but for me, it is going to be the get-back-to-writing-and-then-write-a-novel kind of month.

 

 

Anouncement

It has been long since I’ve logged into WordPress to blog and a lot has changed since then. I have officially wrapped up my first year of university (I know, can you believe it? It feels like yesterday since I posted on the first night in my hostel room!). I have moved back home and embarked on a three month long summer that has me fidgeting to do anything productive. My hair has grown up to my lower back, and it looks lovely. I have entered my last month as an eighteen year old. I have started reading more books as pdf files since I’ve realized that it is practically free and economically helpful. I have worn out my favorite pair of jeans.

My sister has entered her tenth grade and is prepping well for her board examinations at the end of the year. My mother has completed her training as an Art of Living teacher and taken two courses already. My father has submitted his Ph.D thesis and is training to be an Art of Living teacher. My friend Anusha returned from Thailand and got me nothing (thanks dude!) and Anahita is going to the US for the summer and Palak completed her high schooling and it looking at college options.

Why am I acquainting you all with these changes, and why now?

I have not been  good blogger of late, simply because blogging has not been on the top of my priority list, and let alone the top, it is nowhere on my priority list. I have been avoiding my blog of late because I don’t feel the need to blog anymore. Earlier, this place was an catalyst to let the creative juices flow.  Now, I am writing, but it is not making it to my blog anymore. Maybe it is because somewhere I feel like I am censoring myself. The honesty and truth that I like my work to contain has been restricting me from posting here, for I feel that it is way to personal for such an intimate area, with so many people I know reading it.

That is why I have decided to take a short break from my blog. In the next thirty days, I will continue writing, and I will think about the future of this blog. I don’t want to do something out of guilt or obligation to myself or anyone else because that would not be fair. Maybe all I need is a do over but I am taking this time apart to see how it I really feel about nurturing this blog. In the meanwhile, I shall be extremely happy if any of you get in touch with me to chat if you want.

Until then, I hope that you all have a wonderful time. See you in 30 days.

xoxo, Akanksha

Broken Bottles

The rigged edges of the broken bottle
glimmer in my hand like diamonds;
the glass cuts through my life like diamonds;
I know which shrapnel loves which vein,
how the vein colors each piece and
the shadows they cast when I hold them
against the dying sun makes me want to
unlearn the fine line between pleasure and pain,
all over again.

The broken bottles cut through my skin
as easily as a knife through ice cubes- yes,
it isn’t easy; my skin adjusts and readjusts,
it trembles, it shakes- an earth predicting its quake;
I have to dig and I have to press; it pierces
and pain strikes me like a thousand comets
attacking my skin in symphony; the effect makes
me want to separate my skin from muscles;
body from body.

The skin gives away like scissors slicing paper,
the pain faded away, a dull throbbing at surface
as warmth gushes out, red painting my skin
with the passion of an artist working on an eye
of his favorite muse, the efforts of a poet
to find the word that can convey his veneration
to his sweetheart; the pain ebbs- it spreads
to every cell like smoke on a windy day
and I collapse, the broken bottle slipping
from my hand.

Short Story: Tree of Wishes

She left and three years later, I received a letter. After three years of no contact, I received a letter from her- one that told me why she left, why she gave up, why she never returned. I never understood her. She was my true love, my happily ever after and she left.

John. You will receive this letter long after I’ve been gone- where, I can’t tell you because I know you will never, ever forgive me.

The day she left, we hadn’t any electricity. The heating in the apartment was dysfunctional and the room had felt so cold and miserable. I made us coffee while she sat on the table, clutching her favorite pen. There was just enough illumination in the room for us to see each other, but we never did. We never saw what could have saved us from drowning. I never saw the abandonment in her eyes; she never saw death in mine.

I have to leave- she had said finally, once the silence had amplified all the words unspoken. I nodded.

I never asked why; she never ventured.

There is a tree on the other side of the river, north to the roundabout that we met on, on New Year’s Eve. It is believed that if you whisper what you want to the trunk of the tree, you get it. A superstition I never believed in. Until I met you.

On the sixth day after her departure, I looked up the tree she talked of. Turns out, they call it the Tree Of Wishes and it is a fairly popular tourist spot in the city. A week later, as chance would happen, I had to meet with a friend near to the place. We had Thai food and while returning, I walked past it. It was a huge wide-trunked tree, its foliage expansive and some roots emergent. By the river, it looked majestic.

