Questions

I understand that life is all about balance, but why does nothing ever happen the way we want it to? Why do we self-sabotage, why do we never learn from our mistakes, why do we let history repeat itself? Why is so much of our happiness dependent on our decisions when all decisions that we make are the wrong ones? If your 20s are about making mistakes, how do you suddenly stop at 29 and 11 months? At 30, how do you not keep making bad choices? Why does 27 feel so old? Why does everything feel like a personal attack right now? Where are all the happy people? Why does no one understand anything? How do I tell them that I will not survive this a second time?  

Ennui

I completed a year of my second innings in Delhi on Thursday. I had a fairly demoralizing meeting with my boss that day, so I forgot. I don’t usually forget milestones. The next day, when they got a cake for me for completing a year at work, I realized, ‘oh.’ Oh, it’s been a year. The person who returned to Delhi was happy, confident, radiant, and thin. The person cutting this cake is sad, jaded, fading, and fat. How can a year make such a difference, people often wonder. I think if you stop trying, that makes all the difference. In 2015, I stopped trying to hold on to my dream job that had become a nightmare, so I rose from the dead. In 2016, I stopped trying to keep myself happy, so I became unrecognizable. I just wish someone would tell me why.

No one I know blogs often now, at least not the people because of whom I used to be so motivated to blog. I started blogging eight years ago, at 18. Then, it seemed like my life will always be worth writing about. Now, there’s hardly anything that makes sense on paper (or on the screen). But I still think about my (old) blog often. Why can’t I let go? Delete this shell of a blog and just give up entirely? Why is it so hard for me to shake off the past?

People around me are in the process of Figuring It Out. Most people I know are in the bracket of 25-30, so this is a pretty stressful time for all of us. And while I know everyone has issues, I can also see everyone sorting things out one by one. Someone just landed a dream job, someone just married their long-time lover, someone just had a baby and can barely stop smiling. I don’t even know what my dream job is, marriage is just something my parents obsess over, and I don’t even want to babysit. What does that say about me?

My ex got married last week. Can I call him my ex? I don’t know. My on and off boyfriend of five years. How else do I refer to him now? I thought five years entitled me to a phone call. Not a WhatsApp picture from one of our mutual contacts. I’m not going to lie. It stung. I’m not suddenly in love with him because he’s married now, but I am freaked out. We broke up in April and he married some girl in November. How does that work? And why is everyone placing so much importance on marriage?

This blog was supposed to be a new start, me shaking off all that baggage. But I’m never changing, am I? I think they call it ennui.

365

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure - measure a year?

Today, in the middle of the afternoon, while I was staring at my hall's curtains and trying to figure out how to get rid of the lizard hanging there, I realized that it's been a year. A year since I quit my last job. A year since the most melodramatic, humiliating, liberating month of my life culminated into freedom from a job that I loved for two years and hated for the next two.

Today, I'd like to say that I'm in a much better place, that I'm happier, healthier, and on my way to becoming even more happier and healthier. I'd like to say that, but I can't. I don't regret my decision one bit, even though sometimes I miss parts of it, now more so because I'm back in Delhi.

My new job is fine, not great, and sometimes downright intolerable. My new house is nice, but lonely, because everyone just keeps getting busier. I'm disappointing my parents more than ever, and I've failed at all the personal goals I set (and managed to meet last year) for myself.

If anything, instead of progressing, I feel like I'm degenerating into a horrible version of myself, something I vaguely recognize from 2013. This blog was supposed to be about a different version of me, but it's safe to say that that plan has been an epic failure. Does that mean that I can only be a decent, responsible, sane person when I'm not working and living with my parents? That is the question that haunts me.

Hitting that kind of rock bottom again will be the ultimate failure, and it's because of my anger about that, more than anything else, that I seem to be stuck in this rut.

Snippets - I

“Do you think all bosses are crazy, or do I just have rotten luck?”
“Both.”

“I just thought, after what happened last year with the quitting, the sabbatical, the new job, that I wouldn’t have to make any more decisions for a while.”
“But you’ll always have to make decisions now. Personal or professional. That’s adult life.”

“What am I supposed to say?”
“You know, random shit.”
“What random shit? How do I ignore the elephant in the room? Am I supposed to bring up that he’s my potential husband? Chosen by my parents?”
“Um, I don’t think so.”


“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Um…”
“Um…”
“Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier, I was on a deadline.”
“No problem. Are you home now?”
“No, I’m still at work.”
“SO LATE?!!!”
“Um, it’s 8.15.”


“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Um…”
“Um…”
“Had dinner?”


“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Um…”
“Um…”
“What's up?”
“I’m out with friends. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Oh, great. Out where?”
“Social.”
“What’s Social?”

“I can’t marry him, mumma. I don’t even want to meet him.”
“Why? He seems nice.”
“He doesn’t know what Social is! How is that possible?”


“Will you help me buy baby clothes for someone?”
“Of course!”
“And also something for the mother, to say sorry for being such a crappy friend to you for the last six months.”


“I’m sorry I’ve been such a crappy friend. I’m sorry I’m seeing your baby for the first time when she’s almost a year old.”
“I thought that you didn’t want to talk to me, because I have a baby and all. Because I’m practically another generation now.”
“Don’t be silly. If anything, you’ll think my problems are lame, now that you’ve given birth to another human being.”


