EndGame

It just struck me today that my life is going to change dramatically in the next few months even in the base case scenario. Even if I don't get severe Covid (or die), don't find a job in another UK or any other earth-shaking move. My life since September has been pretty much unchanged. Home to uni to home, repeated 5 times a week. Yes, teaching broke the monotony somewhat, but at the end of the semester, it has begun to feel monotonous too. The first change will be that I will have to move out of the PHD room, my second home which arouses fierce territorial instincts in me. That will be a big transition for me, and won't be one of my choosing. Another possible transition could be me moving out of my current house even if I stay on in Bristol with a post-PhD visa. The idea occurred to me as I was ruing that Bonking Betty has moved into the room directly below mine, bringing me close to her late-night shennanigans. Of course, my mind jumped tot he worst-case scenario where I am forced to move out because I am unable to sleep. But, today, it occurred to me that maybe that is not such a bad thing? Maybe a change would do me good? I don't plan to move before I submit my PhD but maybe after that? In any case, forecasting life more than two month's down the line is a mug's game, especially in Covid times.

Silver Linings

 If yesterday I felt my spirits lifting slightly, today the fell back into the pits. Nothing changed in my circumstances from yesterday. The grim Covid news coming out of India and my shoulder troubles were bothering me yesterday as well. It just shows that the blues can come on for no reason, and there in little point in trying to ascribe a reason to every mood swing. But, as I was wheeling my bike into the sitting room in the evening, I saw Bonking Betty move her stuff into the room directly below mine. If I found her too noisy when there was one room between us, it definitely be worse now that there was just a wooden floor separating us. My spirits hit the floor. I know none of these things are calamities but it felt that way. But, I did my best to lift my spirits. Had chocolate-chip cookies, spoke to a close friend over the phone, cooked, did yoga. I also tried a new exercise to help with my shoulder pain--the good ole pull-up. This is bit of a Hail Mary pass for me. If this doesn't show results, or makes my shoulder worse, I suppose I will have to see a third physio. But, after the pull-ups something already feels different. I have been here many times before. An exercise seems promising when I first try it out, but either its gains peter out or it make the pain worse. I wish I could stop fretting so much about the shoulder pain. I know I am trying too hard to fix my shoulders. But, that is a ost for another day. 

Uncomfortably Numb

 The Covid situation in India isn't getting any better, as expected. But, Mumbai seems to be on the mend. And, I am becoming numb to the bad news coming out of India. I go from being moved to tears b a Twitter post or a video to swiping on a dating app with in a matter of minutes. Maybe distraction is my coping strategy, maybe all the trauma is being stored in my head so that it can burst out one day as PTSD. But, I will cross that bridge when I reach it. I am just grateful my close friends and family seems to be safe for now. 

The Bodies of the Covid Dead

The Covid situation in India has captured the attention of the world mainly due to some striking pictures of multiple cremations. We cremate our dead, and fires that need to burn for hours to do their job are not easy to hide. This regime can imprison people for flimsy reasons, play the media, bully, harass and intimidate, wash its hands off everything, but if one thing comes back to haunt it, it will be the bodies of the Covid dead. Bodies cannot be intimidated, harassed, misled, or bullied into dark corners. You can refuse to count the dead, cut down testing to keep your official infection count low, scream from the heavens that all is well, that there is enough oxygen, enough ventilators, enough ICU beds, what do you do about the bodies? There is nothing more real than a dead body. And, in the Indian summer, they must be cremated fast. 

Running The Clock Down

 Today, I had a meeting with my second supervisor about my methodology chapter. Before the meeting, i was feeling cheerful for the first time in days. For a change, the pandemic raging in India was not top of my mind. The meeting changed all that. My second supervisor has no clue about my PhD and the only reason I am writing the methodology chapter is so that she can say she contributed to my PhD. The things she was asking me to add were making my head spin. But, right at the end, she said something that lifted my spirits. She won't be reading my entire PhD--just the introduction and the methodology chapter. She said there wasn't enough time for her to read before my submission due date at the end of June. The implication was I had not left enough time for her to read and comment on the full draft. I had unknowingly run down the clock. It struck me that I could do the same for the methodology chapter. I don't need to rush it, I just need to a half-decent job and run down the clock. Its unlikely that either of my examiners will mind a mediocre methodology chapter. 

