Losing it

“I wouldn’t be surprised,

In the middle of the night, to

Find Vinay watching me in my room. I’d just say

“Go home Vinay, it’s creepy.””

And she laughed loudly at me, then repeated it

To everyone around me.

We are… were friends, I tried many times to be

Friendly,

And not creepy.

“You’re so touchy!”

Yes, yes I’m touchy.

Because when you stand there mocking me,

Or joking about me or saying something to get a reaction from me and think

It’s “damn funny”

You are pushing me,

From the top, of my self-esteem, into a dark pit of anxiety.

I’m scared, if I stop being touchy

Then you’ll think, it’s okay to punch me;

Then I’ll be in high school again

Getting beaten up by the boys around me.

And I’ll be losing it.

I’m scared to go to high School reunions,

‘Cos my bully’s might want to throw a punch.

Or break my face,

Just for old time’s sake.

But I still met one, he convinced me

That maybe we could be friends, again

Like we used to be.

I met him in his car, we had a nice chat

And then he asked me

To blow him and I started crying.

I was losing it,

Every step into adulthood,

I forget who I am and end up in

My very own hell, inside my head.

The week

It’s been a crazy week, the random holidays and breaks have made it a slow but things cleared up as it came to an end. But the semester, now got extended by another week. This happened exactly when I was looking forward to a going out on a little vacation/ travelling, maybe. 

My hand

The heartbreak of lost traveling plan got to me and I may have taken refugee in my bed for all of that week, almost. So I may not have been on time with a few assignment or may have decided to not submitted others. But I did have a pleasant time by taking pictures and screwing my future in the ass. 

Chrysanthemum

I also went shopping and retail therapy has always worked wonders on me, it did and exactly why I’m smiling at my impending doom.

Someone forgot to drink

But I spent most of this time in my room, writing, watching Digimon Season 2 (word of advice, don’t watch it), reading Fb posts and tweets, or just staring into oblivion while nothing happened. 

Folds

The pretty flowers to stare at is a good distraction and sometimes inspiring. But in the end like my blog my mind gets whiney and sad. Dramatic and mostly depressing or just plain annoying.

Fairy lightsk

But the fairy lights, almost, always, manage to cheer me.

© pictures and text belong to me (Vinay).

Strangers in a soup

I feel like a stranger again. I thought this was something from the past, a fear from the past or of loneliness that enveloped me while in a classroom full of people. People who’ve been around for the last two and a half years, there is a zoom out and each one looks so familiar but only the face. A complete stranger in front, next to, across and beside me staring into their laptop screens and I was slowly dissolving into molecules that would disappear with time and forgotten. My fear is of being forgotten and people forgetting me or vice-versa.

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Look Up

The fear of being lonely is so strong sometimes in room full of people, amidt laughter, conversation and life I’m sinking in my own pit of self-pity. It’s so easy to slip inside and getting lost and getting back up is…

It was no different today, I felt everything slipping and the world annoying. But as I stepped outside of the class there were people who came up to and said “hello” or “Hi” and others who avoided my face. I have friends and then there are people I used to be friends with. It’s not over, I can love and have loved. I will be able to love again, it’s just not today but it will happen and I will be able to fly again, soar like a bird in the deep blue sky.

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Broken edges
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Somebody else’s tea

With a coffee glass in my hand, a friend  listening and conversations flying, life seemed nice again. Under the blue sky, beneath a green trees and around noisy people I got a lot of things said now I’m sure it’s not easy but I will be moving.

Fruity edge
Traffic

And then I’m home again

Varamahalakshmi Vratha

The mixed vegetable chitranna (seasoned rice) was pleasantly nice, not a fan when it’s breakfast but today it was carrying all the zest my mum’s been beaming off all week. It was the Varamahalakshmi (the Hindu Goddess of good fortune) vratha, the ceremony where women in silk sarees and super heavy gold jewelry offer special prayers to the goddess Lakshmi and in return she gives you good luck and fortune.

So my Mum likes the festival, but not the preparation for it; which makes sense because more things to do and no extra hands to help. So she’s a little cranky but also happy, these are states she’d be alternating between in the week before the festival. But this year she was less cranky, she got help in the cleaning up and didn’t cook extravagant meals and it was just every other day without meals and a lot of seasoned sprouts. She was wearing a red chiffon saree with a golden mango print (paisley), and her new favourite pair of golden jhumka (bell like ear-ring) and almost noiseless anklets.

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Mother dear and her ear

So women are invited home to take offering made to Lakshmi, whom they embody or some such thing. I was giving these offerings because my sister wasn’t “supposed” to give them. This is sometimes fun and most of these women would ask for mum, I’d say she’s out and offer them the plate with flowers, turmeric and kukuma. They’d apply the powders take the string of jasmine to stick it in their heads with the same grace you’d use to strangle a baby. Then it was to give the plate with glass bangles and then I’d then offer them a coconut inside a little bag that had beetle leaves and nuts. Done, that’s it, go home.

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Plate full of flowers

So mum came back after going to someone’s house that was three kilometres away, I made green tea for the three of us. Over tea mum told me about the houses she’d been to and how they were doing. First was aunty S, whom mum met along with aunty R when they would go to Banashankari temple by bus. S had lost her husband sometime early 2016, so she’s not supposed to go to these vratha. Her older daughter is married, younger is engaged and to be married in November or so; the son quit his job at Dell and started his own company or something.

As mum finished tea, Mrs C came home and I was still sipping on tea and my sister was in her room sipping tea and watching a movie. C is the older women who lives down the road and I see her with her husband on walks in the morning before I leave to college and in the night when I’m getting home. I used to say hello to them till they got creepy, with their questions and staring. “You should cut your hair, I’m saying it for your dad. We live with dignity, growing hair and such things defeat our class. We shouldn’t certain things, boys should carry themselves like boys. Are you angry with me?” I smiled but didn’t say anything; she enquired about our other neighbours and left.

Mum now spoke about Mrs R, our Brahmin neighbour from across the road. “Are you Reddy’s?” “That’s the first question she asked me the minute I entered their house. I said we were Rajus.” People like her wouldn’t come home if they knew it meant we were from a lower caste, I guess.

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Set the lamp on fire

Then Mrs B a Marwari woman from the building next door, we’ve been living next door for a year now but hardly ever spoke but we know a lot about them from our G aunty, our domestic help who also works at their house. B is from Kolkata, has been living in Bangalore for the last 26 years and knows six languages. She just got back from her sister’s house in Jaipur and we spoke for a good twenty-five minutes before she left.

I meet interesting women every year.