shaam
dedicated to a certain starfish, who was wearing green today. i will talk to you about the song you wanted to personally, because i love you. fair reasoning, i believe.
a preface, because I am a funny guy who is also nervous:
I have been doing nothing for the past few days. People ask me, “What did you do today? What will you do today?” And I tell them something and then abandon all thoughts and waste my day on my bed. I may make tea, a little coffee, look at images on my phone, talk to people. But it’s like I am floating in space, my skirt is haywire, and my creepy neighbour can see my underwear. Basically, the past few days were Not It. If you remember from my previous newsletter, I told you the year ends for me when October does. And that’s what has happened. I don’t know what’s happening anymore. The worst part is, I am supposed to. I am answerable to so many people now, I have so many things to do, and yet all I do is step back step back step back. Recede like the waves and never come back to this shore! (On a related note, reading The Waves by Virginia Woolf).
What am I supposed to tell you? I have nothing to say. I keep picturing a life away from it all, an easy one, and it makes me sadder than ever. Earlier it was a hope, something akin to me dreaming about this one noodle place near my house and making a decision that I will buy it when I go out next (which please pray happens tomorrow). But now it’s more like that one time when I would spend my time looking at this one house on my way to classes, beautiful, unattainable. I did that for a year and a half.
Basically, a beautiful life is out there, but I am beginning to suspect it’s not for me.
That’s not a nice thought to have and I am trying (I SAID I’M TRYING)(sorry, I don’t get to scream at people) but when your worst friend lives inside of you, it gets hard to escape it. I say friend because of course she makes me feel like this is all for my own greater good. Do I sound insane?
Maybe I could list out my problems for you, and then ask you whether I deserve to be sad or not. Are my problems a big deal? Do they make you want to look at me with pity and sympathy, perhaps you want me to cry on your shoulder?
But that’s the thing, I want to be this faraway concept in your phone who is like an equation. Replace me with the girl of your dreams and fall in love right now. If I end up being ordinary, just remember that it's your fault. Is life merely a performance?
When you are young you look for love, but you don’t know it. Because it is something to be taught. A soft touch, a lullaby, an extra candy, a sloppy kiss from your mother. Does this imply love is a skill? It sure is not hereditary. We mostly inherit illnesses, situations, afflictions. Maybe a physical reminder, every once in a while.
I have recently inherited a saree, it’s lavender and silver. My ma wore it when her brother was getting married. I remember I wore a red lehenga then; it was my favourite uncle’s wedding. He has now disappeared from our lives, and has a life somewhere else. I have a couple photos of him with me, just because I think he was/is really cool.
Anyways, it fits me in an uptight way, the blouse I mean. When I tried it on, I had to try so hard to compose myself because my mother was in front of me. It’s just, we keep passing our unsaid feelings to each other, and we keep trying to fit inside them (here, I want you to imagine that I say ‘like’ and gesture towards you, the audience who says ‘the blouse’).
I wish love was something tangible like a worn out sweater of my father from his college days, or the lipstick I left back home for my cousin sister. Hand me down love, hand me some love! I need it.
But it’s not. It’s like an alive rabbit with golden eyes inside your chest. It’s a text message which is now a part of your vocabulary. It’s that one bad thing they said to you unknowingly and now you can’t seem to get rid of it, even though it makes no fucking sense. But you’re a child! You have to collect things in order to feel like a part of this world. So, I am sorry, mum and dad and my ex and you and also you, sorry to the girl who emailed me once and then never, sorry, I will continue to keep your hurt with me, next to the lipstick and nailpaint remover in my purse. If I don’t have some corporeal needles stabbing me at all times, I won’t be able to exist. How do you go through life unpunished? And how do you rid yourself of the entitlement that you can decide your own punishment? I am pretty sure god is not reading this blog/letter/confession right now, so I am sorry dear audience, this one sided rant will have to stop here. I have no answers, this is the end of my experience with pain as we know it.
We will be interrupting this fucking dismal programme to talk about something very important.
While I was fighting for my life in this google doc, and in my whatsapp chats, Mitski released her new song. If you know me, you know how obsessed I am with her. I would build a shrine for her in my room if I wasn’t so intent on living in a room which resembles a psych ward.
I think The Only Heartbreaker is now my favourite, instead of Working for the Knife. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?
