they gave trees their annual haircut here, to let the sun into human homes in winter. I managed to finally touch and feel the long twisted seedpods of the mother tree in a mass of its cut branches and soft large floppy leaves. on asking I found that those leaves are often used to make pattals or leaf-bowls. and the tree is a Kath-sagwan! someone also said it grows wild in these parts. Wiki also says its oil is therapeutic. Kath-sagwan is similar to - or is in fact the very same - Teak. it's wood is used in furniture. it's trunk is not wide, feels like a waste that it would be cut for furniture ever. especially when it's such a generous hospitable tree to so many birds (they love it's buds and flowers and it's sunny perch on top), squirrels, and insects. and then I dreamed about a beautiful giant tree cut and yet bellissimo and host to a small local ecology. 

a Drongo has been visiting us for the last couple days, and once a week a (white breasted?) Kingfisher also shows up. Purple sunbirds keep sue-sue-ing all morning; I recently found out that their local name in the Chota Nagpur region (where my dad's family lives) is 'sue'. But we have been house hunting cos this has become small for us and is disconnected from all commuting arteries of (and out of) the city (travails of a job far away and yet technically in the same metropolitan area and of course of a plan to an 'end' to the pandemic and wfh). we will miss these birds, and possibly also this quieter corner of South Delhi which feels less like the rest of the flashy loud city. alternatively we stay this side and move up to be slightly more commutable and live in a dilapidated place that has charm and character and is surrounded by the ridge and forests. the coice feels like that between a practical balanced meal and a mouth watering dessert, the latter possibly hard to digest as well. 

my problems are I chase perfection too much (which can make me controlling) and yet I don't like to perform and be in the hotspot. or maybe I like it but the possibility of messing up while in the hotspot is too upsetting. Online teaching is teaching me what I like and don't like about teaching. I do not like leaving my home to teach, because teaching is a lot about performing and that makes me anxious and nervous, and my tummy runs; and that becomes a source in itself of embarassment if I have to visit the loo often at school; I used to go into buildings where no one would recognise me, far from my own department. online teaching is also easier cos only my face and shoulders show, and I needn't get into the "is my butt showing, is my bra showing, am I looking too good/sexy for a teacher's image...; what should I wear...". and that has felt easier moreover in India cos American students even commented on these things a lil more; once a student bothered his neighbor cos he was wondering about my sexual orientation. here there is more deference (or so I think so far) for heirarchies, which though not always good, does help in class.

I also want to butt into his therapy, recovery, maintenance, etc. but I am conscious of it and try to kill that instinct. sometimes it's hard, when I know my life with him depends on it, my own sanity and well being depends on it. I usually leave our home to give him privacy for his video therapy calls. and I have realised that helps me disassociate myself. cos y'day I was at home with my ears plugged with music (cos the pollution outdoors is awful these evenings and cos I get tired after long teaching days) and it was harder; I felt shut out, unwanted, wondered why I needed to be shut out, how and why did he benefit from a wall between me and him. 

my problem is also too much honesty, and the expectation of the same from others. so I end up blurting out everything that bothers me about someone, about the how and the why, and then it upsets him. he isn't so good at self expression, plus his therapist has been teaching him to ignore and dismiss thoughts, and I think the first step to that is not offload them at me. but that again makes me feel shut out.

I'm reading a book of personal notes on mental health that he read and recommended. and I kept feeling this is so much more than about mental health and illness, this is simply about one person's place in her world, about her connections and her bias toward herself in how she perceives everyone and everything, said and unsaid, from within her mind. we all have that relationship with the world, maybe more or less frought, maybe with a greater or smaller feeling of being victimized or a greater or smaller effort at self analysis. I know if my mom in law wrote notes like that, she would always be the victim. what I like about the book is the self analysis, the effort to peek out from the biases imposed by the illness to turn the tables and to practice empathy, to question and unravel her biases. writing helps do these things. and I keep thinking of those lines where she writes, asking herself if her illness was abusive to her then partner; and what does it ask from a caregiver. I think all personal relationships become emotionally abusive at some moment or another. I also think 'abuse' is a very big word. the goal is to realize, be conscious, and to prevent. and two people can be constantly learning and practicing that. I am learning that my concern, my need to help, my need to belong in every solution, my need to adopt every problem, can upset. 

I am reading Amiya Srinivasan's The Right to Sex, wherein she examines sexism and feminism through the lens of the private and personal and yet highly politicised act of sex and the social constructs surrounding it. The books that I love best are those that make me realize my unexpressed feelings, opinions, experiences, and even more so if those amount to some larger latent truth of my life that I and others had so far not understood or observed in entirety. This does that in many lil parts, but also did that in a big way in the pages I read last night where she is deconstructing student professor relationships: what they have the potential to become, what is the role of societal gender conditioning, and what is the responsibility of the more responsible party in it.

Yes, a professor's role is to inspire and to stir and arouse the student's passions and curiosity for the subject, and in doing so give rise to the by-products of awe and admiration and desire (to be like the professor or more directly for the professor, but often a confounded emotion of both). This can also be influenced by the social construction of the dynamic of power (and authority to appraise) between the (often) male professor and the female student. But it must be the professor's responsibility to not make this personal and to not be affected by this and to keep it purely professional. Srinivasan quotes a female student, that she would have been devastated if any of her male professor idols had taken even the slightest advantage of her awe/admiration/desire for them, not simply because it would have been a breach of trust but because it would massacre for her, all the credit and appraisal she had earned for her work and would have reduced it all to sexual attraction, thus destroying her self worth which often depended on male appraisal in this gender distorted world of ours. 

It hit home. My first big crush on these lines was a professor at Dschool, whose course and conversations made me realise the love of learning for the pure sake of learning. He helped me through my struggle to get into a habit of hardwork too. The second was my PhD Advisor who had also been my teacher and boss when I worked as his TA. The third I think is now, this much more senior and brilliant professor who I know very little personally but whose fame and brilliance have me enthralled. I've been very lucky that the first two were friendly and yet professional with me. The first still welcomes me warmly every time we meet while also giving me honest feedback on what I "always were", someone who kept questioning my worth and purpose. The one time in heavens breaking rain in the late evening when I was struggling to find my way to the metro station and he offered me a ride in his car, I refused, a lil annoyed; he let me be, but then stopped again and insisted; I think I sat in the back rather than with him in the front to keep my distance, and he dropped me off at the metro, courteous and professional. The second, my Advisor, I got overly friendly with, so much so that I would visit his office to talk about anything and everything and sometimes even get upset when I felt the one-sidedness of my emotions. He refused my invitation for a gathering at my place, but was always open to hearing what I had to say, about teaching, about the incumbent ideas in economics, about my interactions with others on that campus, about my sudden revelations and findings on any subject really. I am grateful neither of them caused to devastate me.

The third is this person some blogposts ago I wrote about. His attention frightens me, makes me want to disappear; and yet so far I have no clue about his reasons. Does he see me as a woman or as a person. In this patriarchal world where each of these men were and are symbols for me, sources of admiration and feedback on who I am professionally and who I want to be, who I want to be like, I want to be seen and known and desired for my thoughts, my words, my work, and never for my gender my sex. 

