I’m really glad I fought that day, and doubly pleased that I won.
Time-traveling journals
I’ve been maintaining journals since grade 8.
Back then I read too much and my head was always full of strange words and stories. I read fiction constantly, and it took over my life. I would read in free periods. I would read with the book under my desk in class. When it was too late at night, I would close the door of the bathroom and read in secret (this is how I finished Pride and Prejudice). With all this reading, came the desire to tell someone, about the strange and wonderful people that I’d met in these fictional lands. The random facts that I’d collected. Did you know that the Black Caimans are the largest members of the alligator family and they live in the Amazon river?
Unfortunately, attentions spans were short even then and my long, rambling stories about the places, people and events that happened in an imaginary land had few takers. I needed an outlet.
In Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl and I found an unexpected solution. I discovered, I had all these big words in my head anyway, it didn’t take much to put them on paper. I was a natural at journaling!
Writing meant a great deal to Anne, “because paper has more patience than people,” she wrote. “I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn,” she reflected. Our circumstances could not have been more different. She, a young Dutch Jew, hiding from the Nazis with her family; I, a well-cared for, but bored, teenager from India. Yet, separated by nations, a world war and seventy odd years, two thirteen year-olds connected over their shared disillusionment with the people around them. Both chose to confide instead their thoughts and feelings to the pages of an inanimate book.
And I suppose the idea of having a receptacle for my thoughts, a piece of me that I’d be leaving behind forever, seemed romantic. This journal would allow me to dump excess thoughts, record certain feelings, and capture memories that I could examine later at leisure.
Over the years, my journals have borne witness to the ebbs and flows of my life faithfully.
When I was bored, lonely, happy or depressed, I would write. On some occasions, I would write merely to see my handwriting on paper.
26th May, 2016, Trichy
“There is something so lovely and personal about a string of words on paper. The crossings and scratchings, cramming of the words towards the end, even the smudges of ink on paper reveal so much about a person than a thousand empty words that we say to each other every day. And the other thousand that remain unsaid.”
While browsing through my older journals, I realised I’d actually made a prediction about the future in one of my entries written during the college summer holidays. Since starting college in Trichy (in the state of Tamil Nadu) in 2015, I had been an infrequent visitor to Mumbai, my home of thirteen years.
7th November, 2015, Mumbai
“My first impression after coming back to the city was that the city had grown rather dusty and treeless in my absence. Or perhaps my nose has grown rather used to the pristine air quality of Trichy and coming from a fresh and rain-washed Trichy, the dull and tired appearance of Mumbai struck me quite sharply. Given my intolerance to dust and dirt - I was alive to the fact that my future in this city may not be very certain. This filled me with sadness.”
In 2019 I moved out of the city and never returned. Since then, I’ve traveled to six different cities and lived in five of them. It took a while to adjust, but once I allowed myself, every city has captivated me with its distinct charm much like a lover. Pune’s food and its youthful, energetic crowds. The safety of Ahmedabad’s streets, and the absence of male gaze1 from them. Delhi’s kebabs. Bangalore’s intellectual vitality. The alienness of Trichy and the freedom that came with a lack parental supervision.
I visited Mumbai in 2022 and found I was right—I would never go back. The dust, the pollution and the generally sour smell wafting through the city did not appeal to me anymore. It was not the city I missed. It was the people.
No one prepared me for the isolation of corporate life. I had some inkling, from the jaded way seniors would talk about their work, the way their eyes would glaze over and their voices would become dull and lifeless. One senior had told me that the highlight of his day was leaving office, because - in his words,“work in general is bad, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise”. In college, I hadn’t realised what a rare privilege it was to be surrounded by other like-minded young people. You only had to skip rooms to find someone to talk to. This was also a period of fading friendships as many parted ways to pursue MBAs, master's degrees, and other professional endeavors. I missed my friends dreadfully.
2nd January, 2019, Friday, Bangalore
City life can be cripplingly lonely. I’m not sure what it is - perhaps the amount of silence in your day? Or the lack of people who take a genuine interest in you? My boss is a nice guy - he’s patient with me when I make mistakes, makes sure I understand what I’m doing; but he lacks empathy. Everyone in corporate does, I suppose. Slowly you learn to build walls that prevent anyone from seeing the real ‘you’, so much so that you’re no longer a real human being going to work. You’re a suit. One among the thousands, and no one can see you anymore.
Ultimately I felt stuck at this job. Unable to connect to my work, and the people around me, having sacrificed my youth for competitive exams, I now saw that the prize at the top of the ladder (a comfortable job with a decent salary), did not make me happy. Covid struck and destroyed all future plans. My parents moved to Ahmedabad, and I moved back home with them. This prompted a major career shift.
28th November, Saturday 2020, Ahmedabad
The Default
“Have you had a feeling that if you did nothing at all but coast for the next 3-4 years; there was a pretty good chance you knew what your life was going to look like in and after those years? I can see it very clearly. I would have a very comfortable life. A life of privilege, drudgery and sameness. The thought did not please me at all. It made me miserable.
For days this vision has been floating before my eyes, taunting me with its drab greyness. Why try? You are comfortable, the voice says. Picture yourself standing in front of multiple doors containing visions of your future self. This one scares me.
