Navigating Solutions and Darkness

Last month, I went for a slew of increasingly exhausting and depressing job interviews. My experiences can be summed up as a combination of "don't want to pay you" and "you're a fresher, you don't have experience in this field." It was irritating to say the least. One encounter that stood out to me was with an HR person at a small financial firm ensconced in a claustrophobic office. I never even spoke with an actual person in the field I'd be working. Just her. She told me flat out that she (they) wouldn't pay more than 16,000/- a month. 🙄 She also questioned me, with great superciliousness, on how "diverse" my CV seemed to be. "I get that you're confused," she told me. "I've been there myself." I looked at the woman in her prim navy blue formals, complete with neatly done hair and polished shoes. (So unlike the chappals I defiantly prefer. And so unlike the faded salwars or tired white shirts the ot...

Soon this will feel like a distant dream. Until then, may you rest in a deep and dreamless slumber. - Elise, Westworld Soft as the fabric falls over my skin, I can't help but think this is how it should be - the only way it can be.  Happiness, true happiness, is easily enough captured when you know where to look. And yet a shadow by my side reminds me, forever, that there is more to happiness than simply being happy.  I found my happiness in an ocean of tears, and I was content to drown in it. I found joy in a mirage, laughter in silence, love in the shadow of a grave. I slipped, I fell, I closed my eyes and found what felt true. Hard, cold math comes to my rescue, and I bid it go away. Hie from here, dark fiend, come to burst bubbles and dreams.  Tilt your head back, slip, slip into the spilled wishes. All the how I wishes, flitting from one pool of sunlight to another. How I, How I, How I wish I could fly. How I wish I'd never hurt again. How I w...

There is nothing quite like the feeling of knowing your childhood crush thought you were cute. Especially that they thought something about you was cute that you personally hated. There's nothing quite like having a childhood crush turn out to be sweet, soft spoken, generally adorable... if a little faffy. My ninth grade self is so proud, I swear. In fact, there is nothing in the world quite like polite boys. Boys who make time to consider your feelings and (!!) text back. Boys who are just... Kind. Just... Nice. Just... Okay, I'm crying now. #damaged #thebarislow There is also nothing quite like finding out Nivin Pauly is your aunt's neighbor. There is nothing like having friends who are friendly across decades, who do things for you without expecting anything in return even though maybe they don't even know you. Nothing like friends. Nothing like healing. Nothing like... Just generally feeling unburdened, lighter, un-anxious. Free of law school and law school ...

As evening fell and darkened into a not-unpleasant kind of night, I watched a cute guy talk about how his trainee would probably mess up if he didn't immediately clarify things for him. And all I could think of was Praveen. Cut to a month or so ago, when I was at my CCD with Praveen's boss, who wouldn't stop talking about Praveen. "So I walked into office one day," said Praveen's Boss, "in a fairly good mood. And I hear this guy say 'Kannada Gothilla.' And I didn't know what came over me, but I just said, 'Praveen, return his advance and tell him his car is not available.' And the client protested, since the car was waiting for him outside and he could see that. I ignored him and went inside. So the client asked Praveen what was wrong with his boss. And Praveen is such a funny guy, he just said straight up, 'I've been working for him for several years now, and I still don't understand anything he says. He's just insan...

Photo by  Erik-Jan Leusink  on  Unsplash On the fifth day of desperation, inspiration came to me...  And I turned to the Billi for answers. Not either of my billis, mind you - they managed to eat parts of my textbooks in the night, so they've been kicked out of my room. Anyway, the billi was dealing with a problem when I went in, and the minute I saw it I was like, "OMG, hey! I've had this problem so many times!" "You were happy when you were sleeping with Rain. Something that transpired between you seemed sweet and joyful. When your friend tells you to get on Tinder as a  solution , she’s implying that men are interchangeable and some good sex or another connection will help you forget. In other words there was nothing special between you and Rain. But everything is as special as it is ordinary. If it was special to you but not to Rain that does not automatically mean you are stupid or inferior and he is more sophisticated. " - The Billi...

Source: Rawpixel.com Abusive relationships are insidious. No one comes at any sort of relationship thinking, "Well, this is going to be abusive, and I'm going to be okay with that." Instead, it starts out small. Maybe it’s displeasure at something or the other in the early honeymoon days of your relationship. Stuff that makes you think, "Well, I don't really mind giving this up," or, “it’s going to be good for me anyway.” Maybe you find reasons to justify the restriction. So what if you have to inconvenience yourself a little? You're probably in love. Nobody wants to really ruin that by starting a fight. And then it's three years later and you're hyperventilating because you're in the same room. It is very common, when speaking of abusive relationships, to place the onus of change upon the victim. People rarely stop to question the actions of an abusive person, or to take any steps to stop them. Leaving an abusive relatio...