I wondered if I would have known about it had she not left me. I was a person of reason. Wondering around in the other side of the city for pleasure was something I would never do. That day, sitting on a bench near it, I looked beyond the river, into the city, hoping that by some strange way of fate, she would walk past the tree, talking to it of her plans of coming back. But of course, she never did or I wouldn’t have let go of her.

Getting take-out from the same place that night, I returned to our home, but I have never been back.

You were a wish John, a dream come true. You gave me a reason to be happy. However, it never takes long for dreams to metamorphose into nightmares. Happiness is fleeting.

I remember the day I found her crying. I had barged into the bedroom. Curled up on the floor behind the bed, her eyes were puffed up and her chest labored as she shook. She didn’t ask me to stay, nor did she ask me to leave. She just looked at me, for one infinite second, and everything inside me moved. There was nothing I could so. I simply sat on the floor beside her and took her head in my lap. I asked her what was wrong. She didn’t reply. So I just sat there until she fell asleep and I fell asleep beside her that night.

This became a ritual- she would break down, I would sit beside her, and we would both fall asleep. She never told me why she cried, I learnt not to ask.

I realized that this was the only way there was- not talking about it.

The truth is- I was afraid. I had fallen in love for the first time. I had never found myself dreaming about someone before, looking forward to talk to them all the time, and sleep with them, and cook with them. I never felt that and suddenly I was feeling all of it. It was as if I just realized that there are infinite shades possible or that there numbers never end. I didn’t know how to control my feelings for you. All I knew what I felt was never ending. And I was so afraid. I was so afraid of the immensity of what I felt.

The day that we met, she was talking about her favorite book with her best friend at the cafe where I worked part time. She wore a white button down with cute light blue flowers and jeans. She had a black coat on and a smart scarf that tied around her neck. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail but a lock of hair framed her face on one side.

Her eyes were sparkling, her expressions was animated and her hands danced around in front of her. Never once did her gaze shift from her friend while they talked and they sat there for over two hours, both lost in conversation. She looked so passionate, so vocal, so in the moment that I was mesmerized. When she left, her server handed me a tissue paper she had asked him to, bearing her name and number. I was shook.

I called her that night and she invited me over. She took me to her roof where we drank beer and watched the stars. We were facing the immensity.

I was so overcome with emotion every time I saw you that I would cry myself to sleep for being so lucky so as to have fallen in love with you. But I guess that is where everything went wrong. I had dived headfirst in love with you that I didn’t realize how much it hurt me. Until slowly, the pain was all I felt, and then, nothing at all.

By the autumn of our relationship, we were just two people who shared a house. There was no conversation, no luster of the time passed by. We hid behind the ghosts of who we used to be, not once realizing that we’d have to shed that persona someday. I did long shifts at work and sat till even later at the bar while she stayed home, doing whatever she did all day.

Her breakdowns were much more frequent and prolonged, so were our silences. Perhaps, the only time that we talked and touched and bore the faintest resemblance to who we used to be was the time when she broke down. But what we felt for each other had long since vaporized. We were two actors in a play- we were playing the part but we had long ago emancipated from the character.

It was around this time I started writing- about what I felt or rather, not. I wrote about our past lives, our present selves. I wrote about who we used to be, about what made us work, about how we were two people who were stuck together out of habit and how we were two people who had lost themselves and were thus losing the other. I wrote about myself, of who I was now and who I used to be. I wrote about what I wanted and what I didn’t. I wrote about my day, my job, my breakdowns. I wrote about you.

It was by chance that I came across her journal. Hidden in the sock drawer of our limited, shared closet, I had asked her what it was when my hand brushed against its cheap plastic cover by accident. It was then, with a faint smile that she had told me, she had started writing. I had just returned from the bar and was a little buzzed; when she had told me that, I was so surprised that I kissed her roughly. That was the last night we ever made love.

The events of that night are still unclear. What stands out, as brightly as a summer sun, is the smile on her face when she told me that. It was magical, transporting me back to the time when we were in love, and I had remembered a little something of the first day that we met. On our first date, she had told me that all she wanted to do was write. I had asked why.

Words are the powerful tools, we as humans have, she had said. We can make someone, break someone, hurt and love someone, all with the power of words. If my words can change even a single person’s life, I shall be the most fortunate person in this world.

These words still echo in my ears sometimes.

John, writing gave me a purpose in life. It gave me meaning again. We had stopped talking long ago. Our relationship had died. We were just too scared to pick up the pieces and move on. We walked on those pieces every single day. And seeing those times killed me, they did. My world that revolved around us was empty because you weren’t there, John. And no matter how many times I called for you, you never came back. Maybe you weren’t the person I wanted. Maybe because you weren’t that person anymore. Maybe you never heard my cries for help. It doesn’t matter anymore. The truth is that writing made my world feel a little less lonely.