If I don’t find myself another job, I’d be comfortable, that’s for sure. Leading a dull existence, having dull conversations, eventually losing much of my optimism. In a year or two I would get married, have a kid or two and finally, consign myself to a life of domestic drudgery. Comfortable, dull and forgettable.
What scares me about this vision is the lack of any legacy I’d be leaving. How small my world would be - consisting of my family, and a few colleagues. The smallness is what scares me.
There is another door too, a sparkly one full of life and zest. There is struggle behind it, and a lot of lonely nights and cold meals. I’d move to a new city, with a new job. I’d work there for a few years, before moving to a new job. I’d be working on what matters to me - and hence I’ll be able to survive the cold and lonely nights.
I hope I choose the second door. "
I left my job in 2021 and driven by youthful idealism and optimism, joined an NGO mid-pandemic. I was moved by the inequality I saw around me during the pandemic (who can forget the migrants walking back home), I’d picked up a streak of activism from college and thought an unconventional career path would lead to some great learnings. I was Robert Frost taking the road less taken, breaking the shackles of a corporate slavery. It felt great.
My feelings about the unconventional choice are more complicated today. I recognize my privilege in being able to make these choices and the ample support I received from my parents, who, despite doubting my plans, tried their best to understand and support me. What Frost omitted in his poem is that social integration is so fundamental to who we are, that going against the grain takes an emotional toll that is rarely discussed. At a time when my peers were getting promoted and getting bonuses, I was working twice as hard, underpaid and often under-appreciated. There seemed to be no set path to success for me. I often questioned myself. Yes, it was fulfilling. But it was also very isolating.
All those doubts would disappear (briefly) when I met the beneficiaries during field visits. I saw the deeply unequal nature of our country, met and spoke to people who had to work much harder than I did and who had a lot lesser than I did. They’d be thrilled to have me (Madam from the big city), and make such a fuss of me that it’d make my day.
In the end, it took me outside of the bubble of privilege and comfort that I’d been born in, and as Frost wrote, “that has made all the difference”.
I struggled with shyness and low confidence all throughout college. I was a decent singer, but I’d get nervous before events and sometimes even say no. Thankfully, I had friends who helped me deal with this fear - by sometimes pushing me to perform impromptu in front of my batch!
This was one such time, when a friend of mine, knowing my inhibitions announced to a roomful of our classmates at our farewell party, "Now she is going to sing!" A friend then made sure the room was silent. Another fixed the faulty mike system. All of them, then waited, looking at me with such encouragement that I couldn’t disappoint.
30th May, 2016, Trichy
“The moment, I was alone up there to sing was my loneliest. Like a gladiator entering the arena - my mind screamed at me - “You don’t know the lyrics, you’re not ready, back off, people are talking, no one even cares you’re singing.”
And I threw caution to the winds and sang.
There was a moment, when everyone fell silent, listening. And that’s when I knew I had passed the test. And earned my own respect. The applause, the plaudits meant nothing to, not so much as my own respect.
It is difficult to fight the demons that hold you back. But sometimes, not always, sometimes God sends along people who not only see your demon (usually this demon is a figment of your own imagination and hence invisible to everyone else), but also give you the reckless courage needed to fight it.
And I’m really glad I fought that day, and doubly pleased that I won.”
My friendships have always held a special place in my heart. As someone, who is not very good at making friends easily, I would hold on to them like they were sacred. I was also, inspired by Harry Potter school of thought on friendships, which is explained by the dialogue below.
"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DIED FOR YOU!”
- Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Of course, the greatest threat to friendships is not murderous, traitorous friends but time and distance. And as someone, who’s spent their whole life zigzagging around the country; some of these friendships now lie only in the pages of my journal.
10th June, 2023
“I had the good fortune to go stargazing yesterday. I have never seen a sky like this. In the pitch black, the sky seemed to light up with thousands of tiny pinpricks of light, as far as the eye could see. In the very center, the crown jewel, Venus, shone very, very brightly.
I had the impression of being at the center of a vast court, being watched and judged—silently, coolly, even disapprovingly.
In the far reaches of the city, the sky seemed afire—the more you looked, the more tiny pinpricks of light you saw.
There were all kinds of stars. Stars that seemed tinted with a hue—reddish, yellowish—although you had to look very, very hard. Stars that twinkled and gave the impression of a very, very far-off diamond. Wherever the city intruded, its lights pulsing out into the horizon, the sky seemed to be washed out, devoid of the magic of stars.”
Stargazing with friends in a remote part of Aurangabad, Maharashtra
“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” – Helen Keller
The disproportionate number of men on the streets in many Indian cities and small towns generates an atmosphere of scrutiny, even outright hostility, for the few women who dare to be in these settings.
Author Taran N Khan explains this phenomenon in her book The Shadow City - “I have a complicated relationship with walking. This has a lot to do, I suspect, with having grown up in Aligarh, a city in Northern India, where walking on the streets came with intense male scrutiny and the sense of being in a proscribed space. As a woman stepping out into its thoroughfares, I needed a reason to place my body on the street. I learned to display a picture of ‘work’ while walking and to erase any signs that may hint at my being out for pleasure, for no other reason at all than to walk. I also grew adept at the allied skill of reading my terrain, looking out for signs that told me if it was open, or off limits.”
This essay moved so beautifully..it was also relatable in so many different ways!
So lovely. Taking a trip down memory lane with my journals is one of my favorite pastimes as well. Feels like a conversation with my past self.