Photo by  Matt Duncan  on  Unsplash I remember the first time I fell in love with a language. It was fourth grade, and we had to learn a third language in school - after English and Arabic, both of which were compulsory. The options were Hindi, Urdu and French. I didn't know any Hindi or Urdu and my parents really couldn't help me there. The scripts were a little difficult to acclimatize to, and I really wanted to learn French. Urdu was never even really considered an option (I wonder why). The kids who learned Hindi and Urdu actually spoke it as their first language, so I guess that was pretty convenient for them. The teachers for both these languages taught in said language, I would probably have been lost from Day 1, and that would have screwed up my perfect percentages.  I was eager to learn French - I connected to it as much as I failed to connect with Hindi and Urdu. It helped that Mrs. S was glamorous in a way teachers in that school definitely weren...

Photo by  Drew Hays  on  Unsplash I remember the first time I saw him. I was fifteen. He was dancing, teaching the steps, and his every move was poetry in motion.  I wanted to impress him, wanted to show him I could dance too. And even though the steps were simple and repetitive, it was soon clear to everyone that I was a great dancer.  I wanted to spend every moment staring at him, drinking in his absolutely perfect features. He was so handsome, like the princes you dream about when watching Disney movies, but never actually meet in real life.  He was charming, he was friendly, he popped his collars and wore wraparound shades. There was just one problem - he was nine years older.  I've often said that the only older guy worth dating is the one that isn't interested in you. And he was one of those guys. And much happened in those months that we spent together that convinced me that he might actually like me the way I liked him....

Nothing goes as planned Everything will break People say goodbye In their own special way All that you rely on And all that you can fake Will leave you in the morning But find you in the day Oh, you're in my veins And I cannot get you out Oh, you're all I taste At night inside of my mouth Oh, you run away 'Cause I am not what you found Oh, you're in my veins And I cannot get you out Everything will change Nothing stays the same Nobody here's perfect Oh, but everyone's to blame Oh, all that you rely on And all that you can save Will leave you in the morning And find you in the day Oh, you're in my veins And I cannot get you out Oh, you're all I taste At night inside of my mouth Oh, you run away 'Cause I am not what you found Oh, you're in my veins And I cannot get you out (No, I cannot get you out) (No, I cannot get you) (Oh no, I cannot get you out) (No, I ca...

Photo by  Stephen Leonardi  on  Unsplash “We are not reliable.” A friend of mine recently exploded in indignation and fury, pointing out that despite high levels of intelligence, sometimes there were those of us who could be brought down by a bout of depression at any time. She felt that judging us on the basis of the good work we did when we were able was unfair, that expecting us to continue that level of work at all times was unfair. “We need to stop placing pressure on everyone to be productive, regardless of their health and social situation.” – A heavily paraphrased, anonymous quote I remember seeing online. That is an essential expectation of our capitalistic system – that everyone earn their own keep. That one is only entitled to what one ‘earns.’ Of course, this concept grows problematic the more one stares at it, regardless of which social class is under scrutiny. When taken as a whole, it is easily noted that each class above benefits, in ...

Photo by  Alice Alinari  on  Unsplash Nymeria was lithe of figure and enigmatic. Enigmatic to me, despite how hard I tried to understand her. Perhaps she did not seem that way to anyone else - perhaps they did not attempt to understand her the way I did. It has often seemed to me that the people in that place were content to stick labels on their fellows and leave it at that. There was little introspection, and no one wondered whether they'd made the right assessment.  Perhaps nobody cared enough to do that for anyone else. Perhaps it wasn't right to care. I do not know. As the years pass, my understanding of that place diminishes rather than grows, and I too become content to stick labels and forget all about it. Nymeria was light to me in a dark place. I loved her - I know that now. Perhaps I grew jealous - of her female friends, certainly. Male friends she had few.  The Nymeria I saw was strong, even headstrong. She thought deeply, she liked...

( Continued from here ) My maternal great-grandfather Augustus was a farmer, and he gradually grew to be quite rich (by the standards of that little out of the way village). He married my great-grandmother Mary when they were both 13, or thereabouts, and they had eight children, of whom six survived to adulthood. A boy and a girl died in infancy, infant mortality rates being somewhat of an issue back then. Of the surviving six, my granddad Joseph is the third, and he and the eldest daughter (Mary Jr.) are the only ones to have gotten married. Considering how many children they each went on to have, the fact that the other four girls joined the convent probably did the Indian population rates a favour.  A year after Mary Jr. was married, she came home to have her first baby. Baby Treasa was born a month after Mary Sr.'s last child, Clare. Mary Jr.'s younger sister Anna was so horrified by the spectacle of childbirth that she swore off the whole concept of marriage, and...