I do realize that I have inculcated this in myself too, partially unintentionally (but who knows), where in my professional circle and interactions (and maybe beyond), I've been seeing people as persons, individuals with separate characteristics and talents, rather than as men or women. I used to think that was what made me slightly bisexual, but I don't know, maybe that's what simply makes me non-discriminatory on the basis of sex and gender.

Srinivasan draws the analogy of the therapist-patient relationship and cites Freud's clarity on the ethics of such an influential/powerful role. She argues that consent is not enough, and what must be considered is the effect of such relationships on the student, on her/his self worth and their will and progress as a student after. I had a student one semester in Texas with some history of sexual harassment, who I noticed barely wanted to show up for classes and even when she did her classmates snubbed her and treated her with disrespect. I tried to reach out if she wanted to talk but she was offended I think and closed herself in. 

Ironically one of my students some years ago got into the habit of chatting and walking with me to my office after every class. I was friendly and professional and this went on almost the whole semester; he told me he carried a gun (this was Texas) because he lived in a troubled neighborhood, we discussed politics and other issues while I remember saying I tried to keep my biases/opinions out of the classroom, till the last day of class after which we found ourselves talking about feminism. His idea of feminism was militant and extremist, and that of sexism was that it was innocent and unintentional and arising simply to accommodate biological differences in a less developed world. He stopped visiting after that day, after hearing my views on sexism and my 'coming out' as a feminist. And maybe that was ok in many other ways. Srinivasan quotes Jane Tompkins from A Life in School, "Life is right in front of me in the classroom, in the faces and bodies of the students. They are life, and I want us to share our lives, make something together, for as long as the course lasts, and let that be enough."

I find the young inspiring these days. Not just my students but some my nieces and nephews too. And from some I feel their awe toward me. It is important to encourage, admire, support, while leaving it untainted and undamaged, un-devastated and whole.

honesty is a rare quality in us. and without it communication becomes heavy, dragged, and hard. but not just that, it's even more important to be honest with oneself, to question one's own motives, to check oneself. do dishonesty and self-centered-ness often go hand in hand; is there causality in some direction between those two. in my therapy sessions, other ppl sometimes come up. their narrow mindedness, their assumptional attitude about people, ... and the importance of honesty. and sometimes the therapist shares similar stories from her end to illustrate some point. she feels like a kindred soul, an honest one.

dogs have a sense of fairness, they communicate their emotions, and are capable of receiving empathy

Whiskey bit me some weeks ago, one morning when I was getting out for my run and he was sleeping on our staircase blocking my way. on being woken up he lolled around a bit and then when I tried to stroke his head with the hand that also held my big metal key I think I scared him and he jumped at my wrist grabbing it in his teeth for a split second. I calmed him down, surprised, but later when I saw a small bloody scratch on my wrist I got worried. I didn't run that day. instead came home washed it with soap water, went out again, trying to make sure of the identity of the dog. couldn't find him anymore. called my RWA to ask if these dogs were vaccinated, was assured they were. but having a small doubt in my mind as to which dog it was and their vaccination claim, I went and got my first rabies shot that day after a while and after breakfast.

instead of shying away from them, I have been feeding Whiskey and Beauty (also Tutee now) more since then; and because Beauty doesn't quite relish these doggie cookies, I started ordering some soup bones (of goat) to give to them. they realise its precious and valuable as soon as they smell it or touch it, and they gobble it up.

I'm getting into the habit of taking a few bones to them after a long day of teaching. the last time I took 5 bones for the three dogs. I found them kinda all together (they are friends and have proprietor-rights on this lane, not allowing other strays to venture here). Whiskey was fast and got two, one after another, the second of which was a meatier one that Beauty rejected so I pointed it out to him. And Beauty had finished her first so I dropped a second in front of her when Whiskey was busy a lil way ahead (to avoid attracting his attention cos he seemed to be very excited by everyone's bones). Beauty had just begun cracking hers, when Whiskey suddenly growled and attacked her mouth, and she being the sensible peacemaker, dropped it reflexively. It was gone in seconds, while I was trying to scold him and order him to drop it. 

I was still scolding him when he was done with it and smacking his lips around his mouth. Beauty was now to my right and facing him, she let out two angry short barks straight at him, one after another. these startled me, but he avoided her glance and kept slowly wagging his tail and looking at me appeasingly.

I ignored him, telling him he was a bully and that he stole her bone. he eventually left, leaving me consoling Beauty stroking her and talking to her crouching on my haunches. she moved in and sat between my legs as if she was hugging me. I hugged her back and gave her a few belly rubs. Tutee was on the side, also getting a few.

and then I came back home, took two big bones from the freezer, and went back again. the bully was still not back. and I watched over Beauty and Tutee till they finished eating theirs, ushering them away from the road when a car approached. 

I met the two another morning, and later Whiskey on his own atop a car. of course he ran to me when he realised it was me, and of course I wasn't mad anymore. and as usual he kept following me till I gave him a nice side belly rub.

usually the rains dry up by September and you get this second summer for a couple months before it starts to cool down. but this year it's pouring almost every other day, and some days the clouds burst for a few minutes in between blue skies and sunshine in small pockets, every now and then. is this still monsoon? rain is dripping down our kitchen exhaust hole and it's about 8 in the morning but it's dark and secretive. and on the few mornings when I don't have to teach and the skies are not weeping, I run and smile at the glistening leaves avoiding the lil pools collected in the tiny park within my block. I haven't gone out to the bigger park in almost a month now, partly cos of the rain and because our old car, as old as our marriage and a hand me down gave up on us. also running on the street within my block is easier when the world is soaked. so we got a new car. 

they sprayed against mosquitoes one day, this after almost a year or maybe more cos they had been busy with the pandemic. I've been reading Rachel Carson's Silent Spring. so of course I got worried about what was in their spray, and for the birds. calls were useless, no one could tell me what they were spraying. in this world of ours we trust others for so much. I trust and hope that Carson has changed the world enough that my neighbor birds won't be hurt too much now by this fumigation. although our window spider/s did die. 

we get to see school pics of our nephew in amrika who has just started school. lil kids in colorful masks all day, playing around and learning with picture books, wooden blocks, craft dough, beads, paints and pipettes. I wonder what kind of ppl we would have been if we had had that. not the masks but the freedom of such schools. and the company of lil ppl from different cultures and of parents from around the world. even now even in my adult world I do miss that, hearing of stories from across the world, from countries I have to look up on the map. 

last two three weeks had been nuts. and one day we had my cousins over and we had this argument with them. it's hard to explain. but conversations like that highlight my feeling like an alien here. ppl don't understand that stereotypes lead to prejudice, which can lead to fear of certain ppl. and that the fear makes the fearful feel like a victim, but the fear itself is not just a passive victim emotion, and that it is guilty of hurting those against whom it's targeted. and that ridding oneself of such fear is one's problem to own accept and control. then a friend of his visited from amrika. felt godsent. someone from home. who understands how this home country can feel alienating now. although to be fair, after these many years I'm finally finding my balance. I love that we don't put down stray dogs here as they would in the west. I love that my critter-phobia that had developed there is fading away and I'm learning to accept myself as an animal sharing this earth with all these others. 

and yes I am excited to belong to the frontier pushing institute in Indian academia/education. even as I realise the nature and construct of my particular perspective. 

