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.