Zoom Call With School Friends

 This evening, I spent more than two hours on a Zoom call with my school friends. I was going through my old posts and I came across in early April last year which was also about a Zoom call with school friends. It feels like we have come full circle over the past 12 months. As the world was locking down last spring, old networks sprang to life through Zoom. I am in touch with my school friends via our Whatsapp group, but that was our first Zoom call. As I wrote that evening, the call had the warmth and familiarity of a hot bath in the height of winter. Over the next few months we had more Zoom calls, but at least according to me, we never managed to replicate the magic of that first call. As lockdowns started to lift in the summer, the Zoom calls stopped. Now, that India is back under lockdown, we decided to have a Zoom call today because those of us in the diaspora also feel like we are under a lockdown of sorts. And, this Zoom call felt like a long hot and soothing bath too. Crises push you to connect with those who matter and let the others fall by the wayside.

Hearing a Racial Slur

 Two days ago, I heard a racial slur that was not directed at me. I was a minute away from ben's house when I heard a scuffle behind me on the opposite side of the road. A teenage boy broke free and ran away, followed by two others who were his companions by the looks of it. The assailant, who may have been a shopkeeper said shouted something like, you have left your keys behind, and rounded it off with "Thieving black c*nt". I couldn't believe my ears. This was my first time witnessing a racial slur uttered in England, and it wasn't even directed at me. I was a little stunned as I stepped into Ben's house. I have no idea what to make of the incident. Who was the aggrieved party here: the racist man who was the victim of an attempted robbery or the black teenager who had been subject to a racial slur after his robbery attempt was thwarted. I do think robbery is more easy to justify than racism, especially when there are such large disparities of wealth between the races. All I know is I wouldn't like to live in an area with fraught relations between different races. I would rather live in a predominantly white area where people ignore me. Of course, there is also the privilege of being non-black. People ignore you, don't smile or say hi to you, but at least they don't see you as a threat. 

Someone I Used To Know

 Covid has finally claimed someone I knew, who was also someone I wish I knew better. I woke up to a text from her cousin who happens to be married to my cousin. She was a person with ferocious intelligence and an unparalleled zest for life. We were in journalism school together but we never became close partly because we each had our own tight clique of friends. And, I didn't care for her friends, and possibly she didn't for me or mine. But, I always thought that if we had spent more time together we would have become close. Of course, she was immensely popular and loved to throw big and boisterous parties. Some of us thought she was bit spoilt, until I learnt that she had a serious medical condition that required periodic hospital visits. By all accounts, she was one of then nicest and friendliest people I knew. This Covid was is hitting much closer to home, and I am afraid she won't be the last person I lose. I am going to try not to think about what's in store for India in the next few weeks. All I know is that this pandemic is far from over and we are some distance from things returning to "normal". I say normal because I believe there will be new norms post-Covid. 

Super-Normalization

 I cam across the word super-normalisation today. It refers to the tendency to act "super-normal" to hide from yourself or others that something is not right in your life. I immediately thought of the time when my elbow pain surfaced last year and I was in denial for weeks. I continued to exercise, which likely made my elbow pain worse. But, sometimes keeping calm and carrying on like nothing has happened.is happening works. I can't tell you the number of times that I thought I was coming down with Covid or worse last year. Does it depend on one's personality type? When someone laid back supernormalizes it means something is very wrong, but it is a routine coping strategy for anxious people? 

DoomScrolling

 The news coming out of India since last week is bleak and is likely to remain so for the next few weeks. Twitter is an endless scroll of desperate pleas for oxygen or remedesevir. I worry that, one day, I will have to seek help on Twitter for my family back in India. My family is as safe as can be, given the circumstances. But, doomscrolling on Twitter, as well as the numerous allusions to doomscrolling on Twitter on Twitter are making me fear the worst. Maybe I should stay off Twitter for a few days? Easier said than done, not because I am Twitter addict, but because I spend too much time in front of a computer to not end up on Twitter at some point. 

