Hello, it’s been a while. Have you observed an interesting comeback of film photos? A cute attempt to break free from the social media stimulation. Cute because the outcome of this comeback is exhibited on the same social media. Efforts are made to make it look like art but in the end we’re hamsters spinning on the wheel of media. I was listening to a podcast titled the Philosophy of Joy by anuragminusverma where he’s in conversation with Vijeta Kumar. She’s a teacher and a writer based out of Bangalore. She goes by the name rumlolarum on Instagram. In the podcast, they’ve discussed glimpses of the unstimulated lives we live, both digitally and off of it. Anurag confesses on having hacked the crack to create templated content which sells on instagram and once he realized how meaningless it is in terms of both creating and feeding it to people - he hated it and stopped creating it. Vijeta shares similar thoughts as to how she’s glad she started writing blogs (she writes incredibly!) instead of writing Instagram posts. Saving herself from the rush of instant gratification. Maybe that’s the reason, my friend, it’s okay for me to write to you after more than two (three?) months. My Instagram can use a break one of these days.
Samuel Beckett, an Irish novelist, said you’re on earth and there’s no cure for that. This guy won a Nobel Prize for literature. I haven’t read any work of his other than this line I stumbled upon on Twitter (sorry, X). I agree with him getting the Nobel because there’s a universal truth in this sentence. You’re on earth and there’s no cure for that. All the feelings I have felt apart from the world I’m in when there’s music around, it does feel like there’s no cure for being put on this planet. You have to deal with it. (On a related note, you can go watch the movie Capernaum where the kid sues his parents for giving him birth.) There’s a genocide happening while we celebrate the new year. The governments are becoming exponentially powerful with their vile ideologies and their war and weaponry. There’s heartbreak and there’s hope (is it?). Your breath doesn’t stop. Deal with it. We are living in a constant stimulation from which it’s impossibly hard to break free. Not even the artsy film cameras are helping. My fingers toggle from instagram, to whatsapp, to gmail, to youtube, and some more apps I would refrain from mentioning. If only I was free from fear of judgment. Wait for it though.
This blog has become a means for me to update you with whatever is going on in my life. At least a few chunks of my ordinary life I don’t mind sharing. Last year was the longest year for me. The good kind of long. The last two months of 2023, however, were longer than I expected them to be. Stories kept unfolding. I find it hard to pick which story to tell you. One on how I decided to move to Goa in October. One where I thought the only person I relied on cannot be relied on. One about the house hunt in Goa driving me crazy. One in which I found a narcissist in the form of a flatmate & she was able to balance the good bad ratio of the 11 months of amazing time I had with one month of being my flatmate. In the middle of this, there were dentist visits & dermat visits, a case of food poisoning and finally fever. Oh, the one in which my people kept saving me through the ever consuming toil. Or the one in which I’m able to look at myself and say, hey - proud of you for showing up for yourself. One where each Bachata dance lesson and the following Socials made me gleam with joy for having chosen to learn this dance form. Another one would have been amazing when I finally found a new house for myself. Also a beautiful story wherein my friend from Delhi visited me and we spent 3 days together which felt like I was living in a movie. Or the story when another friend visited and like before, we could only brush past each other. I was miserable for the 2nd time in the year. Meanwhile the house I found, the deal came off. Instead of feeling miserable for the 3rd time, I surrendered. I’m back home and since there’s no cure for being put on earth, determined to hop back and give it a fresh go again.
“The place in which I'll fit will not exist until I make it.”
— James Baldwin
I was in Delhi last week visiting a dear friend for no other reason than to spend time with her. We were out on an evening stroll which was a major sensory overload for me. I kept expressing my discomfort of being amidst so much noise and so many people. Watching my steps carefully as I walked down the pathway, I spotted a small makeshift tea shop on the busy road. The vendor had put up a rectangular stool right in front of the stall. On the stool two women were seated facing each other. Criss cross legs. Both of them held a paper cup of tea each in one hand and a cigarette in another. They were talking aloud and laughing. It was an awfully unusual scene playing before my eyes. To see two women living this kind of a freedom in a city like Delhi, it can only be passed as imagination. I’ve only seen people look at free women with shame. I was giddy and rooting for this shamelessness (fearlessness!). I was rooting for the loud laughter. Everyone around was quietly going on with their lives. I was celebrating how for once, there was no other as free as women. It felt like an opening scene of a movie titled - being shameless.
When I was little, my father would mock me and call me a hanger on which we hang clothes. I was thin to the point I looked malnourished. My friends (men & women) in college would call me flatron television because of less to no boobs. My brother would call me battery because I wore spectacles. This one’s harmless. But it all adds up to the shame. I wear contacts 90% of the time. These days I’m termed as the “nalayak bacha” of the family. Cha-ching. More shame. Been gaslit for using my privilege. Bucket full of shame. So yeah, I pondered which story I would narrate in this and letters to come, my friend. I think last year’s story revolved around learning to be myself. This year’s story is going to be centered around being shamelessly myself. Not unapologetic. Not courageous. Not assertive. Every other adjective has a rational made to fit a scenario. Not shameless though. I’m done operating from a place of shame. Becoming shameless is my personal revolution.
stay warm and shameless
riti <3
All the best for that journey!