If you would just make one mistake
What a relief that would be
But I think for as long as we're together
I'll be the only heartbreaker
AND
If you would just make one mistake
What a relief that would be
But I think for as long as we're together
I'll be the only heartbreaker
AND
(I apologize)
(You forgive me)
(I apologize)
(You forgive me)
She just understood what I am going through and was like I will put it into words for you. I have always hoped for someone else to be the bad guy, to make a mess. Not because I want to clean it up and be good, but because I want to breathe a sigh of relief, and give up the role of being The Absolute Worst Person In Any Room.
(Of course, that’s not the truth, Baazigar?
But do you know me, do you know me the way I do?)
here’s a painting which resonated with me a lot -
I have a wonderful friend on the other side of this world. We send each other emails, and here is an excerpt from it, from a couple months ago. If you are reading this, S, I absolutely love you, and you have a piece of my heart.
Imagine it as a conversation, on a bench, while it is cold. There is a deserted road in front of us, and it’s cold.
Baazigar: These days I have been questioning my writing abilities a lot. But this person I love, my best friend, he had a good talk with me a while ago and it keeps ringing in my ears and I am not sure how much to believe but I do feel a little firmer in my conviction. But it's all so scary. What if my words aren't enough? What if my way of telling stories is not good enough? Is my pain not worthy of being recorded? It's so confusing. And terrifying.
My Friend: Your words are enough to me. Your way of storytelling is enough to me. Are they enough to you? If they're not enough to you, then why not? What is it that you can try changing so that they become enough to you? I want you to be kind to your writing, and I want you to be kind to yourself about your own writing… Do you want to record your pain? If you want to record your pain, then it is worthy of being recorded. That's what I think. Honestly, I'm prone to say outright that your pain is worthy of being recorded no matter what, but it is your pain at the end of the day, and you get to decide what that pain means to you. What your pain means to me is that it is worthy of being recorded, I feel that way, because I want your pain to be heard, I want your pain to cry out for someone and have that someone reach your pain, affirm its existence, hold it and understand it and live it and soothe it. If you have a desire to do so for others to receive, then I have a desire for others to engage with that pain, to enter into it, to do the work of empathizing with you and your pain, encountering you through whatever you write of yourself.
I keep thinking about this, especially now that I am about to be pushed out there in the world, like a scared fertile baby fox. I just hope I keep writing, because I have to tell you, I have nothing else going on for me that will make up for my existence.
Song of the day is Aajkal Paanv Zameen Par Nahi Rehte Mere, from the movie Ghar (1978). Directed by Manik Chatterjee, it stars Rekha and Vinod Mehra (someone I had a crush on for a while when I was sixteen… what can you say, I see a husband who is loving and caring and I buckle). I don’t recommend watching the movie outright because it deals with sensitive topics, but you can of course search about it and make your own decision.
There’s this one particular part in the song (which is written by Gulzaar, and composed by RD Buran and sung by Lata Mangeskhar, by the way), which I want to leave with you all.
जाने क्या होता है हर बात पे कुछ होता है
दिन में कुछ होता है और रात में कुछ होता है
थाम लेना जो कभी देखो हमें उड़ते हुए
आज कल पाँव ज़मीं पर नहीं पड़ते मेरे
बोलो देखा है कभी तुमने मुझे उड़ते हुए
Jane kya hota hai her baat pe kuchh hota hai
Din mein kuchh hota hai aur raat mein kuchh hota hai
Thaam lena jo kabhi dekho humein udte hue
Aaj kal paanv zameen per nahi padte mere
Bolo dekha kabhi tumne mujhe udte hue
Everything starts something in me,
My days and nights are full, full of affairs
Pull me back in, hold me, if you ever see me floating
These days, I am unable to find my footing
Tell me, have you ever seen me on cloud nine?
I have one suggestion for you, if you also feel like this (if you get it, you get it), guilt trip yourself with the love you have in your life, and be better for them. It’s all a performance, but sometimes, the love seeps in the right spots and for a moment I THINK LOVE IS INDEED THE ANSWER TO EVERYTHING.
Have a safe next few days, and then I will be back, taking up more space in your head than I should.
Love,
Baazigar.
SORRY FOR BEING SO LAME THIS TIME.
you’re a gem ❣️thank you for making my day. Reading your words is exactly like dipping Parle g into my chai ☕️ 🤌🤌💕
love,
the wierd Tumblr mutual who tagged you in an equally wierd oscar Isaac post