Dudurudh

Some weeks are to be written off. Some days and some conversations in particular are really a waste of every breath spent on them. The challenge is to step back and view those interactions without judgement and analyze what emotion it triggered. Then understand what in particular was irksome and come to the realization that it probably was not personally directed at you and is not a commentary on your worth. But suffering as I do from the incurable disease of being human, my instinct is to blow a fuse, physically warm up, rapidly contract my chest, rage and cry first. A week’s worth of lame self-care – sleeping on time, waking up early, reading, staying off IG, cooking – all go up in smokes in that one instant. 

I needed to feel a different set of air molecules in my vicinity. So I slipped on a hoodie, patted down my hair, grabbed my keys and ran out into the early fall outdoors. There must have been a nip in the air because momentarily I had goosebumps but it subsided immediately and I am not sure if that was my hoodie’s doing or the warmth from my rage taking over but either way after that I felt nothing. I walked briskly, then slowly and then briskly again like a stray dog unable to decide whether to chase a car or not until I hit an intersection and stopped at the red light. Suddenly the stream of thoughts that had been buffering till that point, began to flow uninterrupted. It’s a torturous place to be when your mind has a mind of its own but it is type of release. 

Often I pretend like my life doesn’t revolve around work (it does) and that I am not feeling lonely (I am) and that the sole purpose of the universe is to optimize for my happiness (debatable). But this is one of those moments when the delusion breaks. I am not alone. Just feeling lonely. I have felt this way at concerts with 400 people, in a bedroom by myself and in the middle of conversations with the people I love the most. It is fleeting – as feeling are. Resolved instantly with a quick text, a short call, a long hug or simply breathing the same air with a friend. And that I had already done. So at that red light while I chased these thoughts by myself, I knew my friends were holding me. Friends. Plural. What a privilege. A luxury even, that we can have them near, far and wherever we are. When the light turned to walk, I was only feeling a kind of distilled rage. It was directed at my own inability to face the reality of what I want to do vs what I really do. Classic midlife crisis. I have an expanding family of silvers in the mustache to prove it too. It felt apt, therefore, to pick up pizza on my last lap around the block and slowly digest the remainder of my feelings with cheese and maida. 

Two hours later the rage had subsided. The pizza helped. Working for a bit longer also helped. In the decade since I graduated, this has become my escape mechanism – drowning in work. It’s a habit I have desperately attempted to unlearn but one that on days like today, I lean on. But despite it all, the feelings were still feeling like the numbing pain moments after jarring your finger in a door (too niche?). My instinct was to put on some music and read a book but something came over and I did what has increasingly begun to feel normal – headed to Apna Bazaar. I had a mental milestone for when I’d feel “settled” again in nyc after my year-long hiatus – it would be when I could take the subway again and feel the stations and track to the point where I could be asleep or engrossed in a book or video and still know which station I am at. The trip to Apna Bazar has felt like that. When I entered it was around 8:30-9PM. It was the earliest I’d been there I think. I typically go later in the night when it’s less crowded. I had, on the way here, passed by the Patels which was in the process of physically kicking out its last customers of the day so they could close the store (for context, Apna Bazaar is open 24×7). 

Akansha Grover was singing Ehsaan Tera Hoga Mujh Par as I wandered through the aisles slowly and without care. I was there only to buy sona masoori rice really. Anything else I stumble upon would be mere bonus. I didn’t keep track of how long I was there but it was only when I stepped out of there, rice bag in one hand and miscellaneous Indian groceries in the other that I finally felt at ease.

The fall wind has not yet picked up its malevolent nip. The 7 train is running on time. There’s an old south Asian lady clearly waiting for someone to swipe her through the turnstiles. I offered. “no no. Aapko paisa lagegaa. I will wait for someone coming out with an unlimited card” I smiled and walked up to the platform. She thanked me anyway. I found a vacant seat on the 7. Sometimes the purpose of the universe IS to optimize for my happiness. Other times, I have to do it myself. Some weeks ARE to be written off. This one was worth continuing to breathe for.