“When was the last time you saw A?”
“I don’t know, last month? We went out for dinner with a couple of other people from journalism school.”
“Was R there?”
“No, he didn’t come because he and I were fighting.”
“I have this weird feeling, like how are other people still breaking up and patching up when I’m up all night changing diapers.”

“Did he really say that?”
“Yes.”
“He used the word defective? He said if you’re not married by 27 people will think you’re defective?”
“Yes.”
“What an asshole. I’m so angry your friend is married to him.”


“Do you think I’m defective?”
“Of course not!”
“Yeah, of course not.”

“I don’t want to meet him, Papa. There’s nothing impressive about him.”
“Okay, don’t worry. Let me call you back.”

“Don’t meet him. Say no.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, you have to marry him. If you don’t want to meet him, don’t.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Are you crazy? Of course not. Nobody is going to force you to meet anyone.”
“Oh.”
“Are you crying?”

“I’m so homesick. I’m so upset. I’m so cranky.”
“Do you wanna go home?”
“God, no.”

I can’t believe this is happening again. I’ve only been in Delhi for five months, and already everything that I’d tried so hard to fix in the few months before that, is crumbling around me. Is this a Delhi thing? Is this a me thing? Why don’t I ever learn? Why don’t things change, even when I try so hard? Why does everything suck so much right now?

For the first time in my life, I had a weekend off from work. It’s technically the third time, but the first time I took a trip to the hills, and the second time I went home for a friend’s wedding, so this is the first time I was in Delhi to enjoy a weekend off from work. I spent Saturday mostly cleaning my house because I was hosting a small party later that evening. It was a lot more fun than I’d expected it to be, and on several occasions I was worried that some neighbour would ring the bell and ask us to keep the voice down.

Today, I mostly slept and ate the leftover pizza, fought with my mother on Mother’s Day, refused to call her back to apologize, and watched NH10 for the first time. I am scared of that movie. I have nothing else to say for it at the moment.

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. This sentiment came at least 18 months into my first job. Here, it took five months. I’m really hoping this is temporary because of what’s happening in office, otherwise I’m screwed.

I’ve joined dance classes. I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, I do. I needed something, other than work, to focus on. And apparently panting during the first 10 minutes of a dance class while college students hop around me was it.

Is lasagna code for something?

My best friend from school left the country this morning to live her (hopefully) happy married life. I’d known this was going to happen for years, but when she called this morning, half an hour before her flight was taking off, I wanted to cry. It could be because I’d just woken up from a night of 10-hour sleep after two sleepless nights, or because I hadn’t been able to talk to her properly for the last one week, but I think the real reason was that she was, simply, going so far away. Now when I go home I won’t be able to see her.

***

Speaking of home, I’m going to Jaipur day after tomorrow for the weekend for a friend’s wedding. It’s nothing to do with my stand on marriage anymore, but I think I’ve started to hate friends’ weddings because they’re taking away all my vacation days. I’m also a little worried about the parents’ reaction to a few things that I don’t want to think about right now, but won’t be able to escape there.

***

Work was, simply put, hell last week. It gave me flashbacks from my old job, and that is never a good thing. I spent some time trying to understand if it’s me, if I give out the doormat vibe sometimes, but I don’t think so. I will have to figure this out if I see a repeat of last week happening again, because there is a reason I quit my last job. And, as predicted, on a regular basis my work has tripled because I got a promotion. Can someone please give me tips on how to run a team and how to be a boss of, like, three people? I don’t feel equipped to handle this kind of responsibility.

***

I went out with my journalism school friends last week, and it was a nice chill dinner with a lot of grown-up talk, like marriage (duh) and grocery shopping. Two years ago we’d have laughed if one of us had suggested going to The Big Chill instead of having a low-key house party. Now, some of us are trying to quit cigarettes and some of us are trying to quit each other.

My best friend from back home was in town last weekend and stayed with me for a bit. Not only did we have an insane amount of fun, but she also cooked enough food for me to last three days. Which basically means that I am sorted till I go home, then when I go home my mother will send food, and I don’t have to cook anything for at least 10 days now. This is a blessing.

***

The way my day started, I’m not surprised I ended it by crying on the sofa while watching One Day on TV. If someone ever asks me to describe my 20s, I’d ask them to read this book. Please read it if you haven’t already.

***

The line in the title of this post was said in the context of The Boy, but what do I say about him that I haven’t already said in the last few years? I really, really hate being this cliché. 

Flying high

It’s 1.50am on a Saturday night, I’m unwell, but I can’t sleep. Plus I’ve been meaning to blog for a while, so this is as good a time as any.

This time last Saturday, I was in Bir, Himachal Pradesh, slightly stoned and very happy. For the first time in my life, I had a four-day weekend off, and instead of going home, I went on a trip with a friend. In the first week of March, I wrote that I wanted, no needed, to do something crazy, like bungee jumping, and in the last week of March, I did. This has literally never happened with me in the past, considering I am 100% not an adrenaline junkie.

When we were deciding where to go that long weekend, the names Bir-Billing kept coming up, but the only thing to do there is paragliding, which sounded scary and insane and totally not-me. We kept trying to put off booking the bus tickets because of a host of reasons, until it became clear that if we didn’t book them we wouldn’t be able to go. So finally we decided to go to McLeodganj, and wing it for Bir-Billing. Except that McLeodganj was a shitstorm.

