The 2017 that 'was'

I must admit, I have not done a good job of maintaining this blog. For what it's worth, there wasn't much to write about. (Excuses. excuses.)
But as I look through the photographs of 2017 on my old and kind of useless laptop, I felt that kind of rush that I usually feel when I've had some kind of poetic epiphany.

It's been one week since 2018 has had me in it's life, and I have still not been able to say goodbye to it's predecessor . Mostly because 2017 was the most 'lost in a labyrinth' I'd ever felt. And before you ask the question '"Is she going to write about her depression or whatever new mental illness there is?", save your breath. I'm not. This is not a sad story, because 1. This isn't a story (it's more of an acceptance of fate) and 2. I'm not sad, just reminiscent.

Growing up, I never understood the hype around New Years Eve. After all, your new year is your birth date, technically speaking, because that was when your first year started. I say birth 'date' and not birthday, because I dont understand the hype around birthdays either. But when you're brought up in an environment where these days are given immense importance, you cant help but fall prey to it.
So, on the eve of Dec 31st 2016, I, like all others around me, counted down to the first day of the new year.
2017 was supposed to be the year of change for me. I told myself that I was going to quote "Say yes to life more often" unquote. And for the most part, it was a year of change for me, but not the least bit they way I expected it to be. I had a family, a boyfriend, and a decent number of friends but I still spent majority of that year feeling lonely. In retrospect, I was probably yearning for myself.

Saying no to things (and by things I mean experiences, not materialistic stuff like ice-cream. I can never say no to ice-cream.) was my general way of life.

"Hey Meera, you wanna go clubbing"? - Nope.

"Dude lets go on a trip this weekend!"  - Nope.

"Want to go for the concert with me?" -Nope.

At first, the no came sliding out of my mouth as a result of situations I just couldn't wiggle out of, like- a big assignment that was due, being sick, being denied parental permisson or the general lack of money. Eventually this started happening so often that "no" kind of became my standard response to everything. But here's the catch about always saying "no"- you may end up saving a little money, you may end up working your ass off for an assignment (and still having it turn out to be crap) and you may get well faster because of the rest.
But when you keep saying "no" to people, at one point, they'll just stop asking.

And that's what happened to me. Thus began the process of my isolation. It seemed all right at first- I enjoyed the solitude. But when I didn't have anything to contribute to in conversations, I realised that people weren't distancing themselves from me, rather I was isolating myself from them. And the worst part was that I had neither realised I was doing this, nor intended to do it on purpose.

It was this realization that triggered the spiraling.

What if I'd gone for that sleepover months ago?
What if I'd ditched the assignment and just gone out?
What if, what if, what if?
I began falling into a pit of self pity and regret. Imagine that - having regrets at the age of twenty something! That pit I put myself into only got deeper and more cramped with each passing day. Those emotions of self pity, self hate and regret were only amplified with each story I was left out of.

2017 went by like a breeze. Not in the way a breeze is easy, soft and cooling but more so in the way of it being over, quickly. And although it was quick, it sure as hell was not pleasurable. And maybe, maybe if I had just chosen the 'what if' option rather than question it,maybe if I had just let go of whatever was inhibiting me, maybe if I just broke the rules more often, 2017 could have been better.
It could have been less challenging, it could have been more memorable.

Except that it was.
It was bad and horrible and messy and painful and sad, and it's gone now. It's done. It came, it went and now there's no changing it.
So although I'd have loved to wonder of what could have been, I'm left reminiscing what was.

And that, is a shitty feeling.

A Love Affair With Thaiyyir Saadam.

I was seventeen years old, when I moved to a new city for the very first time. To study, and start a new adventure, all by myself. I still remember how exciting it was, the day my dad dropped me to college. Most kids were scared and sad that their parents were leaving, scared of being ragged by seniors, scared of things like having to do their own laundry. But me? I was thrilled.

I had always wanted to be independent. To live by my own terms, make my own living. And college was just the first step of that ladder. And I was lucky enough to start that journey in one of the most amazing cities ever – Chennai.

That’s right, you read that sentence correctly. I did, in fact, say Chennai.

Surprised? So was I.

When I first told my friends and family that I’d be going to Chennai to study, I heard what people usually hear – “It’s so hot there!”
“The people are horrible”
“Oh, you’re going to turn into a Madraasi now huh?”
“You don’t know Tamil? Dude you’re screwed.”
Yeah, all of that.

