Between the lines


I’m beginning to document the differences in spaces and types. It doesn’t mean anything. Not anything much, at any rate. I wanted to do the cliched thing – describing scenes at coffee shops , for example. I hear these sounds in my head and I see colors. Bright yellow patches threaten to send cheer from a wall across the market. I wonder if I can ever sing in tune. The soft unobtrusive people have somehow evaporated and replaced by the loud, cacophonous kinds. It’s probably time to head home. The evening holds no promise or romance. Just a kind of a heavy dreariness intercepted with an occasional stab of hope. The disappointment will be crushing, surprising resilient even after eons of monochromatic evenings. Would I feel more sentimental if I could perhaps sing?

I’ve been feeling vaguely superficial for sometime now. There have been a few mornings when I’ve woken up to find myself dead. It’s almost like I spend most of my time pulling out splinters of broken glass from my hands that haven’t really managed to cut very deep. Still, they’re like a kind of a dull, throbbing twinge that follows me around like a persistent shadow or an endless headache. I’m exhausted- the worst kind- exhaustion that comes from sleeping too much. Occasionally my fingertips are found smeared with rage that softly dissipates into a colorless helplessness. The tables are dark green, the lights are mellow. There is a kind of a wholesome happiness, a solid structure sort of a feel to the place. It’s the best escape I could find from the cruel oranges-and-yellows that surround me at elsewhere. How much longer before the winter rages around me and closes its fist around my heart?

Its the small things, the words veiled under heavily overdone doses of laughter. Who takes away the real freedoms, what kinds of sounds play?  When did I stop? When did I tell you to stop? Its not your private places on display and of course, I have the “problem”. Why bother to stand by? Is that the wind howling – I forget, this is your season. Grey, one-sided, wooden colors and dancing embers in the sky.

A wheel rolls by and so does time. Wheel

Tipping Point


Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with Malcolm Gladwell and his book – Tipping Point, which is a fantastic read btw.

Its been a long long long time since I’ve written anything – really this space is an apology of a blog in that sense.

I do have an excuse to offer though. Actually a string of excuses – the first being that I don’t have a job and went through a major phase of depression, then I got married and lately I’ve been spending time with a critically ill family member in a hospital instead of honeymooning.

Between all of this, I’ve had plenty of time (what else does one do in hospitals and beauty parlours anyway?) to introspect and more interesting observe my own behaviour during these tumultuous times.

I find that dealing with a crisis if you’re an overall efficient person isn’t very difficult. All it requires is a clear head, a larger than normal supply of patience, access to money and someone loving who will take care of you while you take care of other things.

Its the little things though that happen throughout that is truly exhausting. It didn’t matter so much for example, that I had to find 16 people to donate blood at a short notice or find ways to deal with extreme cultural shocks. It bothered me terribly though – that my favourite hair brush vanished for three whole days. It drove me to tears when I couldn’t find bathroom slippers in order to go pee when I had Mehendi on my hands.

I’m not sure what explains the complete strangeness of this behaviour – but on a completely non-original note I think I can say I’ve discovered my own Tipping Point. I hate it when I am expected to ‘be there’ and ‘take care’  — and the little things aren’t in order. Clearly working to resolve a large crisis (emotional or physical) brings out the best of ‘responsibility’ in me, but perhaps that process is so alien to me that I compensate by stressing out about the small things. Human nature or peculiar to me?

Or I love my HAIR BRUSH. And oh, I love my husband – he found it. 🙂

At any rate here are somethings to ask yourself during crisis management:

1. Are you being irrational about the little things?

2. Are you doing too much on your own?

3. Are you being a little unfair to those who are in support roles with you?

If you’re answering yes to any of these things – do what I did. Recognise that you have a problem. Find out what your tipping point is. Meditate for a bit. Change what gets you to that point. Get on with crisis management.