Boozing Up, British Style

  If there is one situation where I feel the most out of place in this country, is when I am around boozy Brits. Especially boozy British football fans. This doesn't happen often because I don't/didn't go to pubs often. I have written before about how it is discomfiting to be around drunk Brits because they are so uptight when they are sober. Alcohol gives them the license to lash out, and lash out they do. Drunk brits are not jolly or amiable like drunk people often are, they are shrill and aggressive. Even unhinged. It feels like Brits drink tp punish themselves, like it s act of self-flagellation. Last Saturday, I was out with some friends, and since bars were closed, everyone was drinking on the streets. When we left around 7 pm it was getting wild out there. The bins and the space around them were completely swamped with booze battles, and people were starting to act out too. I was so glad to get away from there. 

Being Super-Selective

 When you are super-selective about something, could it be that you actually don't want it? As I keep an eye on the job market, I notice myself looking for reasons not to apply. Maybe because I am too preoccupied with finishing my PhD and don't have the mental capacity for a job application at the moment. Or, maybe I don't want to remain in academia. The same could be said about my behaviour. In the three days since I went back on them, I must have right-swiped on roughly 1 in 25 men. I realise that I am stacking the odds of getting matches against myself, especially as a man on dating apps. Girls can afford to be super-selective on dating apps, and still get a good number of matches. I have no illusions about me being a catch, but neither am I a wastrel. But, I don't want to swipe right on people for the sake of getting matches and losing interest as soon as we match. It has took me a long time to realise that there is no shame in rejecting people you don't find physically attractive and/or non-interesting instead of matching and then slinking or fading away. But, maybe I am subconsciously raising the bar so high that no one can meet it, or rather, that the few women who meet it have no interest in me. Who knows?

NO One Showed Up For Class Today

 I was supposed to be teaching right now, but nobody turned up. If this was early in my teaching stint, I would have felt gutted. But, now, I am confident in my teaching abilities and the kids on this course have told me they like how I teach. No shows now just mean that I get paid for nothing, so I don't have any complaints. actually, one guy showed up, but when he discovered he was the only one, he asked if he could leave too. I was only too happy to oblige. This week's material is now well-designed and most students struggled with it despite my best efforts. I am not going to shed any tears for not having to teach it again. Fittingly, this is my rest period, since I just finished the first draft of my PhD. And, this was the last class of the week, so perfect for no-shows. I am now going to make myself a cup of coffee before I leave. 

Dark Humour

Yesterday, two posts about India, one on Facebook and one on Twitter made me crack up. A doubly mutant variant of Covid is ripping through India, which has me worried for friends and family, just as Covid seems to have been quelled in the UK. However, there is a twist to the tale, because Boris Johnson is refusing to ban flights from India to keep his trade deal with India afloat. At times like these, I try to find respite in dark humour. Dark humour is an affirmation of life amid tragedy. Even the tragic can be rendered funny if only for a few moments. A dark humour is only meant to provide momentary respite. If you find humour in tragedy all the time you are either a psychopath or a madman. But, even momentary distractions are powerful. Humour is as much a human emotion as anything else.. 

First Draft of PhD Done

 Today, I sent of the full draft of PhD thesis minus the methodology chapter off to my supervisor and am currently feeling buoyed by the lightness of imperfection. The draft is far from perfect, but that is the whole point of a draft. I decided when I was done with it, when I was simply fed up of it. This is supposed to feel like a milestone, everyone around me keeps telling me, but it doesn't. For one, this is just a draft, and, at best, it is the beginning of the end. I am still at some distance from the end. Second, I have enough things to do, and that's a good thing. I can't imagine how I would cope if this was the end of my PhD and I had nothing else to do. My PhD is one of the main things that has got me through this pandemic. Having a seemingly endless project that I could keep banging away at was an excellent way to spend the year of lockdowns. The way things are going, my PhD work will taper off gradually and not end abruptly, and I am happy about that. But, I should finally start to think of life after my PhD, both personal and professional. 

Disgrace by JM Coetzee

 I have always felt Indian society is uniquely blighted because of the combination of caste and colonialism. That was, of course, my Indo-centrism. I just finished reading Disgrace by JM Coetzee and boy, oh boy--South African society seems as messed up as India. The only difference is it feels to me that South Africa has started to reckon with its colonial, white-settler past. The reckoning is messy and ugly but at least there is some awareness that its present social ills stem from its past. In India, that reckoning has not started as far as I know. 