I can’t say much because I also went there from Delhi, but literally half of Delhi was there. It was bursting with people, we were staying in a shit hotel, and we had to walk everywhere. Had it not been for Illiterati Café, I would have started crying. We left that town in 20 hours, after I did some underhanded deal to get some hash, which after frantic Googling, my friend and I confirmed was the same thing as charas. I know, didn't instill any confidence in us either.

The drive from McLeodganj to Bir was gorgeous enough to lift our spirits, and when we reached our resort in Bir, it was clear that we’d stepped into Eat Pray Love land. There were just trees and butterflies and dogs and three people serving us average food and dubious looking nimbu-paani. The weather app was telling us that it could rain any time, so when we were asked if we wanted to go paragliding right away, we said yes without thinking too much about it.

Sleep-deprived and a little grumpy, we got into the car that would take us to Billing, the world’s second-highest paragliding site. The road trip was scary intense, and my friend and I held hands the whole time. The only time we felt vaguely okay was when Main Hoon Hero Tera came on the music player of the car, and she said, ‘Bhai hamare saath hain’. We giggled and prayed and second guessed the entire thing, and somehow reached Billing, which was breathtaking. The snow-capped mountains were just a stone’s throw away, and while I was busy clicking pictures, my friend was losing her shit.

She didn’t want to do it, she didn’t want to die, and she was shaking a little bit. I was surprisingly game for the whole thing, or maybe I wasn’t trying to freak her out more. I’m not sure, because before I knew it, she had run off a cliff and was in the air. Within two minutes, a big backpack was being strapped on to me and I was also being told to run off a cliff with my pilot. Um, no freaking way, I thought, as I ran. The next thing I know, I’m flying. I’m in the air, in the sky, and everything is tiny as fuck.

It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life, and almost indescribable. My mind went blank and I was just happy. You can see it in my dorky photos and video. When I finally landed, and hurt my ankles, I ran to my still shaken-up friend, who definitely didn’t enjoy it as much as I did. We had some incredible nimbu-paani with trembling hands in the middle of that field, and went back to our resort for a nap.

We woke up four hours later, finally rested and very hungry. We asked for some momos and wai-wai, which were turning out to be our best options for food in the trip. My friend rolled joints, taught me how to, and opened a bottle of wine. Over lots of emotional songs and unnecessary cigarettes, we talked endlessly until the resort dudes brought us dinner. We went to bed with headaches. I woke up in the middle of the night to call my best friend back home, and ask her if I should call my ex (ex? I don’t know what to call him), and ask him if the rumours were true and he was getting married. I don’t remember how she talked me out of it.

For the next couple of days, we literally left that resort only to go to the ATM and a monastery. We stayed in our little cottage, stoned and full of stories, happy, hungry and restless about what we were doing with our lives. When we came back to Delhi, we’d checked off some things off our bucket list, and tried to pretend like that was enough.

***

Two years ago in April, I was asking my boss to be transferred to Jaipur in my old job, and acting like my life was getting over. In my defense, it really did feel that way. Two years later, it’s a different job, but it’s the same city, and when you live in the same city as your past, you sometimes run into it.

I don’t want to write about what happened on Thursday in detail here, because it was equal parts awkward and heart-breaking. For almost 10 minutes, I was pretty certain I was going to start howling in public. I didn’t. The feeling passed, I survived, and I was unexpectedly okay the next morning. What I didn’t know was that I were to have some kind of a blast from the past weekend.

The boy, my ex, whatever, I don’t even know what to call him, he got back in touch, and we seem to be falling back into our exhausting routine while avoiding the question of what the fuck we're really doing.

I don’t know man. I don’t have time for this right now. If everything goes according to plan, my work is about to be tripled in office, and it’s so hot my brain refuses to work half the time.

But hey, at least now I know how to fly.

I spent the last one hour reading March posts from the last eight years. In 2008, for instance, I was talking about exams. In 2009, I was talking about my then-boyfriend. In 2010, I was talking about being dumped by him. In 2011, I was talking about another boy. In the subsequent years, I was talking about work and being unable to manage my life with it.

In 2016, I can only seem to talk about weddings. It’s fashionable to talk about adulting and failing at it, but who’s actually winning at it? I don’t know anyone who keeps it together all the time. How are we, then, supposed to make this monumental decision of choosing someone to spend all our life with at this time? I’m not saying this can’t be done, because I know many happily married couples. But perhaps that is because they weren’t pressured into it? No one was telling them they’d have a heart attack if they didn’t choose someone to marry in the next few months.

I was home 10 days ago to attend a friend’s wedding. On the day of her pheras, just as I was leaving for the venue, another childhood friend came over to tell me he’s getting married. Arranged, whatever, that doesn’t even matter anymore. I was stunned into silence. Maybe it’s time I stop getting so shocked every time someone announces their wedding. I was very emotional that day, all these people I grew up with making such grown-up decisions and getting on with their lives. I am supposed to go back to Jaipur next month for a wedding, then again in May for another. I might skip one of them.

I could have gone home again this week for Holi, but because I was getting a four-day weekend off for the first (and probably the last) time in my life, I decided to take a trip to the hills with a friend. Someone asked me the other day, “what’s the plan?” For life, I asked. I don’t know. How do you answer such a question? My friends and exes are getting married all around me, while I am trying to avoid crises at work every week and ordering as many fruits as I can from Big Basket. That’s it. That’s my life.