The day she left, we hadn’t any electricity. The heating in the apartment was dysfunctional and the room had felt so cold and miserable. I made us coffee while she sat on the table, clutching her favorite pen. There was just enough illumination in the room for us to see each other, but we never did. We never saw what could have saved us from drowning. I never saw the death in her eyes; she never saw abandonment in mine.

This letter will reach you long after I am gone. My moving out was step one in moving on, in learning to feel again the same way we felt when we first met all those years ago. It was finally collecting the pieces and storing them respectfully for they were memories of a life that I had loved, but lost. It meant walking on a path unknown. It meant learning to fall in love all over again.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t see people anymore. There was no one who looked at me the way you did when you first saw me. Or maybe, I didn’t have eyes for anyone anymore. My world was a perpetually hazy cloud that refused to fade away; it was the winter morning fog that never settled. I had lost myself, I had lost you, I had lost my life. There were few moments of clarity. In fact, the only time I felt clear, alive was when I wrote. So I tried to do that every day. And I started a novel. And I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. Until it finished and I stopped. And I knew that that was it. That was my end.

Her novel got published two years ago. It received critical acclaim and was the recipient of multiple awards last year. I never tried looking for her, she never tried to contact me. I continued living in the same house; the walls faded, the heating stopped working, the curtains fell apart. I lived in a place that had seen me fall in love and fall out of love. The memories of my past also faded, until I barely thought of her, but some days, I would encounter a piece of paper in her writing, or a book that she had bought, or scent of her favorite perfume and I would go back to visit those wonderful years that night.

Still, I came across her interviews many times in the newspaper, but there was no pang in her heart, until one day, six months ago, a newspaper reported of her death. Apparently, she had overdosed on some anti-depressants in a motel room not far from our house. All her earnings were bequeathed to multiple charities. She left me this letter and her pen, the same one that she was clutching when she decided to move out.

Many times, over the past two years, I’ve heard people talk about her book reverentially. I’ve read about how it has changed people and lives.

I’ve never managed to read it myself. I can’t.

So I carry it with myself. All the time. In the hope that one fine day, when the sun is bright and the day beautiful, I will go by the Tree of Wishes and read.

So dear John, all I want to say is that I hope you can forgive me. I like to think of you as my closest friend and whenever I am stuck, I think of what you would do. Right now, as I sit with these pills in my hand and a glass of wine on the bedside, I imagine you wary, coming closer to me as you try to talk me into abandoning these pills. But by now, I expect you to have learnt that I am not much for caution and that diving head first is more my style.

Suicide Note From The Dead

I tried, I tried, every single day
I lived, I wished I wanted to live
but I also wished to live a little less,
for despite my life was very recent,
it had unexpectedly darkened
by a cloud of thunderstorm that refused
to condense and rain.
So I watched, I watched in fear,
I watched as thunder shook
my fragile little heart of a house,
and darkened my house by noon;
the wind wolfed outside
and blew the candles I lit
inside, the lantern outside.
I wept, I wept, as days passed by,
I wept as the wind blew off my roof-
the little warmth left abandoned me-
first drops of the corralling clouds
drowsed my home thoroughly;
hours later, when the raindrops faded,
frost nestled in crevices of my heart.
I felt, I felt the numbness creep,
I felt it slither across the floor,
and it climbed over onto the walls,
and drape it across the high ceiling,
shutting me in, and everything else
out. The dark and the cold
never abandoned me.
I fell, I fell, as the they collapsed,
I fell as the darkness and cold
crushed over me, crushed my hopes;
I could never stand; their weight
crushed my bones, and yet,
I willed myself to walk, for I
should be fine- but I was wrong.
I jump, I jump, for one last time,
I jump to escape from my life.

A Day In My Life

Many a times, I wonder what I am doing with my life.

A typical day in my life would start with me waking up at about quarter to eight in the morning, occupy an empty toilet in the bathroom, brush my teeth, wait for a bathroom to vacate, bathe, and leave for my nine o’clock class sparing seven minutes for the commute. Fit in a hurried breakfast at about ten thirty, an lunch at one thirty, my class gets over by three thirty in the evening, Ideally, I like to fit in a workout at the gym for about an hour, but it is not an ideal world. I grab a bite, usually junk like chips or biscuits. Then depending on the amount of work I have, it is either studying or I chat with my friends, listen to music, catch up on my TV shows, or simply sleep. At about eight thirty, I go with my friends for dinner at the mess. Coming back at about ten thirty, I study for an hour or so, and then call it a night.