I got a new beautiful sleek smooth powerful computer; my old one was more than 10 yrs old and sputtered with online teaching the first day. the efficiency of this university is impressive and my second day of teaching was on the new one. and so is the effort to build institutions within it that protect freedoms while ensuring everyone feels safe. at the same time something of the commercialization of education is being imported from the west, partly I feel because of its high price/cost. 

and I'm teaching something new, which means I'm learning and sharing what I'm learning with my students. the online platform is also a big change. I no longer have to notice students pouring in late or leaving early. and I'm learning how to imagine their presence while I share with them my screen my thoughts and my scribbles. I'm still formulating the difference between these Indian students who are very aware of the world outside and are continuously looking toward the west, and those my past students across the globe. 

Y'day I heard of someone's death on twitter. someone I barely knew, but liked a lot and remembered very fondly. I had met him on that summer school in Jerusalem in 2013, many years ago now. He was either a lil older to me (I was doing my PhD then and he was a postdoc) or probably just my age as I have spent years of my life doing detours and u-turns. He wasn't quite a star yet, but he was really smart and rising, and yet very humble and normal and sweet. I remember a few moments, one where he caught something in the speaker's presentation that no one including the speaker could understand immediately, it took us all a lil while to get it, and I don't remember if I got it at all. Another where I had just come back to the hotel after exchanging some money and was paying off my room at the reception, after which he beckoned to me from the adjoining lounge holding his laptop in hand, and asked for advice on how to fill in a couchsurfing form for some travellers group/network. He said I looked like someone who would know. I told him I had no clue but wished him luck. That same day or the next probably I saw him in the corridoor outside a door a few away from mine. And he grinned like a child and we expressed surprise at boarding in rooms so close. Another day at breakfast he was organizing a group for a day trip up north for a hike and swim. I didn't go cos I was a lil scared in that country. Another day he and I were talking about running and how I had left my running shoes back home cos this was a long trip and one needed clothes more, and I think that conversation led to him wondering aloud how and where we could do laundry .... small conversations but each somewhat reveals his persona. An enthusiastic and very bright economist, he was also an explorer, who was measured and careful, and a humble one at both those things and as a person. He was probably a six footer, I always felt like a pygmy with him, but he would bend softly. And he was tall metaphorically too, I came away from that trip thinking v highly and dearly of him. I never met him again. He was on my facebook but seems to have deleted his account; he used to post v rarely, some pics from an Arizona trek, monument valley, ... some other long trip with a friend, once in a couple years. He is still on my Goodreads friend list, but wasn't regular or updated on it.

I was stunned when I read that he died. In K's swivel chair with my phone in my hand, waiting for my laptop to start as I had planned an evening of work on my teaching notes. And then I went a lil frantic. The twitter post had a black screen accompanying it, so I went online to check if it really was him. The post said something like 4 days ago he died while hiking some mountain in Switzerland. It sounded like him... "One is still what one is going to cease to be, .... One lives one's death, one dies one's life." I did find an official note on his University page, he was already a full professor. Lots of ppl retweeted the first post, someone used the word "kind" for him. Rare words in this profession, in this age. 

I suddenly wanted to connect with anyone who might have known him. I wrote to my only friend from that summer school, I wrote to one of my profs cos all European economists know all others. I fretted about it for hours, I cried, I slept and dreamt strange things, and I woke up feeling dazed. How can someone just cease to be without warning without illness, someone bright and healthy and genuine and nice and kind and enthusiastic, and successful and with so much promise. And why?

Watching orange is the new black is not helping. and reading a memoir of growing up in Kashmir in the early 90s (Rumours of spring by Farah Bashir).

in this yr and a half I have aged a great deal. in my thoughts and realizations, in the news of demise I have heard. I feel old and yet not all these passings away are due to age. Joan didion wrote The year of magical thinking, after her husband's death, in her year of grieving I think. I need to read that now. but I am already a changed person. And it's not just covid related. it's been some long months of digging within our minds too, for other reasons, and finding both worms and flowers there. K and I have been mind explorers while being locked out from others' company. sometimes I wonder if the pandemic arose to give us this space. sometimes I wonder why other ppl are leaving us for other reasons now. Why now? Why at all?

This morning when I woke up, and opened twitter to check if that was a dream, that black space turned into a photo of him, with red hair mustache and beard. Y'day my phone was probably misbehaving and the pic hadn't loaded at all.

and now I keep wondering if he was trekking or hiking alone, if he fell or if there was an unexpected storm, did he go missing and was found days later, what happened really. Cos the news was announced some 4 days after the announced date when he died. did he see it coming, what were his last thoughts...

a deep seated anxiety when awakened without warning can sometimes cause frustration, and the frustration can turn into anger at the person who awakened the anxiety. that anger can feel like a sudden and unexplained attack to that person, leading to a sense of helplessness and a feeling of being victimized for no fault of one, turning into a desire to run away to claim one's life and to protect oneself. 

somedays ago on twitter people were sharing personal stories of mental illness of family members, and how it torments not just the patient but their caregivers and live-in family. someone connected it with the idea of mental abuse and how sometimes the only solution is to leave, and maybe that's for the better. 

but sometimes the very essence of the anxiety is the fear of losing a close one, that of being left alone and abandoned. and often the leaving would simply realize that fear, prove that such anxiety can often be a self-fulfilling belief. 

I remember hearing a story on Radiolab years ago, of this lil village/town in Germany where it was the norm to host and house some stranger (often from far away) suffering from mental illness and how the program was quite a success. of the theory arising from that experiment that often family members are not only useless but perverse to patients because they are connected and have expectations. of how kind strangers can be better caregivers because they have the distance from attachment. 

but I think empathy can overcome attachment and expectations. and sometimes it comes in a flash, explaining the source and content of the discord. and you can choose to stay or leave or to go back and hold their hand. and all that matters is that you are family, and that that is larger than these small nights of tears. I never believed in the institution of marriage, in it's social contract, but I do slowly realize it's solace of unconditional love and acknowledgement.

just because someone doesn't do what you hope and expect of them, doesn't mean they aren't trying to do their best. and twitter can communicate much harder sufferings, much more destructive anger, and the resistance to getting help/medication.

somedays ago we were talking about mental illness and death, how I see it as the illness taking life just as you would with a physical ailment, how the patient can lose agency, and how the 'choice' isn't that to end life but is simply the desperation to end suffering, and how the two are not the same thing. 

I am so glad to have found you, and we do fit in like jigsaw pieces with our respective quirks.