February updates

I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without blogging since I started nine years ago. But I guess a new job will do that to you. My responsibilities are increasing, and yesterday I felt like I was in an episode of Suits, because I didn’t expect this workplace to be so cut-throat or stressful. Turns out, every single workplace is stressful, so we’re all doomed. I have to do something before the 15th, failing which, I’m in deep shit at work. But let’s not think about that right now.

The reason I could find the time, and inclination, to blog today is because I came home this morning. This is the first time I’ve come back to Jaipur after moving out again, and I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t hit by any overwhelming emotions while coming home from the airport. Sitting at this desk, where I spent almost all my time on this laptop planning my escape, I only feel a dull sense of something, not loss exactly, but that could be because I haven’t slept well all week. After I reached home, I was in bed and out for four hours. I guess that says something about home, even if I try to dismiss that concept these days.

The updates are far too many, so subheads it shall be.

Work

Is fine. Like I said, I don’t know why I expected it to be easier this time around. It’s definitely easier than my previous job in some ways, but it still drains me. And this deadline till the 15th is pissing me off, more than anything else, because it’s not very fair. Other than that, I think I’m doing okay, the people are nice, the place is nice, but it’s still work, and I’ve come to understand that it’s very rarely fulfilling. Some friends tell me it’s a dream job when I write on something particular, but I think I’ve established that that term is an illusion.

House

Continues to challenge me. I’d be going around thinking everything is fine and then suddenly something will stop working. Living alone is great, but sometimes I really want a flatmate around just to get shit fixed. I bought a few things for the house, hung up some fairy lights and made a Tumblr collage on a wall to make it feel like home. It does, on some days. But on some days, it’s still just a house.

Friends

Are assholes. I’m not even kidding. I guess this is payback for being a horrible friend during my last couple of years in my previous job, but my friends have disappointed me so much in the last few weeks. That makes it sound like I need to get off my high horse, and maybe I do, but I swear I’m not overreacting. I know everybody has problems, I know you can’t always talk about them even with your closest friends, but please be an adult and BE THERE. You’re not the only one who’s feeling lost. A friend told me the other day that I need to give up on such friends, understand that someone might be my oldest friend and still ditch me. That made me so sad. Adult friendship is a bitch.

Social life

Is thriving. I’ve taken my oath to not let this job take over my social life very seriously, which might explain why I go out so much and spend an insane amount of money on cabs and extra-sweet mocktails. But at least friends have fewer complaints that way and I am not completely cut off from everyone, just going to work and coming back the next day. But I need to go to more events, like festivals and stuff. I feel like I need to somehow see more of Delhi.

Parents

Are aggressively looking for a groom for me. I don’t even know how to explain this. I’ve had so many conversations with so many people about why and how I am okay with arranged marriage. I am not, but I don’t hate the idea either. Or so I thought. Plus I needed them to stop worrying, so I said 'fine, start looking'. I don’t think I’ve been part of a more dehumanizing process before. It’s a market, and you really, truly understand it when it starts happening to you. An older cousin, who’s been going through the same thing for years, has been telling me to not react to everything, to pick my battles. But it’s so difficult to do that when all I want to do is scream every time my father calls.

I didn’t even want to come home today, because I was worried shaadi is all we would talk about. My mother mentioned a rishta within 30 minutes of me walking into the house. I think my face stopped her from mentioning more. But I was so homesick in Delhi, and it’s one of my best friends’ wedding, so I couldn’t not come to Jaipur.

That’s the other thing. I know everyone thinks that all of their friends are getting married right now, but mine literally are. I’ve attended two weddings in the last three months, I’m here for this one, and then I’m invited to two more in the next two months. And these are all close friends. So perhaps that freaks out my parents even more? Twenty-six is not the end. Fifty-six is not the end either. I know we keep talking about how to teach our children about feminism, but sometimes I feel like we need to give a few lessons to our parents as well.

Adulting

Is a myth. Or is it? I wouldn't know because I have been failing at it for almost a month now. The first couple of months were okay, but in February, I really let myself go. I stopped cooking, I started eating out a lot, which then affected my weight and skin and everything I had worked very hard for during my sabbatical. I haven’t slept for more than four hours every night in two weeks, and that’s because I can’t seem to go to sleep before 3 or 4, and then I’m running late in the morning and I can’t concentrate at work and it’s all just downhill from there. The other day I had to get a massage for two thousand bucks because my body was killing me. I really, really need to step it up. I just don’t know how.

TV

Keeps me sane. The discovery of the year so far has been Veep. Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ face after every disaster in Veep gives me life. Now I kinda understand why she kept beating Amy Poehler at the Emmy awards every year, but I still wanted Leslie Knope to win at least once. Also, I’ve come to understand that I love shows where people screw up repeatedly at work, or even in general. It gives me hope about my life.

Another revelation was Friday Night Lights. I think I watched four seasons in a week (which accounts for why I stayed up till 4am on some days), and there are just so many emotions in that show. If you like soapy shows, like Parenthood or Grey’s, you should watch it.

I’ve also started watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on TV. I think I’m in love with Rachel Bloom.