Then there are days where I simply get nothing done right. I sleep late; consequently, I wake up late, either getting late or missing my morning classes altogether. I forget to eat because the food sucks, I fight with my friends, I don’t go to the gym even though I know I should, I sleep the entire evening, only to wake up late at night, when I can neither sleep, nor study because I am too groggy. Those days are the worst because I end up feel like a useless lump of skin. I feel disgusted by myself for having slipped in my routine, just because of my frivolous attitude.

Coming to the university, I had to change a lot and adapt to a lifestyle that is befitting to me, which actually brings out the best in me. Last semester, I had classes only two days a week, which were absolutely packed. The rest of the days, I had no work, nothing on my agenda. I fell into a vicious circle of laziness and lethargy. I would stay up till dawn watching movies, and would sleep till noon, getting ready late in the evenings. My productivity was all time low, I wasn’t blogging, I wasn’t reading, I wasn’t doing anything. I hated that feeling. Thankfully, by the end semester break, which was almost a month long, I almost had a proper schedule, and I promised not to let myself slip again. Since the starting of this semester, I was inclined to give my hundred percent in college. I eat food, I study frequently, I am regular to my classes, I am happy.

Today was a wrong day in sorts. I slept late last night, working on an assignment we had been given. I set my alarm for seven thirty, waking up eventually at quarter to nine, giving me barely enough time to get dressed and rush to my class. I had a class from nine to ten and two consecutive ones from eleven to twelve and twelve to one. My eleven am class was cancelled at precisely eleven am, after I had wasted an hour in the block doing nothing when I could have taken a bath and change. I came back to my room at eleven, ate chips, drank juice and buttermilk, watched One Tree Hill. I went back for the twelve noon class, attended it, had lunch and was back in my room by two fifteen, feeling a little flustered by the hot sun, and my unwashed, unproductive state of being.

There is something in the last two weeks of February and the first week of March that just lightens me up. The weather is just short of hot in the days, and appropriately cool in the night. I blossom in this time; even the most mundane tasks suddenly seem very exciting, I am ten times happier. Maybe it is the winter fading, maybe the approaching Holi that I absolutely love, maybe it is just seeing and existing in the sun when it is not melting you, I love this time. If you ask me to give up my most prized object at this time, I would probably give you. I would even share my food at this time if I am extremely happy.

Any when I came to my room, I listened to some music, the fan airing away all that I was feeling and the sun outside, the cool inside, I was actually very relaxed. However, arriving quarter past three, the idea of going to the gym was growing on my mind. I am the type of person who needs to lose weight to actually be healthy but gives up way too soon, before any results of all the hard work that I put in are visible. But as I said, it was spring, the weather was absolutely perfect, and the guilt of not having gone for the past ten days was killing me. Instinctively, without giving myself time to change my mind, I changed into my gym attire, ran a brush through my hair and was off to the gym, a water bottle in one hand, earphones and phone in the other.

It was a sweaty workout, I can say. I wear a woolen sweatshirt over a tee shirt so that I sweat more, so that was that, plus considering the fact that I hadn’t worked out in over ten days and started a month ago, I was impressed with my performance, particularly my stamina in running. I can also say the The Pretender by the Foo Fighters is a great song to work out to. I returned at about twenty minutes to five, absolutely knackered, sweaty and itchy all over. Again, without thinking, I went to bathe (with cold water, the first time since winter departed), knowing that if I think, I will probably not go. Came back, cleaned the room, my bed, folded my laundry, dressed up (a little fancy), and sat down to study all before five, which is when I started this post. All my frustration of being unproductive had washed away while I bathed. Admittedly, I am really proud of myself today. I think I am finally learning how to adult #donotjinx

I don’t know where I am aiming at with this post today. Maybe I just wanted to share my little victory with someone. Maybe it is the spirit of spring that inspired me to write this uncharacteristically personal post- a glimpse of my everyday life. I don’t know but I am feeling very happy today. Sometimes, you need to step closer to reality, look at the little things instead of the big picture to be content.

So now, I guess I am going plug in my earphones, and study since I have my mid-sems just a week away. What is your daily routine like? Have you done anything, no matter how tiny that has made you proud? Does the spirit of spring also transform you like it does me? I’d love to know.

Cheers!