Making The Writing Process Easier

Is struggle and frustration an essential part of the writing process? I can't think of a single writing project of mine which hasn't involved staring helplessly at a blank page. I can feel the words inside of me, but try as I might, I can't get them out. I am currently trying to write the conclusion of my PhD thesis, and struggling at it. I know the words will eventually come, I know it will go through a few or several revisions before I am happy with it. The same goes for my PhD thesis. It is not there yet, but it will be one day unless calamity strikes. It will give me the feeling of completeness and fulfilment that every writer aspires to with every writing project, big or small. So, why so much frustration with an unproductive session? Should I just do something else if the words are not coming today? Or, it the anguish any essential part of the writing process? Will the words not come if I haven't paid my dues in terms of  anguish and frustration. Is the anguish and frustration what propels my writing process forward? I don't know.

Prince Phillip Kicks the Bucket

Until I moved to England, I thought Britain had kept its Royal Family mainly because it was a great tourist attraction. After all, other imperial powers had done away with their royal families or pushed them tot he sidelines of public lifeline. Colonialism doesn't require a royal family. It was only after I moved to England that I realised what a big deal the Royal Family is. Or, rather, there are so many livelihoods dependent on keeping it a big deal. But, even I was surprised by the death of a 99-year-old royal who has been in and out of hospitals for the past few years. he had one foot in the grave, so to speak. On my mid-day walk, I noticed that the Union Jack flying over the Ministry of defence was at half mast. As the day wore on, the situation became even more ridiculous. Parliament was called back from Easter recess early to mourn his death, while the Labour Party suspended its campaigning for local elections. Several BBC radio stations switched from their regular programming to playing insipid instrumental music. All this for a man who was a proud racist. Its not like I have ever felt or I will ever feel that I belong here. But, on days like this, this country feels completely alien to me.

The Perks of Being A Doormat

 maybe being a doormat is not such a bad thing, given the state of the world. Covid has pushed a lot of people who were on the edge over the edge, such as my housemate. I am still trying to fully come to terms with what happened. My feelings about it oscillate between regret for not being more understanding of her mental health issues (although I was ambushed in the middle of the night and blamed for her self-harm) and anger at her white entitlement. By that I mean the lack of compunction in causing turmoil in other people's lives. I have written before how people with mental health issues are of two types--imploders and exploders. The world is definitely more tolerant of exploders who are white. 

But, although I don't blame myself, I can't help thinking all this could have been avoided if I had just stayed in bed and not intervened. 20-20 hindsight, I know. At the time, I remember thinking that if I didn't intervene, she would take it as a license to raise a ruckus every other night. But, at times like these, there is something to be said for being a doormat. Of course, the ideal thing would be to be Zen-like, but that is not for everyone. Maybe one should consciously try to be a doormat and not respond to provocations. If someone looks like they are about to explode, its best to get out of the way. Unless its a friend, I feel no obligation to help and even a well-intentioned intervention might worsen the situation. The best thing to do is to carry on like nothing happened. 

Losing My Blogging Mojo

I have been very irregular with blogging over the past few weeks, so I thought I would check my stats to see if Maech was my least prolific month since I started blogging regularly. It was, if you ignore the months when I was travelling. Of course, I was a prolific blogger in 2020, which is not surprisingly at all since blogging was  a key survival tool for me. But, I got out of the habit of blogging every day during the two weeks when I was super-busy with teaching last month, and haven't managed to get back in the groove yet. I have often wondered what would reduce my blogging frequency. A more active social life or a love life so that I can't talk about some of the stuff I blog about? Being super-busy with work and not having the mental bandwidth to ruminate on matters that are not of direct concern to me. Or, just blogging fatigue. The truth is I enjoy blogging and it relaxes me. It is a nice way to unwind for the day. and try to find beauty in the mundane. I try not to force myself to blog everyday, but it is a balancing act between that and blogging very infrequently. Maybe I should aim to blog everyday but have shorter blogs on days I don't have much to say. 