I turned 39 some weeks ago. that number sounds and looks so strange still, like I'm talking about someone else. and a lil before that I heard from a guy who was in school with me in third grade. we were probably 9-10 yr olds. some 30 yrs ago. wow. I didn't even remember this guy's name but he says he remembered mine and 3 others' from that class and now saw mine on the faculty list of a sister institute of a university where he is a post doc. I hadn't bothered updating my LinkedIn. he kept saying how struck he was by the coincidence of both of us doing PhDs around the same time in the same city so far away from where we went to school together decades ago. I don't think thats the surprising part cos there's only so many places most desis go to do PhDs. his email gave me a small kick when I needed it, when I was feeling like a nobody. what is surprising is that he remembered me. and then today another long ago classmate messaged me, from the next school. both of these were guys who kept the second place in class where I topped, I think that's why they remember me so well, it was probably something like awe and crush on the person they wanted to beat but couldnt. the second of those schools was the last place I topped in (always effortlessly till then), and after that coming back to India after some years away kinda dislodged me in class forever.

the guy who messaged today I started chatting with. he had remembered my awkwardness all these years and I couldn't help defending myself with the reason. I always thought he had had a crush on me and had thus steered clear of him. he remembered that I had lost some notebook (days before the exam), borrowed his, and then beat him to top again. I laughed and apologized. and I thought he was going to tell me that he had stolen that notebook of mine, maybe to then do me a favor or to get an excuse to talk to me. I thought he was going to tell me that he had written me that anonymous love letter that I both cherished and laughed at for years. but all he said was that he had been shy and teased by others about me. 

I have moved between too many schools, but only a very few of them were co-educational, and mostly all my life I would keep bumping into girls who were my classmates in the past. at one point three women sharing a rickshaw who were living together as students met me, one was my then classmate (Masters program), one my classmate from 10th grade, and another that from 12th grade, and they were just finding out that they all knew me. but I never met guys who had shared a past long ago with me. although there are a few I have been curious about, those few who scared me by their attention. one I remember I left stranded in the middle of the street by hurriedly refusing to share a taxi with him in Bombay and shutting it's door right in his face cos I was afraid he was going to propose in some way if we shared a car and I did like him just as a friend; for years now I have tried searching for him and I fear he doesn't exist anymore and maybe that's my fault. only in a superstitious way (I hope).

funny thing childhood, teenage, growing up, and growing old. I feel like now I can tell and ask everyone from my past all that was for many years very awkward. 

na, I was wrong, I haven't acclimatized to Delhi summer, I never can. it has actually been that Delhi summer has been fickle last year and this, has been kinder to us. this year it has only now come more than a month later, so much so that the cyclonic rains in May led us to use the geyser for baths for about a week; unprecedented. and now I'm melting away in sweat again, had forgotten how oppressive this feels. and yes, swimming is the only physical activity possible in this, but alas the pools are closed and I'm having to run. the heat weakens the brain's generation of cannabis and only the moving body cutting through the dense still hot air brings a small relief of a breeze. but people wear jeans in this weather, and tights; and what of those who have to be outdoors in the desert streets working through the burning afternoon for their daily wages; how again do we live in this unlivable summer, this ain't human weather.

so our therapist thinks I might have too much empathy, and that it might cause me anxiety because I take on other people's emotions.

I always thought I was special. but I'm also a social scientist and so I know from research evidence that most people often think they are special. so I rationalised my feeling special as normal. 

but if she is right - and I do seem to have some 'symptoms' of excessive empathy - then my superpower is real. it might explain my heightened intuition, my ability to read other people's minds (which I earlier thought everyone could but have lately started to realize the contrary).

from a lot of my reading I had understood that low empathy was often the result of the spectrum of autistic issues, or a trait of narcissistic personalities. also that humans had uncanny empathy in the animal world; now I am learning that other animals do too. in a way I always thought empathy was a good thing, and that more was better. but apparently too much empathy is something of a borderline personality disorder. (they aren't wrong when they say give therapy enough time to find a disorder with anyone, because after all 'normal' is just the average across us all). it is because feeling other people's pain and emotions more than is 'normal' can be inefficient for one's own mind, like taking on more burdens than u need. but it's not only possibly bad for one, it can also hurt others because one puts oneself in their spots too much and attributes to them the extent and depth of feeling one feels herself, which might be an over/under estimation; effectively one cannot have the same information as other people about their situation, so one's empathising with them can often be a misjudgement. and using that in one's interaction with them can often create a mess, even hurting them.

this might explain why I have felt misunderstood often in my relationships, and have had expectations from other people that they don't deliver on (other people possibly have less empathy than I expected of them), which not only disappoints me but angers me sometimes, and gives me a feeling of superiority that again feels misunderstood.

I do still feel it doesn't cause me anxiety, because an out of body experience does accompany my empathy. 

a long friend/acquaintance recently lost her husband. I was getting news about his condition from another source as she didn't always feel like communicating when he was in hospital, so I had feared already. when I finally heard from the third person, I felt a physical wave of dread pass through my body, and I still kept wishing there was some confusion about the identity of the person being referred to. I didn't reach out to her because I felt like she wasn't ready, I mean if I was in denial I should respect hers. later I did meet her and also asked my therapist for a grief counsellor for her because I learned from K's colleagues that she had tweeted about it, and because the next few days I found her trying to use social media to come to terms with it, which worried me because I felt it was the wrong place to look for solace.

my therapist worries too much about me, I feel she has grown fond of me. she thinks the demise made me anxious, but frankly it was the use of social media that partly did, and partly it was because her family couldn't travel to her in these times and I was the only one amongst us friends who was within driving distance and thus able to get to her; I was anxious because I wanted to help but didn't know how, especially because I have always found her to be a difficult person and I have never felt close to her, especially because I wanted to meet her in a covid-safe way and she insisted I come into her home because their quarantine was over (she did come down later). I understand that her pain her grief is hers to bear, I understand that I may feel her situation slightly more than would be felt by someone else at my distance, and not just because I listened to her that day, I understand that my feeling that she needs to meet her parents asap is not shared by her and might not be the best advice even though I feel it is. I also understand that many things she said I will never share with anyone but K and maybe my therapist, and that I judged even some of them silently; but all this doesn't cause me anxiety and in fact it might have helped me help her.

too much of anything can be unwanted and inefficient and unbalanced. but it can also be a superpower. and it can be both good and bad. if the therapist is right it might be why I've often found economics and game theory to be so intuitive and natural. it might be why I was the only one to realize that a couple's lesbian au pair had a thing for the guy even before it came out. K didn't believe me then cos of her sexual orientation, even though I insisted that is never absolute, and that most people are somewhere on the spectrum of being bisexual, that the person you feel attracted toward matters more than their gender. it probably explains why, soon after meeting a classmate after years wherein she talked about issues with her husband about her career choices, when I saw she had a new haircut had gotten a new look more like a complete makeover, I knew that she had decided to end her marriage.

my web reading of excessive empathy also tells me that it is often not innate but learned. I think it's all the reading, and even the movies about human emotions. I cry and hurt easily when I read or step into a character or a being, but I've found myself doing more and more of it (I've written before about not knowing another way to live or be). slowly I'm also losing fear of the animals that used to frighten me, and tuning more into their selves.

