there's something wrong with people who haven't yet had covid, that is if their claim of not having had it is correct. if a disease ravaged humanity the way covid did, and the wave of death, fear, and fatigue caused by it changed us for ever, then if you were not a part of it are you even human?!

No one,

but him and me,

has the time to spare 

to stare

at the lonely dancing peacock

this Tuesday morning.

Even the peahens around it

are busy pecking 

the grain

that my neighbor puts out ritualistically,

before the twice as many pigeons 

devour it all.

While on the other side of us

leaf by dozens of leaves

the peepul

sheds its old avatar

in its annual (or biannual?) molt

preparing for its figs and greenery 

that will invite the migrating 

rosy starlings.

Till then

we wait and watch 

the tree's skin descend 

on our terrace.

And in a futile attempt 

at scooping the leaves off it

I find a stubborn pair

of black red moths

stuck at their rear

busy creating their own new life.

Delhi has been so beautiful this March. Its like it's compensating for more than 4 months of awful pollution. There are numerous shades of fresh leaves, in the range of red and green, and birds have been dancing and singing. The kingfisher is visiting us again today. A sunbird is cleaning her wings and coat. Coppersmiths are flying in and out of their tree-hole-home. Its Holi. And people are starting to understand the idea of consent in playing it. The water is still too cold to swim (I went last Sunday and returned shivering). The habitat international film fest was superb, and fell in the week of my midterm break. I saw different moods of women in different films; there was a focus on movies by women and those from Germany. One of those days I wasn't well, and I took my rest in the Stein auditorium, watching 3 movies, one after the other. I need to start running again though, was taking a break to let calluses heal on the sides of my big toes, and was waiting for new shoes (again) to come. I have fallen in love with this city again, and I didn't think that was possible. Been thinking of getting a bike cos most of my movement is in the small lanes in this corner of the city...

I've had some sleepless-ish nights lately. The aftermath of him visiting my campus and me having to chaperone him around. Took me 6-7 years to be able to talk to him finally this last December, after awkwardly pouring my heart out to someone I've known for ages and suddenly realising he was sitting right next to. When I did finally (the next day) initiate conversation with him, we just looked at each other a minute and chuckled/smiled big. But I still tortoise-shell myself every time he comes at me, and he does do that even now. I skipped half a class to be able to meet him, hoping it would clear the air. His knowing smile and intimate-conversation eyes though scared me and made me withdraw within. But I did recover each time within minutes, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten. We had to walk without others, be in an elevator by ourselves and there was nothing I could think to say other than what I was asked. For a minute, in the audience to his talk, I felt like another colleague could see our eyes locking and feel my disturbance and discomfort. And at least once, or maybe more, I looked at him and felt like telling him he was so old, that I admired him immensely and was flattered by the attention and really seeked to get to know him but also "please don't do that, it makes me want to run away". Our words keep playing over and over in my mind. And I also keep craving to see him again. We live close by, but somehow I only see him in work settings where often at first I will notice him staring at me. Does he not realize the power dynamic here? Does he not realise I am not myself at work? Can we still be friends

happy new year

I don't understand why for days and weeks and sometimes months I don't feel like writing. Even though a lot is happening that I would want to put down somewhere, and even if I have had the time to spare to do it. And then someday I will be reading something, about a writer's urge or practice of reading and writing, that will suddenly - like a tic - make me want to write. But if I'm lazy for even a minute around that, it passes. 

It's been very busy in my mind lately, reading and pondering about the human body, esp the female body, about evolution and gender and sex and athletics (was reading Eve by Cat Bohannon and Sohini Chattopadhyay's The day I became a runner; and then of course movies like Thappad, Mammootty's Kaathal, and She's lost control found their way to me).... The books blew my mind in many ways and the movies jolted me. But it was all way too much to pen down. I've been talking so much about all of these things and the way my neurons are connecting them to whoever has been near me...

And I've been running on a treadmill in a gym for a change, cos the air outdoors wasn't worth breathing this whole winter. Gave me the opportunity to measure my Running stats for the first time. Combine it with the reading and I've been trying to increase my speed and aim a half marathon by next Jan. Apparently women beat men on ultramarathon run speeds, and our bodies are in many ways better at stamina, healing, and living longer. So I'm preparing myself for that next phase of aging in my life, equipped with what millions of years of evolution have given me and the possibility that others' words and thoughts keep opening up. Quite the right time in my own life to encounter all of this, and just when a couple months back I felt like I barely knew anything about the female human body...

In fact even just now I picked up the typing act because I was reading Amitava Kumar chronicling Joan Didion's death and quoting her as saying in an interview that the act of writing is a hostile act because it forces one's thoughts and dreams (unwelcomed but tricked into) on the minds of the readers...

So reader, last night I dreamt of participating in a murder and disposing of the body cleverly, after a busy day meeting a friend, buying fresh produce and then an intro bouldering class with sis and her partner and mine that has left me with leaden arms this morning. The murder probably a result of watching Poker Face too long... but possibly also some creative darker version of feminism being play-acted out.