'What I Learnt about Myself' or 'Ramblings'

#4 Not a listicle

It’s been a year since I last wrote a post here. I have since come up with interesting excuses- calling it a sabbatical from writing to concentrate on my job or a period of extensive note taking that might culminate into better content in the future. Notwithstanding the sanctity of these reasons, I’m now taking a step outside and writing this post for a bigger event- the big three-oh or, more accurately, I’m using my age as an excuse to find some time to ruminate and write.

I have been, through the past year, scared that I’ll forget how to write. Many writers I admire have said that writing is a muscle that is honed through practice. I feared, by corollary, that a muscle not used would lose its strength. My other muscle of reading also suffered, though I did keep up by gulping substack posts and essays to fill byte sized holes of time, and then an occasional novel. It was difficult to write, not only because there was less time to write, but because there was little time to think. Until now.

I thought of myself as a very logical person. I had made major decisions in life after preparing a full list of pros and cons and discussing the confusion with friends, family or anyone I considered an expert. I needed to be right, to control the narrative, to avoid risk. This past year, however, things have been different. I’ve found myself in situations wherein decisions had to be taken in the moment, giving me little scope to consult. I was then forced to rely on this curious feeling that has been called gut or intuition. In the process, I realized that it is tough to constantly rely on a gut feeling and expect consistent results without knowing what that gut is. Who is this person inside me that is really me, what are my first principles, who am I?

With time and iteration, I got closer to this answer. Practically speaking, it worked by observing my response in similar situations over time and trying to recognize the values that drove the decisions. There were also periods of intensive overthinking. Slowly, a self-image formed and patterns became clear, so I could not only be more consistent in my actions but could also act with more conviction. It was a liberating feeling because once I knew who I was, very little could waver me. It’s like realising you prefer Belgian chocolate icecream, and despite the newly launched flavours, the festive discounts, and friends rambling about how lightly tender coconut sits on the tongue, you stick to your choice. It is a relief, to be able to say ‘this is me’ and ‘this is not me’ whether looking at icecream or principles. And I know there is a case against being rigid with age, but hear me, I’m talking about this sweet spot after experimenting and stumbling for years to finally relate to something and own it, much before the potential stagnation.

I am also aware that the icecream analogy doesn’t travel very far from certain core values. I still don’t know my favourite colour. If you ask me what cuisine I’d like to order, I’d say that I’d be good with anything except Chinese, but if you order Chinese I’d eat without a whimper. I have no clue about my top five desert island books and I don’t have any response to who I’d prefer to save on a railway track. On any question of opinion, even when I know the underlying facts, I start my response with a ‘well, it depends..’. There are times when the voice in my head snaps back at me. ‘Woman, pick a side!’, it says. Sometimes, it also goes, ‘stop letting them walk all over you’, or ‘talk over you’ and some times, in frustration it asks, though it knows it will not hear a word back- ‘who are you trying to please and for what purpose?’

I realize, even as I get to know myself better, that the path to becoming better is fraught with challenges which can’t be solved like the multiple-choice questions I’ve been solving all these years. There are times I miss giving exams and want to go back to the comfortable world of a defined syllabus. It is funny, because I did think I’d have a strong hand at adulting. Even as a child, I thought of myself as mature, ‘above’ the childish pursuits of others. But the real deal doesn’t care for self-appraisal. What a shame, this gap between imagined realities and lived ones.

None of this is to say my reality disappoints me. Had someone told me that I’d be living alone at thirty in my own* home in Mumbai ten years ago, I’d have pinched them out of their hallucinatory slumber. Having grown up comfortable but bound, freedom was not an aspiration, it was a parallel universe; in that way, I live an unimaginable reality. That I would spend a better part of a decade exploring nothing in particular, then find pieces of myself floating in conversations with strangers, between pages of a book, on the waves of the Arabian Sea, is too an unimaginable reality.

I take pride in how I have found people in a new city, as an introvert, by will power and effort, reaching out and showing up. These people share not just interests, but values, and though many aren’t 2 am friends, they’re available for 5pm coffees and that is enough too. I take some pride in holding on to people, despite distances of space, time and opinion, and through them to memories of my past lives. But I take the most pride in being my own muse, relentlessly pursuing whims and devouring fleeting interests, yet grounded, no longer at sea in the city by the sea**.

Every corner of my adopted home tells my story, that version which after multiple rewrites I feel is ready to be published: three framed movie posters of my favourite actor in the living room (like him, my heart is on my sleeve); souvenirs hanging from nails in all odd corners (I collect more than I can ever leave behind). Affixed on my study room is half a line in urdu -‘tu shaheen hai parvaaz hai kaam tera’ so I don’t forget the many different skies left to conquer. Affixed on my bedroom door is the word ‘thehraav’- leave behind the hustle, the anxieties, I intend to remind myself, and enter without inhibition. The thirties seem to be saying the same thing.

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* No, I haven’t bought a house. I probably never will.

** This is a ‘A Fine Balance’ reference. Please read that book.