I realize yet again that I was wrong about some conclusions I drew. I am reading Carl Safina's Becoming Wild. and I learn, not surprisingly, that the evolutionary rift from reptiles that branched out to result in mammals and birds happened such that birds are one terminal node and we another. Mammals are thus not more evolved than birds, and the reason we think that is due to our ego, our ignorance, and our religious-cultural belief system. so think before u say 'bird-brained' again; birds understand probability, and are capable of making hooked and pronged tools that involve multiple stages of construction. 

homicide therefore is not and should not be more horrifying than the murder of many other life forms we routinely commit. If it's for food I can still condone it as that is natural and part of the cycle of ecosystems, but factory style mass killing is very inhumane (yes that is an old realisation).

I didn't know for example that early whaling in humans was to reduce those majestic bulks of gorgeous mammals to whale oil to lubricate our industrialising lives, and later as we found fossil fuels we started using whale meat to mass manufacture dog and cat food!!!!!! (ugh)

whales and dolphins have sophisticated language, and possibly so do birds and fish. just because we don't hear or understand them doesn't mean we have proof to the contrary. 

the other day I decided that the dog food (just a couple of jumbones in a sealed pack) lying in our car needed to be consumed if it didn't go bad as we are using our car a lot less due to lockdown and not coming back from late night dining at all (the original need to distract dogs guarding our staircase). So I brought it home and took it with me when I went shopping for fruit and vegs from our block thela, thinking that I might spot Beauty and Whiskey and give them one each. My luck then that Beauty was snoozing on the stairs just as I got out. I spoke to her, telling her how I'd been looking exactly for her. and despite her sleepiness I gave her one. She started licking it and got busy and I carried on. I walked around calling out for Whiskey but not finding him gave the second one to an unknown dog who looked like he could do with a treat. the next morning on my return from my run, Whiskey, who was sleeping or yawning and stretching under a car (at that hour a number of dogs are unresponsive), suddenly crawled out and came toward me and kept sniffing my hands expectantly. I caressed his face and ears and rubbed his side lovingly and spoke to him, telling him that I was looking for him the day before and that I didn't have it with me anymore. I wonder what Beauty had told him.

Barbets call all day, and now I realize I've known these sounds for a while without knowing their source, the birds. when I run in the morning in my block these days, almost every lane has a barbet calling. and now I'm even seeing their perfect tree holes - apparently barbets have woodpecker-strong beaks and burrow into the wood of trunks. there are two species around here. the smaller mouse-like coppersmiths (their call is like a coppersmith repeatedly beating a sheet of metal) are more visible because they like to sun themselves while calling on the top leafless branches of the mother tree; and their red heads and chests can catch your attention. the larger, the brown-headed barbet blends with the green leaves of summer, unless u see one flying from one branch to another like a leaf falling and then on focusing you notice it leading you to another perfect tree hole, it's grotesque large head and beak kinda cartoonish. it's call is also more nuanced, like a trrrr kutrro kutrroo.

and y'day outside the vaccination center - a public school in the maze of narrow pothole ridden lanes that can barely support the two-way traffic that flows through them and that seem like they are made of cowdung and irregular stones and rain water rather than tar - I saw a clan of sparrows. when we were kids there were sparrows everywhere and I didn't know what a barbet was.

Apparently there is a need to document what we are witnessing. The govt's mistakes, it's current callousness, it's single minded effort to deny, deflect, lie, and stifle criticism, even at the cost to more human lives, and to still put it's political image and the varnishing of it above stemming the pandemic, tantamount to murder.

But what's the point even in that really. Those who see the lies, they were the only ones who wanted to see them. Others close their ears, their eyes, their minds and refuse information that contradicts their beliefs. Or they euphemize the lies to "an inability to accept mistakes", which they say "I can forgive". 

The liar has thus been emboldened over the last two decades, and the people suffer, and die, and are not even counted.

I think I have trouble being tied down. having an employer. funny me saying this after getting a job after nearly four years. 

most people thought I wouldn't be able to find employment again; some thought I wanted domesticity or motherhood instead. barely anyone understood and everyone offered advice.

yes I had trouble finding employment, but that's because the Indian education system is messed up and nearly impossible to reason with. but somehow I found a loophole to their obduracy. and this year I have multiple offers. 

you got engaged to a Shira, and then you realise you are attracted to a different Shira ( watch Shtisel for context); that's how I feel now. having committed to the safest most practical option (the one that came first, hah), the one that even when committing to I felt like it was the wrong but risk averse decision, I now feel I erred. 

I feel my nature is to take risks and after earning some grey hairs I thought my nature had changed, but no, "one is still what one is going to cease to be...."

plus for the very first time, since the start of the pandemic, I had begun to reconcile myself to remaining on in my own country. and now I get an opportunity for a brief stint outside, but my commitment and the lack of consideration of my fiance (employment wise) prevents me from accepting it. the irony that is life. you live you learn, shit happens, and you're helpless, and you realise life and death and health are more important (but even those are location-dependent).

people are dying in homes, in cars and autos waiting for hospitals to take them in, in hospitals when they run out of oxygen or when there's a fire. the world feels unreal around me, especially when each one of us is affected/afflicted. 

but then I see this woman I met years ago in Europe, much younger than me, in a photo posted by her after many months, 39 weeks pregnant and "waiting to bring a new person into this beautiful world", and I wonder if she is living in the same world as me. and I realise in fact that she isn't, that this world has always been divided, that each is separated and isolated from the other despite our 'porous borders', that now I am in that world from where the rest looks insensitive because where I am is the source of the horror news headlines; that I have been on the other side of this often before when I have read about news from Syria, or Latin America, even the USA, ...

bounty

I've been birdwatching a bit lately as I am not in the frame of mind to open my computer and work these days. am learning to be still and patient and watch out for sudden movements in the branches of the trees in front of our windows. it's a good spot, with a big gulmohar in bloom right now, a shahtoot tree, and one what I call the mother tree; these three together attract a variety of birds whose names I am slowly learning. I still can't tell their calls from each other. my favorites are the restless butterfly sized sun birds who can barely stay put. I also love to spot green colored ones, so far parrots, brown headed barbets, and the common tailorbird. the other day I was wondering whether birds chart out the flight trajectory before they take off or not. or what range circles the kites want to float in. 

in India in summer you get a variety of melons, juicy and cool, even other than the more-known watermelon. I call all these kharbujas, but there are many, yellow, cream, orange, and green, some striped. I've figured it's best to eat in each season what's bountiful then; so am getting lots of melons while we wait for mango season. and now whenever I cut one of these, I collect their seeds (found conveniently in the center), wash and dry them, and then sprinkle them somewhere on the earth. last time I did this, I went to check the day after and saw only shells of them remaining. these are tiny flat seeds and it's hard for human hands/teeth to shell them, and I'm assuming also for bird beaks. so I think the squirrels have been busy snacking on them after some hard work. 

people still don't understand how this virus is spreading. they think gloves and trucks spraying sanitizer will help stem it. they don't get that masks and being near open doors and windows is the only hope when in a room with strangers. households with infected people are still not getting all members tested; they still fear the sample collection guy and people bringing them supplies, not understanding that the risk of transmission is the other way round.

in my parents' housing society some people started the theory that it's spreading through water pipes. they apparently even gathered some evidence. 

everyone has become a doctor or a scientist, self proclaimed. they still are trying and believing all recommended home remedies. not that docs really know what to do either, they are just tired serving their patients and relatives and friends who call in after hours. 