But I was too occupied with the adrenaline of starting a new adventure to pay heed to what anyone said. I decided to go to Chennai with an open mind, and in return, Chennai totally blew my mind away.
It wasn’t always easy though. Travelling was hard (and expensive, if you know what I mean), food was different, people were new, and all put together it was basically like someone had thrown me far away from my comfort zone.

And then I got sick.

For the first time in my life, no one was there to hold my hair up as I vomited. No one to clean up the mess after me. No one to get me water and no one to sleep beside. I missed my mom. I missed having her take care of me when I got sick in the middle of the night. I did call her, and tell her that I threw up but there wasn’t much she could do over the phone. It was my first horrible night in Chennai. One of many, I soon found out. I was so angry for choosing to stay away from home. I was terribly homesick and I just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep all day but the fear of losing attendance (which was quite real, in my first year) kept me going for my classes.
After visiting the doctor, I found out that I had an intestine infection and could only eat bland food for 2 weeks. I remember thinking to myself – bland food? Where the hell am I going to get that? I’m a hosteller; I have to eat whatever is made in the mess!
I thought that maybe I should ask the lady who managed the mess back then, if she could have some food made separately for me. I remember how nervous I was to ask for help, how silly of me to think that.
So right before dinner, I went up to her and explained my situation, and asked if she could help me. She didn’t say anything, she just smiled and nodded at me, and I wasn’t sure what it meant, so I just went back to my room.
That night when I went down for dinner, I was mentally prepared for eating half cooked chapattis, watered down dal and spicy poriyal. But that didn’t happen.
Just as I sat down, the lady who runs the mess came by my chair and put a bowlful of food in front of me.

It was curd rice.

I was instantly taken back to the times I’d get sick at home, and mom would make ‘dahi chawal’ to help soothe my tummy. I remembered how nice and cool my stomach felt after eating it. Suddenly, I remembered everything – I felt at home, even though home was hundreds of kilometres away.
And just in that moment, I didn’t hate Chennai anymore.

I’d be lying if I said that I never complained ofcourse I did. I still do. All the time. The heat really is unbearable, the auto-drivers do overcharge, almost always and the food is really spicy, for me. But all that seems so small compared to the good stuff.
Like the friends I’ve made, the people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had – all of which was made possible, only because of this amazing place. Somehow, I managed to find a home away from home here.

I don’t know where or how though. Maybe it was in that plate of curd rice I got when I was sick. Maybe it was in the people who didn’t make me feel like an outsider. Maybe it was in the god damned most amazing idli that Malini’s mother would ever so kindly make for me, at my request. (Those idlis are bae, I shit you not it’s soft as pillows.) Maybe it was in Devi’s hug, which was always available on demand. Maybe it was in the comfort of Mansi’s room – where just for a moment my problems didn’t feel like problems and everything felt okay. Maybe it was in the gossip session with my girlies (if you’re reading this, just know that I love all 4 of you). Maybe it was those long and kinda repetitive but always fun Climber meetings (sorry, Mr President, please don’t kill me.)

I guess I can’t really point out one singular reason why I find this city absolutely mesmerising. I never will be able to, because it’s always giving me new reasons to love it more.
A few months back, I remember this conversation my mom and I had – we were laughing about how in the 17 years that I lived in Bangalore, I never saw a calamity or an outrage, but in the three years I’ve stayed in Chennai I saw a flood, a cyclone, riots, and protests. But the unity and kindness I witnessed in the midst of all this was simply breath-taking.

There’s something about this place that just captures my heart. The coffee, the beaches, the tarot card readers that are determined to get couples chilling on the beach to feel awkward, the temples, the sweat inducing weather, the Bovonto soda that tastes like cough syrup – all these little things have so many memories attached to it. So many moments of happiness that have been etched onto my skin that sometimes I forget that I’m not from here.

You know, every city has its own charm – no matter what other people say about it. If you only keep an open mind, and try and love the place, you will get love in return.
And no, things will never get easier. Problems will never disappear. Life will never be a straight road uphill. There will be sad days, there will be fear, and there will be turmoil.

But you know what?

There’s nothing a plate of thaiyyir saadam can’t fix.

Nineteen and three quarters.

vAs I pack my bags to leave for college, I take a look at the calendar- July 25^th 2016. Half the year was already over and I didn’t even realise. And then it hit me.

I have just 3 months more of being a teen.