Back to Uni After Easter

 I will be going back to uni after the easter break tomorrow. The break started badly, with the freakish encounter with my housemate on the first night, but got better. I met a friend who stays close by the next morning, and P &E the following day. My mother swallowed her vaccine skepticism and as a result my parents and grandmother got vaccinated yesterday. And I managed to catch up with two old friends over the phone. All in all, not a bad break. I had intended for the break to be shorter and to get back to work two days ago. That was a tad ambitious of me, because I got absolutely nothing done, and I gave up around mid-day yesterday. Instead, I binge-watched a TV series that can only be binge-watched because it is riveting and disturbing in equal measure. Its not something one can consume in small daily doses. So, I am all set to get back to work tomorrow for the final lap of my PhD. I have been struggling with the last piece of the puzzle, and hopefully looking at it with new eyes after the easter break will help. 

Relationship Advice

 What advice can someone who hasn't ever been in a long-term romantic relationship give someone who is in one currently? As much as I remind myself about this fact. I can't resist. A close friend today confided in me about some "developments" in her marriage and I gave her my advice. She hadn't explicitly asked me what I think, but its fair to say she was interested in what I thought. The other person she confided in, who is female and has been married as long as my friend, gave her the opposite advice, which is interesting. I definitely can't tell her what to do. All I can do is nudge her to think of all the consequences. The other thing that struck me is what a long way she and I, who had a similar conservative upbringing, have come in terms of our attitudes to sex and relationship. Growing up in a sexually repressed society is difficult to outgrow, and the people who are able to throw away all vestiges of shame and sexual repression are few and far between. Some of us will never be able to completely shake off that conditioning. But, at least we can try to understand it better and be more at ease with our sexual selves. 

Self-Harm

Last night went from bad to horrible in a matter of minutes. Bad, because my annoying housemate had two guests staying over despite it being against the lockdown rules. And, the three of them were making their presence felt. The noise woke me up around 3:00 am and after lying in bed for about one hour debating whether I should say something, I got out of bed, and told my housemate to make less noise. A few minutes later, one of her angry friends knocked on my door to say that I had upset Betty and she had slashed her wrists. My jaw hit the floor, but I had the presence of mind to get my phone and start recording our conversation. My main point was all I had done was tell her to make less noise. On camera, the angry friend became noticeably less angry. She said her piece and then the second friend, who was more sedate, came forward. but, that was not all. Betty came last and showed me her bloodied forearms (not lboodied wrists, mind). At that moment, all the sleep flew out of my eyes. I went back inside my room and shut the door, stunned by the accusation that I was the reason she harmed herself. My anxiety symptoms came roaring back, and I resigned myself to lying awake in bed until sunrise. how does one deal with a person who threatens to self-harm and, indeed, self-harms at the drop of a hat?

Mentally ill people are of two types--imploders and exploders. I am definitely an imploder, although I don't consider myself mentally ill any longer, and so are my friends. Betty is definitely an exploder. She makes sure the world knows her mental health is poor, and she make those around feel some of her pain. Attention-seeking personalities with mental health issues are difficult to be around. All one can do is minimize contact with them as much as possible. And, if that means, silently suffering past one's threshold, that is a small price to pay for not being in the path of an explosion. 

Easter Break!

When I returned from uni today, I felt the most relieved I've felt in ages. I can't remember the last time I was so looking forward to a break. Admittedly, it won't be a long break. I will go back to working on my PhD after two days, but at a more relaxed pace. I didn't manage to finish what I had set out to do before the break, but who cares? A delay of a day or three on a four-year-long project is nothing but a rounding error. And, it will be a forced change of scene from uni. I thought about confirming with the front desk of the business school whether the building will be closed for all five days of holidays but then decided against it. I am better off thinking it will be, so that I keep away from uni. As much as I like the PhD room, especially alone, I need to spend some time away from it. And, I will be meeting friends after months on Saturday. 

In other news, my elder nephew left for his first Himalayan trek today. Around this time twenty years ago, I had set off on my first Himalayan trek with two friends. Thta was the start of my love affair with the Himalayas. I am tempted to write about it but there is just too much to say and I am tired. And, sometimes, memories, when put into words, lose their luster. In any case, 2001 was an eventful year in my life as well as for the world, so there will be more 20-year milestones to write about.