and parks have been shut. 

parents and sis tested positive. 

almost everyone I know is either sick or busy worrying about sick family and friends. 

it's harrowing. and the country is boasting that it has exported more vaccine doses than administered at home. while planned vaccination camps are being called off due to short supply.

friends and family are falling sick now. both of us had dreams about it one night, especially after hearing of my cousin who had a bad bout of sickness and another old acquaintance/friend whose family of 5 all fell sick and whose husband is in the hopital now; she herself has to stick her head in the O2 concentrator they've got home every now and then when she feels dizzy or gets splitting headaches. his cousin has quarantined her husband alone at their home while she moved in with her mom for a few days. he seems to be ok though after a few days of fever. my cousin has had fever since April 7-8 alongwith intermittent splitting headaches, weakness, runny tummy, diminished appetite and loss of the sense of taste/smell; for the last 2 days now though the fever is low-grade and the other symptoms seem to be gone and we are all breathing in relief. i was also getting worried for his brother who took him for a ct scan, and was in general tending to him through a window to the quarantined room. another cousin of mine lost his sense of taste and smell, got tested, was positive, and then his 3 yr old daughter came down with fever. this morning i heard she is better. a friend i was texting with regularly suddenly said she was also down with fever. thankfully she also seems to be much better today. i told my sister not to go into a hospital with my mom or my father on their day of second vaccine shot. people are scared to go into docs' clinics and hospitals. there's a drive through testing tent on my way to the borrowed office where i stare afraid at the line of cars each day. 3 weeks ago there used to be none and i wondered if the tent was in use. my dad is wearing double masks. he and sis are still going to banks and registrars offices as her flat purchase is coming through. thankfully my parents moved apartments before this fire got wild. and we took a break out of the city and this apartment. he even went and stayed with his parents for a couple days around holi without getting tested, while i got some alone time to heal too. therapist told us we are a rare couple (amongst her clients) who have mutual respect for (and don't bicker about) each other. i am learning to be less angry, more considerate, and to understand his vulnerabilities. and vice versa. a worksheet the therapist gave me to check on my anxiety levels made me anxious because i didn't think till then that i had anything to worry on that respect. i am back to myself now as i realize it was just a routine check on her part and not an indication that i too had clinical problems. when you start worrying about your worries it can get tricky and you fall into a loop. but i've been there and through before, i trust my body to wade me through the worry now again. i have shaky hands, the only symptom on the worksheet that really applied to me but i am not bothered because i know my mind and my body steadies them when i need them to be so. in fact its amazing what our bodies are capable of: moving period dates around to ease schedules, burn us up to disintegrate viruses, run for miles without needing to stop, figuring out when they need sleep, food, and water, and demanding and delivering these to the self, excreting unwanted bacteria through acnes and blackheads, and in so many ways, healing and taking what's needed from the atmosphere to do just that. but then again, viruses are also nature, and as i've said before if one has evolved to replicate using our energy while sometimes disintegrating us, then that's nature too, and was probably needed. because nature is a self-regulating body too. and we are part of the food chain. and human intellect is part of nature too. yes that same one that invented science and logic. and when fighting a wildfire knows that sometimes the best strategy is to create a controlled line of fire a lil way off to burn the grass or the vegetation out and create a fuel-less barrier to the spreading flames; just like instilling controlled sickness in the form of immunization can eliminate numbers for possible future infections, or at the very least reduce viral loads in case of infections. this virus has made us philosophical. i have thought of my death, and of those close to me, and am no longer surprised or stunned by much. its natural that i am living now, and natural that i will die someday. and your life will go on. or vice versa.

I get impressed by fame and reputation. even before getting here I was in awe of him. and then I heard so much more of him after we got here, from him, that both of us developed a huge crush-awe on him (his has evaporated since but mine has not yet been normalized). my adult fascinations are so different from those adolescent ones, this is more a professional sense of admiration mixed with a fear of looking like a fool in front of (or to) him. I saw him many times but always in the distance and was never introduced, although once I felt him looking at us arguing somewhat. 

then about two and half years ago I finally met him. we were all taking the same flight and on the bus to boarding he came right next to us seated together, and thus I was introduced. he must have also heard about me from him. I was shy but shook his extended hand with mine, which had thus been fiddling and wrapping my neon rubber hairtie around my fingers. I didn't have the time to take it off; and wondered if he could feel it's texture in that brief handshake. 

two of us had bought tickets seperately, his officially sponsored, mine bought by me. so we weren't seated together. but as we boarded I realised I was across the aisle from the other him instead, seated with his family. the way things choose to happen scares me sometimes. a sign, fate, or a chemical force seating us so close. I was tongue tied and as a result aloof, maybe appearing to be rudely so.

in the next few days of the conference (that I wasn't a part of) stay, I felt him once trying to get close to me to have a conversation, when some of us were walking - which instinctively made me distance myself - and found him observing me a few times. by now I was talking quite a bit with his wife; I felt much easier with her. 

since then I've seen him a few more times, in the parking lot or at a seminar, and each time I've either squirmed in my seat (when he suddenly turned back at the sound of my voice as I spoke to ask a question) or turned my back at him and started walking away. not because I wanted to, but because I felt safer to. tongue-tied-ness sometimes extends to limbs and the need to disappear too.

and now after two yrs and some months I suddenly walked into a room to talk to someone and realised slowly that he was sitting and talking to her. his legs were up on a chair, but as soon as he realised my presence he took them down slowly one by one; this I realised out of the corner of my eye cos I couldn't bare to direct them at him after the realization of his presence. his 'hi' was met by me with a slight wave of the hand and my face in his direction while mouthing it weakly aloud. I still couldn't meet his eye. it must have seemed rude, given how senior he is to me, but my behavior is not in these moments in my control.

and then the other day I had just deposited my lunch sandwich at my desk and walked out again to wash my hands before I ate and I heard a door unlock behind me, in the direction of his office. I looked back wanting to undo my strange behavior and to start getting to know him - which I've been craving in fact - and to thus normalize his perceived persona. for a split second I was thunderbolted yet again because I saw him half inside his door with his neck swung back looking at me just as I was looking at him. I'm glad I recovered and waved and croaked out a 'hi', making the moment a lil less awkward, and that he waved back. in so many years I (we) have made some progress. maybe we can be friends someday

what I've been upto

whiskey and beauty are our lane dogs: strays who have a few homes feeding them in our lane in our colony, and who exercise occupation rights and guard our building staircase sometimes. whiskey is a light brown white male, who barks at cars and is friendly to friends; beauty is more complex just like women are, and is big and strong and somewhat aggressive especially when she's feeling guarded. but she can also be gentle and let you give her a belly rub. she has black marks on her brown face that resembles a goatie, or at least a moustache. I just learned their names this week. he is scared of dogs and if one of them is guarding the stairs it becomes really hard for us to get back up especially late at night. so I am now looking for some dog food to keep in the car to distract them with cos they don't get lured away from their perch easily. 

and I finally have a (borrowed) office where I come 4 days a week in the afternoons to sit in some silence and work. this reject and (optional) resubmit is hard but progressing slowly. and to keep me company I've brought my poetry with me, rather the books of poetry that I owned. did anyone ever tell you that the best books to keep at your work desk (if you don't write literature or poetry yourself) are poems; you can read a few lines or a few pages and get a lil bit of perspective on life when you're feeling stuck or tired with work. it's mostly Plath, a Blake, and one by a local poet (a gift), and I recently bought one by Margaret Atwood. the last is surprising, a mix of angst, feminism, humor, environmentalism, ... (quoting a bit). 