Suddenly, I wished for time to just stop. Not because I didn’t want to go back to college or because I wanted some more time with my friends and family. I just really did not want to turn 20. I wasn’t ready to be an adult just yet. I’m still not.
Two years back I was just a girl with big dreams waiting to live her life on her own terms. I thought that my life would be a never ending party full of awesome ‘How I met your mother’ kinda stories. (Except, of course for me it would be ‘How I met your father’) I used to look forward to each day, with an enthusiasm that refused to waver. Two years ago feels like a long time now, and as it turns out, none of the things I imagined ever actually happened. Somewhere along the path of living up to other people’s expectations, I forgot to just be a teen. I forgot to make mistakes; I forgot to just be me.
And now perhaps, it’s too late.

All my life all I ever wanted to do was to do something that would make my parents want to say “Beta we’re really proud of you.”  And believe me, I tried. But I guess my parents and I had very different definitions of things you should be proud about. At least, that’s what I always thought. What I didn’t realise is that I don’t have to hear them say it for me to believe that they are indeed proud of me. I hope they are.
I look at other kids my age and I know I’m not exactly the golden trophy of children or a prodigy of any kind. While people I know are out conquering the world with their own companies, bagging scholarships and reaching new heights with medals around their neck, I sit here with no accolades, no trophies on my table and no certificates on my wall.
All I have is a simple blog, a journal filled with poetry, and some decent dancing skills.

Is that not enough?

You know, when I was a kid, I used to think that twenty something’s were the coolest kind of adults who had their lives sorted. Little did I know that being twenty comes with a whole load of responsibility. No one told me that when you’re twenty you’ll have to start thinking about having a stable future. You’ll have to think about job prospects and how to fund your master’s degree. You’ll have to think about taxes, loans, marriage and a whole bunch of other stuff like that.
Hell, I don’t even know how to deposit money into my own bank account yet.

In the midst of this tangled mess of thoughts, I hear my mother tell me that I should not take a break before my masters. That I should continue studying and not apply for a job yet. So that I’d have a stable, well-paying job by the time I’m 27 and ready to get married.

MARRIED?
I literally did not even think of that.
When I was 13, I knew exactly where I’d be in the next five years. And now I have no clue. That really scares me. I bet it scares all of us.
I’m not ready to be an adult just yet. I’m not ready to think about “settling down”. There are just so many things I still have left to do! And this whole turning 20 thing just complicates it.

I feel jealous. I envy all my friends who tell me stories of when they bunked college just to go for a drive. Stories of how they drank so much that they needed a friend to lift them up to be able to walk. Stories of how the screamed so loud at concerts that it almost ripped their vocal chords off. How they surprised their friends on their birthday at midnight, how they danced like complete retards and sang like monkeys at every club’s karaoke night.
Lol, I’ve never even entered a club.

I was the girl who refused to go to the mall in her first year of college because it was “too far” and I hadn’t informed my parents. I was the girl who ordered lime sodas while my friends sat there with chilled beers. While my friends were out at hookah bars, I sat in my room binge watching TV shows.  While they organised sleepovers at each other’s houses, I politely refused their invitations and chose to hang out with my Chinese food take-out instead.
I rarely ever asked my parents to let me do stuff like this, but even when I did (after a whole lot of contemplation about the safety concerns) they generally wouldn’t let me. And I never had the guts to do something without telling them. Perhaps, even if I did get a chance, I would never do some of the things I mentioned above.  (Like the hookah. Smoking kills, people. If you’re so enthusiastic about inhaling smoke, put your mouth at the end of an exhaust pipe. At least that way, you’d be saving the environment a little.)

I remember a few weeks back, I was talking to my mom and I told her- “I feel like doing something crazy.” I wish I had the guts to tell her all this then. I wish I could tell her to trust me a little and let me make my mistakes.
Oh by the way, mom (or dad) if you’re reading this, relax. I’m not planning on doing any of these things right now. Please don’t get angry because of what I wrote.
I know that for you I’ll always be a little kid. But our generation is surprisingly a lot more responsible that you give us credit for. We care about our safety too. Trust us a little.

So this one’s for all the other teens like me. The designated ‘sober best friends’. The ones who lived behind a shadow of ‘parental permissions’, the ones who were always a little too mature for their own good. Live a little, break the rules. You’ve still got a little time left.

Today, I’m nineteen and three quarters. Most of my teen hood is way past me. And here I am with no stories to tell, no advice to give. I have no checked off bucket lists and no photographs of crazy things I thought I’d never do. No memories of blurry nights, no stupid mistakes to laugh over.

Today, I am nineteen and three quarters.
But I still have a quarter left.

Let the craziness begin.  J