Books

Are the major reason I can live alone and be okay with it. But – and I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot – I NEED a book that will change my life. Like One Day did, or The Sky is Everywhere, or We Need to Talk About Kevin. You by Caroline Kepnes did that for a while last month (you should read it and get freaked out, too), and I was haunted by it for weeks afterwards. Its sequel is out so that should carry me through this month. But I still need more. I’m reading The Palace of Illusions right now, and it’s not as engaging as everyone told me it would be.

Life

Is okay. It could have been much worse, and I’m definitely not depressed like I was towards the end of my previous job. But sometimes I really regret taking up this job so soon. I think my sabbatical ended too quickly and I could have still been chilling at home. Or maybe that’s just my laziness talking? Because if I were still at home, this shaadi stuff would have been that much more irritating. So, I guess it all worked out? 

But I really feel like I need to do something crazy. Not hooking up with the wrong person crazy or yelling at the boss crazy. Something that gives me a rush. Like bungee jumping. Um, I don't know where that came from.

I don’t want to stop blogging, because the other day I read a year’s worth of my old posts at 2am and then messaged some questionable things to someone. You need that kind of wake-up call sometimes. You need to see how far you’ve come, and how far you still have to go.

26

I'm turning 26 in 30 minutes. So perhaps it's time to stop expecting the worst? Except that I can't. A few days ago, I planned to have lunch with all my girlfriends in Delhi on this day for my birthday. I kept telling everyone I know it'll be very difficult to get everyone together – someone has a job, someone has a baby, someone has a thing – they're all busy in their lives. My friends told me that, of course, they will be there. But I kept saying to myself that it won't happen.

So, this morning, I woke up to multiple disasters. There was no water in the house, which always sends me into a tizzy because of the Lajpat Nagar debacle, I had to shower with really cold water and was nursing a headache, and my friends kept cancelling one after another. In between calling the plumber many times, trying to book a cab when none was available and panicking in defunct ATMs, I thought I'd start crying. And that right there was my pre-birthday meltdown.

But in the end, of course, this lunch was probably my best birthday in years, and my birthday hasn't even really begun! My boss was being (suspiciously) extra nice to me and insisted I take Saturday off, so yesterday I went shopping with a friend, and spent even more money in the name of birthday shopping. And today was a lot of fun. Some of these girls I was spending my birthday with after many years, and just the image of them standing around me singing happy birthday is making me happy right now. They were all friends from different times of my life – school, my blog, journalism school – but of course everyone got along just fine, because my friends are the best. The school friend came back home with me for a bit, and now I'm alone, marathoning The Vampire Diaries and eating leftover blueberry cheesecake (shout out to Sakshi!).

Of course, a few hours ago I wanted to cry again because my parents are making me send my biodata and photos to at least four families on every holiday. Just writing that email makes me want to throw up. I really wish my father hadn't asked me to do it today, of all days, but I'm trying not to dwell on that. I feel like this birthday is a source of immense panic for them, because I'm 26, which is, well, older if not old, and, according to them, well past the age of getting engaged.

Birthdays after 20 are rarely fun and almost never meet anyone's expectations, but even though I have nothing planned for tomorrow, I think I feel okay. I have a tattoo now, after all.

Twenty-six. Shit.  

Birthday week

In between going out every five days and worrying about my parents getting old after I heard some distressing news from friends, I got a tattoo. It’s one thing off my bucket list, possibly the hardest after ‘kiss a stranger’, and I still wake up every morning checking to make sure it’s still there.

It’s my birthday gift to myself, because I haven’t forgotten that I’m turning 26 in five days. 

In other news, I’m officially in the marriage market and work is about to get super stressful. Ah, birthday week. 

January 1, 2016

Day 1 of 2016 was nice and happy. I woke up at 10 to my father’s call and started getting ready to go out. I really wanted to have breakfast this morning but I was running late. One of my friends from Jaipur was here, and we had plans to meet for coffee, but she cancelled because she wasn’t feeling well. That was a bit of a bummer because I miss her a lot, but I was having lunch with another friend I made from my blog, so there was that to look forward to. January 1 is a significant day, so of course I ended up in Khan Market. My friend came bearing presents, and we finally got a chance to catch up. Sometimes it's so strange to realize, mid-conversation, that she’s been reading what can be classified as my innermost thoughts for about seven years now. It’s a weird feeling, hearing her talk about my writing in person. But she’s smart and insightful and very sweet, and I introduced her to banoffee pie, so the lunch was a win in every way.

From Khan I went to Amalfi, which is slowly turning into my new favourite place, and spent many, many hours with another group of friends. I ate prawns (of course) and had some five sips of champagne. It does not taste good, you guys! I called some friends and family throughout the day, and tried not to do things or see people I dislike. Of course, the landlord called asking for rent, and I came back home to a laptop that seems to be falling apart, but hopefully I’ll fix these issues soon.

I have many social engagements for the upcoming week, but I just want to stay home and eat clean for a few days. Regardless, this was a good day, and right now I really wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow. 

Thank you, 2015

This time last year I was home alone, and pretty upset about it. I’m home alone tonight as well, but not upset. I’ve never voluntarily spent New Year’s Eve alone, which is quite possibly my most favourite time of the year. But this year, somehow, nothing materialized. I could have spent it with some friends, but I wanted to either party hard or not do anything. All or nothing. So I did nothing. I was working till 9pm anyway, so I came back home, ordered the most amazing food I’ve come to love after moving here, and am now watching TV. Some people in office asked me to their parties with pity invitations, but I didn’t need any. I am perfectly happy being home, sleeping in my bed (not surrounded by drunk people) after watching Bigg Boss and reading Liane Moriarty’s amazing novel. Is this called growing up or becoming boring? I don’t know. I don’t care tonight.

