“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Day 10
Today was bad. I ate potatoes for lunch and had wine for dinner. Discovered a new TV show. Did not wear a funny tee shirt.
By afternoon, I was sure today was a non-day; the kind that does not make it into a Journal. Not in much detail at least. A day that just passes, you know? I went to the office. I doodled in my diary. Sulked a little. Same old. But it was also the inconsequential-that-doesn’t-do-much-except-building-dramatic-tension kind of an afternoon. By the end of which life changed a little. Life won’t be the same, and I won’t be the same, the river, the cat, the Vespa, nothing will be the same after today.
I got a call from a schoolmate who I had last spoken to 8 years ago, probably about homework. She called me and told me 3 things, 3 things she had written on her hand so she would not forget them. She was going to tell because if she had written, she would not be able to express herself like she really wanted to.
- She told me she reads what I write. Sometimes late into the night. So what I write goes directly from my heart to hers. That she feels happy when she reads about me having a good day or when she finds out that a bad day will pass.
- She said “You worry about people judging you for sharing your life so much on social media. Don’t worry, those people aren’t judging you, they are judging someone else. The ones who put make-up on their lives and show it in a light that makes other people feel bad about their own lives. You don’t do that.” The next time I feel judged, she told me to think of reading a book and compare it with reading Abhishek-Aishwarya Bachchan’s wedding updates.
- She feels like she knows me, she said. Cares for me. “So we are friends already, without you knowing it. I am here for you whenever you need me.” And at that moment we were infinite. There is another being. She shares her life with me as much as Instagram allows her to. She writes a little bit about her day and sends it to me every day. I wait for her messages keenly. Today she did not study much, bought a beautiful anklet, had the urge to spend her FabIndia voucher, and could not decide what to eat for dinner. A little boy who shares with me what he writes. Because he is too shy to share it with the world. Yet. A big boy who sends me poems in emails.
I made comic doodles with a friend who supplied puns on Whatsapp. We made distance not matter. We made bicycles that were “two-tired” to explain bi-sexuality to the world one more time, cups with anxi-tea and hangers who ask people to hang in there. We made things together and laughed together. Every time one of the comic doodles came out funny, he would put an extra haha at the end of his hahaha’s.
Today left me a less insecure person. I can write about anything today, my blue sippy bottle, my cluttered desk, the funny unfunny doodles. For I am a little lighter, a little unjudged, someone picked a little load off my shoulders. I jump a little every time I walk, not used to the lightness yet.
And this weightlessness demands to be done something off. Maybe to be spread. It made me call everybody I love to tell them I love them. To buy a book to remember this day by. To think of all that there is to look forward to. Spending mother’s day with Mumma, putting a face pack on papa, running in Sikkim, sending people postcards, sleeping on the puppy. To write this journal entry that I would not in any other state of mind, have shared, which will forever stand as a reminder of the fact that I might not get to see mummy papa every time I need to, but I will forever, always have/be amongst family.
.
.
Thank you.