Yearly updates

Very often, I have found myself at a loss of words; prose is so linear, poetry is derivative and far too open to interpretation. Expressing myself would become a game with levels – and a series of code I wished to insert to create a simple output never seemed a task possible. But writers seem to do it all the time. Nope, I don’t buy it. I am fairly certain that every writer walks away with a small part of themselves still obscured, suspended in a silent scream. Are you trying to tell me that all the complexities that make us human is so easily transferable to parchment and quill?
I took these pictures a few weeks ago, on a trip back home to Muscat which I seek out quite often to disenthrall from the ersatz goings-on of Dubai. I stood there, tasting the salty sea air and ameliorating in the uncharacteristic sharp winter wind, the movement of the slow waves compelling me away from my book. My mind was a static zone, not for absence of waves but for interference of far too many. Trying to pick a thread to unravel in words was futile – I knew it then too – t’was a single split thread, its confluents twisted in disquiet. Reading felt the same too, for a while. Words on paper didn’t quite translate in its chaos what my mind was willing to absorb. So I went back to Dostoevsky and so broke my reading slump. My writing slump? Still there.

2020, during Delhi Riots:

Life finally boasts, to me, an absolute reveal of its absurdity. A cloak of Clockwork orange and cavalier playing of “Singing in the Rain” removed from the defuckingsensitivity. I am now completely disenchanted with the banalities that exist in my life, your life, the fragmented make-believe social media.

Disenchanted with the books that have been written, history that has been inscribed and the creeds that push archaic religions in law and conduct.

Disenchanted with the primitive outputs of human brains; disturbed with the illusion of justice by the leftists and disgusted by the tribalism of the right-wingers. Disenchanted with the human preach of empathy and brotherhood.

Disenchanted with spiritualism so back off with your karmic tales. Disenchanted with ideologies and philosophy. Disenchanted with existence and death.

What remains true is the sway of lands shunting borderlessly in Mozartian cadences, the mountains, the rivers, the trees, the sand. The ravines, the plateaus, the tectonic plates. The law of gravity, the humility of the ocean, the wrath of seasons. And your nothingness.


2020, during Indian political and social turmoil and COVID-19:

“Education is the art of making man ethical” – Hegel

I sift through my feelings amidst the communal politics raging inside India and the revolt of the planet against our stupidity aka COVID-19 and find that I have some unresolved shame at being human, operating within the same limits of the ones immoral and unethical running the show, uniting the masses towards an agenda that can only be described with the expression “been there, done that” or more applicably, “been there, read that.”
“The only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history” – Hegel

Here we are, not even a few generations past the shadow of the mass genocide of the Jews due to a small group’s misguided tribalism and one enigmatic, deceivingly so, leader. History is repeated in my national vicinity and though I do not want to sing the familiar hymn of “why me,” because that is attaching some misplaced meaning to the nature of life, I’m found coin-eyed flabbergasted that such a thing is happening, the casual rate of it, the impeccable distance of the showrunners politicians from the most disenfranchised and most importantly, the apathy of people surrounding me and the event. It is understandable, I know, for am I still not emotionally better-placed for having eschewed religion as the vestigial trait of human civilisation than the ones who’s primary identity is the religion they are persecuted for?

This photo was taken a few days after December 11, 2019, the day that India lost its true essence, the day the Citizenship Amendment Act was passed. I was home then and we watched the news in silence. The darkness looming since 2014, now dawned completely. We let it sink in that secularism is well and truly dead, gone is Nehru’s legacy, our consitution is in distress and we as people are, according to law, lowest on any fathomable heirarchy. I remember sitting down on these steps for a photo for the ‘gram and dissociating from the moment. This picture is now ironic because, for the direction my country is headed in, books provide little relief and so does taking pictures for the ‘gram.


As the sun sets on 2018, I wonder about how my beginning (of 2019) will start in the past. This will be the first time I think back to the year that has passed and wonder why the twilight is rendering such a fuller glow as compared to last year or the many years before that. I brought in 2018 with a dull ache of impassivity and a lot of cynicism especially around turning 25. The year never really began for me or the year before that – 2017 and 2018 wrapped itself into one big warm blanket and sat in front of the fire, trying to thaw themselves out. ‘I am all thawed out now’ – assures time – oxygen reaching my heart and mind once more. About time, I think, because progress is made and I am willing to move forward. “Initially, I was unaware that time, so boundless at first blush, was a prison,” says Vladimir Nabokov and I lived that turn of phrase till apathy turned to nihilism and exasperation to desperation and as if the last swig of the bitter drink I had become accustomed to drink rendered the last frozen part of time to melt into a glorious river. I guess what I took away from the past and what I will bring into 2019 is a willingness to be carried by the current of this river, and to float on calmer days – to live in the present moment with an unquestioning, upturned crinkly eye on the future. 2019 is my year, I can feel it.

Further 2019:
When 2019 began I felt a very unfamiliar surge of positive energy – unfamiliar as previously, new years began with little to no excitement, some with lethargy and some even with fear and self-loathing. I spend a good majority of this year in high spirits, maybe because a seed of change was planted in my head in early 2018 (which came with its own set of failures) – the seed marinating for fertilisation until this year.

Bookstagram and many other self-expression avenues were put on hold for a while because I was starting to see this very seed bear fruit. Real life became the best form of self-expression and I have been knocking out self-discovery and tough decisions out the park with an electrifying energy manifesting in my mind and body. I have made difficult career choices (involving derailing my current career path for a completely new, satisfactory yet difficult one), personal decisions that introduced me to practicing emotional resilience and reintroducing passions I had forgotten in the rut of adulthood.

This is a personal post and going into further details seems unnecessary for now. But to all of you, thank you for still having my humble profile on your following list despite the irregular posts. These are exciting times for your girl, and I am happy that you’re here for me to share it with!

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