But one advantage of the absence of any scene is that I get the time to do a 2015 roundup. I might have changed blogs, but I’m still the same person with the same rituals. And 2015 deserves all the attention it can get. It was a landmark year in so many ways.

You know the logic of the book The Secret? How when you want something and keep thinking about it and sending out good vibes in the universe or whatever, you ultimately get it? I think I do that with sadness. I just assume that I’m going to be upset. I just assume that shit will go down. I just assume that I’m Murphy’s Pet. I should be the brand ambassador for self-fulfilling prophecies. When 2015 began, I told everyone that it was my quarter-life crisis year, with no evidence to support that. I just said it. And it happened.

It started with not being able to quit my job in January, and did not seem to end. I was unhappy all the time. At home, at work, in my countless trips to Delhi, in the middle of the freaking desert in Jaisalmer, even in Amsterdam – my first Europe trip – I was constantly upset or worried or super unhappy with my life. I was ungrateful, I was a horrible daughter and I was a nightmare to be around. I hated everything, and I hated myself. I had good reasons to be upset, but I wasn’t doing anything to fix them.

Sometimes I tried. I coloured my hair red. I gave up on the idea of quitting. I started Instagram-ing. I saved up all my money for an unformed grand plan. I met friends. I became better at staying in touch with friends. I wrote. I read. But I was still unequivocally unhappy. It had to change because it was killing me.

So I quit.

I don’t know how I got the courage to do that, because I loved the idea of having that job. There are still times, now especially since I’m back in Delhi, when I cannot believe that I don’t work there anymore. But I don’t. Somehow, in June, I gathered all my courage and quit. And this is one cliché I loved becoming, because it was the best decision I’ve made in a long, long time.

Right from the moment I sent my resignation letter, even before my notice period ended, I saw myself change. I got on that crazy diet plan which totally worked, I signed up for the belly dancing workshop, and I booked tickets to Bombay and Goa even before my last working day. One I stopped working, it was insane. I was super free and super busy at the same time. I remember friends warning me that I’ll get bored, that I’ll regret my decision, that I will go crazy, and none of that happened. I was prepared for it, though. I was ready to regret everything and be more miserable, but something had changed, and I wasn’t.

The sabbatical was a blur of zumba, vacations, cooking, weddings and a lot of dancing. I was thinner, prettier, livelier. People were amazed when they saw me. You’re glowing, I was told. I started wearing red lipstick more often. I started taking trips, I slept a lot more, I drove a lot more. I fell in love with many songs and celebrated whenever they came on the FM while I was driving. Being in Jaipur still sucked super hard, but I started becoming okay with being there.

I was happy.

And then, Delhi happened.

I got this job without much hassle. I didn’t have to go through the uncertainty of giving too many interviews, nervously waiting for an answer, writing too many copy tests. The ease with which I landed this job made me suspicious. Before I joined, I was ready for them to take it away from me at any point. They didn’t. I came back. I don’t even know how to explain my relationship with Delhi. I don’t think I understand it very well myself.

When I tell the story of how I left Delhi in 2014, I conveniently leave out the part where I should say that some part of me wanted to leave. My life was too messy here, too complicated, too dangerous. Now that I’m back, some of that comes back to haunt me. But I am very proud of myself for finally getting myself out of the most toxic relationship I’ve ever been in. I may not be 100% out, but I’m very close, and I have no intentions of going back, so there's that.

Coming back has its own set of challenges, of course. I hadn’t forgotten the travails of living alone, but I did romanticize a lot of it. But now, when I come back home to no food and a leaking gas cylinder, I don’t always burst into tears. Sometimes, I still do.

Despite terribly wanting to, I was certain I wasn’t going to come back to Delhi or get another job. At least not in 2015. But I did. So here I am, at the end of the year, trying to find my place in a new job and a new-old city.

I have no idea what 2016 is going to bring. I know my parents want me to get married. I know my biodata is out in the marriage market. Will I get married? Will I settle down in this job? Will I go back to my old ways and turn into the horrible, miserable person I was six months ago? I hope not. I have no answers, which is why, despite having what can evidently be called a great year, I don't know what to expect from the next one.

But if there’s one thing to be learnt from 2015, it’s that sometimes it’s okay to turn your life upside down to save yourself a little bit. I really, really hope that I don’t get lost in 2016. But if I do, maybe, perhaps, probably, there’s a chance that I’ll find myself again.

Happy new year, you guys! The blog saved me in more ways than I can count.

30 days of Delhi

I spent my weekend watching three movies that I always avoid because they make me cry. Which is my way of saying that I spent my weekend crying. I seem to be some kind of a specialized masochist.