"The aliens arrive. 

They've heard about human sex

but don't believe it.

At great risk to themselves

they've come to see.

They send down spies

in the shape of flying eyes

that peek in through our windows.

Oh anthropology!

The horror! The surprise!

What a show!

It almost makes them ill!

What a thrill.

They abduct a hundred humans

through a cosmic straw

and slurp us to another planet

and put us in a zoo.

Unless you have sex on demand

you don't get fed.

They say the equivalent of Ah and Ooo,

also Haha.

Dire, what hunger will do.

It's sex, sex, sex,

every two hours,

alternating with egg sandwiches and beer.

Be careful what you wish for."

we all sneeze every now and then. a random one here and there is simply a momentary bodily response or reaction to some stimulus. but a bout of frequent sneezes is symptom either of a short term illness like a cold or of an allergy - still the body's reaction against external stimuli - and now you might need something to help alleviate the discomfort or some medication. take it further still, someone with a chronic sneezing problem, possibly sinus issues or something else within the body that causes it; this now you can be surer needs more medical help and its cause is within rather than without. 

replace the idea of a 'sneeze' above with any human emotion, especially an extreme one, and the concept of mental illness starts to become a lil clearer. 

there's a world that opens up through the doors of books where I often prefer to live. and I come out of it for lil things I love in this the outer shell world - morning runs, swims in cold blue pools, hugs and caresses and sitting close together, soft cotton fabrics with kalamkari and other shopping, birds birds and more birds, their chirping and tweeting and floating in the wind, flowers and dogs and the colors of living things, eyes and what they hold and share, and food where things die and go to become beautiful again. and song and poetry.

Some more from A Passage to India that continues to blow my mind in how well an Englishman in British India understood India, his own country’s imperialism and the behavior of his people, and humanity; also realized that Forster wrote this almost 100 years ago! ‘The court was crowded and of course very hot, and the first person Adela noticed in it was the humblest of all who were present, a person who had no bearing officially upon the trial: the man who pulled the punkah. Almost naked, and splendidly formed, he sat on a raised platform near the back, in the middle of the central gangway, and he caught her attention as she came in, and he seemed to control the proceedings. He had the strength and beauty that sometimes come to flower in Indians of low birth. When that strange race nears the dust and is condemned as untouchable, then nature remembers the physical perfection that she accomplished elsewhere, and throws out a god – not many, but one here and there, to prove to society how little its categories impress her. This man would have been notable anywhere; among the thin-hammed, flat-chested mediocrities of Chandrapore he stood out as divine, yet he was of the city, its garbage had nourished him, he would end on its rubbish-heaps. Pulling the rope towards him, relaxing it rhythmically, sending swirls of air over others, receiving none himself, he seemed apart from human destinies, a male Fate, a winnower of souls. Opposite him, also on a platform, sat the little Assistant Magistrate, cultivated, self-conscious and conscientious. The punkah-wallah was none of these things; he scarcely knew that he existed, and did not understand why the court was fuller than usual, indeed he did not know that it was fuller than usual, didn’t even know he worked a fan, though he thought he pulled a rope. Something in his aloofness impressed the girl from middle-class England, and rebuked the narrowness of her sufferings. In virtue of what had she collected this roomful of people together? Her particular brand of opinions, and the suburban Jehovah who sanctified them – by what right did they claim so much importance in this world, and assume the title of civilization?’

Forster in A Passage to India writes with a deep understanding of humanity, and a lot of racial empathy even in 1920s: (context: Fielding is leaving after visiting Aziz who was ill) "Although the Indians had driven off, and Fielding could see his horse standing in a small shed in the corner of the compound, no one troubled to bring it to him. He started to get it himself, but was stopped by a call from the house. Aziz was sitting up in bed, looking dishevelled and sad. 'Here's your home,' he said sardonically. 'Here's the celebrated hospitality of the East. Look at the flies. Look at the chunam coming off the walls. Isn't it jolly? Now I suppose you want to be off, having seen an oriental interior.' 'Anyhow, you want to rest.' 'I can rest the whole day, thanks to worthy Dr Lal. Major Callendar's spy, I suppose you know, but this time it didn't work. I am allowed to have a slight temperature.' 'Callendar doesn't trust anyone, English or Indian; that's his character, and I wish you weren't under him; but you are, and that's that.' 'Before you go, for you are evidently in a great hurry, will you please unlock that drawer? Do you see a piece of brown paper at the top?' 'Yes.' 'Open it.' 'Who is this?' 'She was my wife. You are the first Englishman she has ever come before. Now put her photograph away.' He was astonished, as a traveller who suddenly sees, between the stones of the desert, flowers. The flowers have been there all the time, but suddenly he sees them. He tried to look at the photograph, but in itself it was just a woman in a sari, facing the world. He muttered, 'Really, I don't know why you pay me this great compliment, Aziz, but I do appreciate it.' 'Oh, it's nothing, she was not a highly educated woman or even beautiful, but put it away. You would have seen her, so why should you not see her photograph?' 'You would have allowed me to see her?' 'Why not? I believe in the purdah, but I should have told her you were my brother, and she would have seen you. Hamidullah saw her, and several others.' 'Did she think they were your brothers?' 'Of course not, but the word exists and is convenient. All men are my brothers, and as soon as one behaves as such he may see my wife.' 'And when the whole world behaves as such, there will be no more purdah?' 'It is because you can say and feel such a remark as that, that I show you the photograph,' said Aziz gravely. 'It is beyond the power of most men. It is because you behave well while I behave badly that I show it you. I never expected you to come back just now when I called you. I thought, 'He has certainly done with me; I have insulted him.' Mr Fielding, no one can ever realize how much kindness we Indians need, we do not even realize it ourselves. But we know when it has been given. We do not forget, though we may seem to. Kindness, more kindness, and even after that more kindness. I assure you it is the only hope.' His voice seemed to arise from a dream. Altering it, yet still deep below his normal surface, he said: 'We can't build up India except on what we feel. What is the use of all these reforms, and Conciliation Committees for Mohurram, and shall we cut the tazia short or shall we carry it another route, and Councils of Notables and official parties where the English sneer at our skins?' 'It's beginning at the wrong end, isn't it? I know, but institutions and the Government don't.' He looked again at the photograph. The lady faced the world at her husband's wish and her own, but how bewildering she found it, the echoing contradictory world! 'Put her away, she is of no importance, she is dead,' said Aziz gently. 'I showed her to you because I have nothign else to show. You may look around the whole of my bungalow now, and empty everthing. I have no other secrets, my three children live away with their grandmamma, and that's all.' Fielding sat down by the bed, flattered at the trust reposed in him, yet rather sad. He felt old. He wished that he too could be carried away on waves of emotion. The next time they met, Aziz might be cautious and standoffish. He realized this, and it made him sad that he should realize it. Kindness, kindness, and more kindness - yes, that he might supply, but was that really all that the queer nation needed? Did it not also demand an occasional intoxication of the blood? What had he done to deserve this outburst of confidence, and what hostage could he give in exchange?" (I'll stop there because I could go on forever if I let myself go. and because that idea of exchanging hostages to express and to build mutual trust, that's an idea in contracts in Economics that Williamson wrote about in the 1980s; Forster understood it so well at a human level so long ago, in fact he understands so much it is wondrous and amazing to read him; Forster is truly alive still through his words and I feel fortunate to be able to read him and connect with his thoughts, his morals ideals ethics, his meaning of being human.)