I’m finally settling down in the new routine of my new life, but I still miss my sabbatical immensely. The new house is very grown-up, and has almost everything. But that’s a reflection of how thoughtful my parents are. They were here the weekend I moved, and helped set up everything. Since then, I’ve been trying not to turn this into a pigsty, but there are days when it starts to resemble one. Every now and then, some or the other issue comes up, and I spend my days waiting for the repairmen to come and fix things. It’s not even a surprise anymore when they say that they’ll come at 11 and turn up at 4. I’m trying to say yes to most social invitations I receive, because I’m worried about going back to my old ways. But because of this, today is the first holiday where I didn’t have to go out or meet someone or do something. So far, I’ve met friends, went for dinners, watched movies and gone on one pub crawl. I also threw a little party at my place for friends from journalism school. It’s was fun, mostly. At least until I was left alone with just one of them and things went from bad to worse. I also met a blog friend recently, and it continues to amaze me how such great friendships started online because of my weird alter ego.

The most exceptional part of this entire month, however, has been the fact that I’m cooking. Or at least I’m trying to. Most days I am either too tired to cook, or too frustrated from my failed attempts to try again, so I order in. I now know a great place to order every kind of cuisine around my house. This is worrisome, and has to change. The other worrisome thing is how much money I seem to have spent in the last one month. I’m afraid to look at my bank statement because the number might give me a heart attack. I guess the scenes we thought were exaggerated for comic relief in chick flicks have some basis in reality, then. What am I spending all this money on, you ask. Oh, I don’t know. Dinners, birthday presents for colleagues, Secret Santa presents and Body Shop.

Work has been… interesting. I got my first scolding yesterday, but I shouldn’t have. Other than that, I’m still trying to find my place there. I spend all the time I’m awake in front of my laptop, so I’m getting very worried about my eyes. I may miss some things about my old job, but I don’t really miss it.

There’s still so much to do, so much of Delhi left to rediscover, but something’s amiss. I can’t figure out what it is. So until I can, I will continue to sit at home, and not change the channel when One Day, The Time Traveller’s Wife or Marley and Me comes on.

Delhi 2.0

I don’t think my brain has reset its settings to Delhi yet, because I feel like I’m doing everything in a bit of a daze. But that’s probably because I’m still living with relatives, and a friend almost always accompanies me to work in the morning. My parents are going to be here in six days for a couple of days, so homesickness hasn’t kicked in either.

The new workplace is interesting. The setup is very different from my old job, and that will take some serious getting used to, but the people seem nice and it seems like if I can learn how to write well while being pelted with entertaining but often unnecessary information from all sides, I’ll do well here. I’m still mostly quiet at work, because I haven't figured out who I'm supposed to be here. I haven’t been the new girl anywhere in ages, and I was so used to being the baby, the mean girl, the fantastic untouchable over-achieving genius at my old workplace that I don’t know how to be okay with being the person who doesn’t know anything. But of course I don’t know anything and I don’t have much time to learn the ropes, so gotta pull up my socks.

And then, of course, if I can just get my writing mojo back, everything will be fine. But there’s no way of knowing how soon, if at all, that will happen.

I watched Tamasha last night and it was okay. It was beautifully shot and I wanted to go to Corsica, but I don’t understand or agree with all these raving reviews about how it’s such a realistic portrayal of a modern-day love story. Maybe I don’t know what love looks like anymore?

I need to see my friends. Soon. Maybe then I’ll feel like I’m back.

The Sabbatical ends

Between overwhelming farewells and overflowing to-do lists, I forgot that I was leaving. Moving out. Leaving the nest. Again. Unless something goes horribly off-track, I doubt I’m coming back to live here. I’ll come and stay during vacations, but I don’t think I’ll get the chance to live with my parents again. And despite the fact that so much has happened in the last 18 months, the fact remains that right now, seven hours away from taking the train that will take me back to the city I was missing like a phantom limb, I don’t want to go. Suddenly, I don’t know why I ever wanted to live alone. How the hell will I manage everything? My mother’s been teaching me how to cook, and so much can go wrong that I’m worried I might burn my new place down.

But my bags are packed, and my new workplace awaits. From Home 2.0 it’s going to be Delhi 2.0, which I was worried was never going to happen. It’s happening. It’s here. Will this truce continue?

This time next week I would be nearing the end of my first day at the new workplace. Considering I haven’t even started packing, that seems inconceivable right now.

In the 48 hours of the last weekend, I went to Delhi, apartment hunted, came back to Jaipur, said goodbye to my brother twice, attended my parents’ anniversary lunch, danced at a school friend’s sangeet and saw my best friend smile after three years at her roka. The last two events made me very nostalgic, and my mother very grumpy because everyone seems to be getting married except for her daughter. It is kind of true, though. People on Facebook are joking about how I’m the official maid of honour this wedding season. They’re watching too many American movies.

If I’d had this kind of happening social life in the last 18 months, I probably wouldn’t have cribbed so much. But nothing ever works out according to a mere mortal’s plan, so we’ll let that be. While apartment hunting in Delhi, I got so depressed looking at all the 1BHK apartments. My new house seems nice, but of course it’s not Jaipur, it’s not my home town, with the negligible traffic and big houses and a mother taking care of everything. I’m very worried about this whole living-alone-for-the-second-time business, to be honest. On the plus side, my new society has many cute dogs and at least one very cute dog owner.

I’ve started to see friends and have farewell meals with them. Yesterday, while having lunch with a friend made from the old blog, I ran into an ex. I will not miss this in Delhi – running into questionable high school love interests. 

I have five days left in Jaipur. I gotta learn how to stop time.

Because it's always been Delhi

The house is always crazy loud this time of the year, because our relatives come home for Diwali with their sons, who’re my brother’s age, and the three of them can’t be calm or quiet. This year, I’m extra sentimental. Because I’m leaving. It happened. The thing I’d been praying for for 18 months finally happened and I couldn’t take the time to write about it here.

Last month, two days before leaving for a trip to the hills with a friend, I applied for a job. It was a Delhi job, but for some reason I repressed that information and didn’t dwell on it. I applied because I’d been ignoring vacancies and saying that I was having too much fun in my sabbatical to end it so soon. I applied because I wanted to know my value in the job market. I applied without first understanding if I wanted it. All I knew was that I was wanted them to want me. So two days before I left, I applied, told barely three people about it, interviewed on the phone, and pulled an all-nighter to take their copy test. I sent it the morning I left for Delhi to take a bus to Manali and then forgot about it.

Until six hours later, when, unexpectedly, while I was still in Delhi, I got the call. They liked my writing. They wanted me to start ASAP. They wanted to negotiate salary and talk contracts. I couldn’t breathe. What was happening? Was I going back to Delhi? Was I going to take the job? It was then that I realized that there was never any other option. I’d always wanted this - not the job as much as the city. By chanting Delhi like a mantra and refusing to let go over the last year-and-a-half, I’d somehow made it happen.

That day, still in Delhi, I talked to my parents about returning. About moving out again. There were so many things to consider. My health, my doctors, my diet, my life. To give them credit, my parents were surprisingly chill about it. They never said no, not for a minute. They were just discussing logistics. How much money? When do I join? By the time I took that bus for Manali, seven hours after the call, I’d negotiated the salary and told them I needed 24 hours to get back to them with a joining date. The next day in beautiful but boring Kasol, with everyone high around us all the time, I made the call. Yes, I’d love to work with them. Yes, I want the job. Yes, I’ll join in the last week of November. I hung up and came back to the table where my friend was drinking beer, and we hugged for one whole minute. That night, she made me try red wine. To celebrate, she said, because you’re fucking coming back. Was that what was happening? I wasn’t leaving home, I was just coming back.

The next night in cold Manali, stoned and stupid with laughter, I called up my (kinda) boyfriend. I was worried about his reaction for many reasons, but he was only happy I was coming back. I messaged a couple of friends that I was moving back, I told them about the job. I got excited phone calls in return, where I tried very hard to conceal the fact that I was high for the first time in my life.

I was happy, my friend was happy, but I banned us from talking about the job until I got the contract in my email four days later. She focussed on my boyfriend instead. What was happening? What were we doing? Will we get our heads out of our asses now that we weren’t going to be long distance anymore? We discussed everything endlessly, and came up with theories that were bizarre but fun. We kept trying to look for reasons to talk to the two Dutch men who were staying across the hall from us. When they asked us about the hot springs, we were giggling so hard we couldn’t answer properly.

We took long walks and sat by the river and ate trout and prawns in every café that we went to. We kept trying to click pictures of each other that would be worthy of putting up on Facebook. We talked about her legit boyfriend and our jobs and bosses and friends and everything. We hadn’t spent this much time with each other since we lived together in Delhi and I was so relieved that we didn’t get on each other’s nerves despite spending a whole week together.

I returned from Manali just in time to participate in my zumba group’s flash mob and go clubbing with them on Halloween as Supergirl, my last-ditch effort at a costume. That night, as we posed for pictures and danced till 2am (I’m surprised my parents didn’t kick me out when I came home), I realized that I had a class eighth type crush on one of the boys in my class. I don’t even care if nothing happens, I just get crazy happy every time he so much as looks at me. I started hanging out with this group often and then told them that I was leaving.

I also started the process of telling all my friends, who are all very happy with the development but also very surprised that the sabbatical is ending unexpectedly soon. I also had a few difficult conversations about this job with a couple of people, who can keep their opinions to themselves.

Now, I’m supposed to be packing and house hunting, because I move in less than two weeks, but I can’t seem to get anything done. I have moved quite a bit in the last few years. First from Jaipur to Delhi, then thrice within Delhi and then finally back to Jaipur. Now, after 18 months of talking about going back without ever actually believing that I would, I’m moving back to Delhi, to the reality of living alone which is far from the fantasy I’ve been reliving in my mind for so long.

Everyone’s asking me how I’m feeling. I’m very happy but I’m also very scared. What if, along with losing my freedom when I came back to Jaipur, I also lost the ability to live alone? I might be on a truce with myself, but I'm still superstitious.

I am watching One Day on TV right now, and I suddenly have too many feelings about 2011. The movie isn’t even that great, even though it has Anne Hathaway in it. But it was the book that cemented a work friendship that went on to become so much more. The book understood what it’s like to be in your twenties, I used to say, even though I was just 21 at the time. Four years later, I still don’t know much about what it’s like to be in your twenties. Confused? Desperate? But 2011 was a good year. I got the job, which I very dramatically quit two months ago, and I was so happy, so eager to please, so invincible with my writing and my potential and my newfound freedom in Delhi. The days, all days, weekends included, were meant for work, and most nights, too. But the evenings I didn't spend at work, I spent with someone I now go to great lengths to avoid. My twenties are only half-over, but every day I worry that the rest of this decade will go exactly the same way, while simultaneously thinking about what I’m going to do if it doesn't.

If I hadn’t quit, I’d have been in Delhi right now for fashion week. That’s all there is to know about my mood right now.