magenta, fuschia, rani colour, if you know what I mean, is the color of the Indian desert landscape. against the sand brown, or sandstone pink of the earth and earthly forts. that first is abundant in Bougainvillea, different shades of it, some with lil white dots in the center, some without. if I were designing a new line of summer fabrics, that's what my palette would be. Sandy brown and stone pink, splashed around with creepers of tiny green leaves and bunches of papery Bougainvillea fuschia. how has Nicobar missed that so far or for that matter all these millions of expensive brands of (mostly women's) clothing touting indianness in their fabric, embroidery, and inspiration.

after more than three years of living back home in India we are finally out on the road. all our other holidays so far have been out of India or to Goa (which isn't really India). and I had begun to think that Delhi was India or that India were Delhi-like cities. 

last night we got our second punctured tire in a week, just the night before we were to drive. the puncture repair guy and other men who stopped to get their tyres filled up all gawked at me. and the mosquitoes tried to eat us alive while we waited and the guy patched up our wheel. this isn't the life I usually live, this isn't the india I am usually in. 

but that was still just outside of the mall that belongs to my india. this morning while I drove the first 2-3 hours out of Delhi, truck drivers bikers more truck drivers all gawked at me, the biker smiling invitingly at me when I honked at him to get out of the way. I guess they aren't used to women driving. but also a small truck/tempo full of rajasthani women waved at me repeatedly when I found myself trailing them after having overtaken them; that was a rare found connection across cultural barriers.

India is a funny country, you see signs for water parks and rows of unoccupied new apartment budings every 50-60 kms or so advertised as dream homes when the surroundings are rural and farmland, and the highway dividers are drying spaces for cowdung cakes. the highways have become smoother and wider than I remember from 10-15 yrs ago but strange contraptions of slow moving heavy vehicles still drive in the fastest lanes and trucks come at you suddenly in the wrong direction and no one thinks it strange, and maybe houses have become pukka have got electricity and dish tv, but there are still stacks and walls of cowdung cakes, the people making them look like their fathers and grandfathers in their garb and way of living. yes, 14th century forts have become luxury and boutique hotels and the demand for clean bathrooms has started to create some surprising rest stops along highways, but from the terraces of the fort hotels you still see lil farmers' houses keeping a few animals and farming tiny plots of land, their women still in their ghunghats. 

and even in those hotels there are still rowdy chauvinistic north Indian men splashing around loudly in the pools, more so when other women are around, flaunting what they think are their peacock feathers.

Forster says india beckons or rather appeals to one without promising anything. I wonder what indja is today. the man splashjng in the pool while his girlfriend wades in the kiddy pool in shorts and tshirt (pool rules clearly written say one must have a proper swimsuit to enter), is gone now; the tiny remnant of drizzle leftover from the evening rain is over, it's getting dark and mosquitoes are wondering if they can penetrate my protective film of sprayed odomos, the fort is coming alive with decorative lights that attract attention away from the stonewalls and bright Bougainvillea hugging them, and I hear bats just above my head flying in circles and clicking away. 

A woman is starting a wood fired chulha next to me. I ask her what she will make. She answers "makka aur bajre ki roti". there's a leopard spotted cat we saw earlier lapping up water from the pool; now it's kitten is running around and has scared a group of Delhi tourists, trying to get scraps of their food under their table. the chulha is smoking away and reminds me of the smog this morning and the factory chimney spewing black smoke you can see from the fort. 

what is India today, when most Indians who remain living here do so because they can't seem to get out. Is it still a promise-less call, an idea, contradictions of poverty and money, misery and luxury, history and modernity, patriarchy and women pushing against it. 

Rajasthan also reminds me of the obsequiousness of the people who serve those who pay them. it's stronger here than in many other places I've been or lived in. a waiter refurnishes the outdoor chairs and table that I am occupying because I'm sitting here even though the drizzle that was his reason for removing the cushions is back again. and he is embarrassed that I moved the mosquito coil myself between tables, although I'm happy to do so. and the cat is now sitting on the chair next to me even though I have no food and I'm just typing away. 

reading EM Forster again, after years. this time it's A Passage to India, after a few other books by other authors about India (although those were non fiction unlike this, but Forster's fiction is more real than life). reading Forster is like a gentle blissfulness. the following, a quote.

"She felt increasingly (vision or nightmare) that, though people are important, the relations between them are not, and that in particular too much fuss has been made over marriage; centuries of carnal embracement, yet man is no nearer to understanding man. And today she felt this with such force that it seemed itself a relationship, itself a person, who was trying to take hold of her hand."

I think I somewhat understand why there exists stigma around mental illness. It can be very challenging to live with, not just for the person themself but for spouses and partners and living-in family members. 

But for all those reasons and more we also need to open up and talk about these things, to share family histories and genetic propensities so that people are more aware of what they can pass on to their progeny and whether it's worth it. So far I thought my family, possibly on both sides had some illnesses zigzaging through members; now so does his. Many of these are much more common than we as a society accept or acknowledge or can even imagine. And yet ppl keep having kids without thinking what they might be burdening them with. At the very least awareness of genetic propensities should help design and maintain safer environments when they grow up, so that the possibilities in genetic makeup don't necessarily become realities through triggers.

Laura Marling 'Alas I cannot Swim', especially the title song and My manic and I.

she wrote it when she was 17-18.

we were always special. and then the realization that he was ill all this while, that he hid from me all along, dented that feeling. I thought he taught me vulnerability, trust, honesty, love, sex, running, a rediscovery of literature, and courage. now I know it was getting to know him that taught me all of that; he barely knew those things himself. he was barely surviving, struggling since ever that he had forgotten it took so much effort. but we are still special, the two of us. 

and did you see the moon today? I was driving back when it just got dark and I saw it low in the sky suddenly to my left. it scared me how beautiful it was. perfect, round, and glowing. I showed it to him from our window when I got back. he also said it was 'scary'. its probably today I understand why the word 'stunning' is used to describe beauty sometimes. 

Gods were probably creations of schizophrenic or anxiety ruled minds, or those on psychedelics (also naturally occuring, just like illnesses). The idea of heaven and hell probably added by hope and inspiration seeking depressed minds? Or maybe to rationalize some concepts of morality for social cooperation. Rituals must have come from OCD patients. And maybe dervishes and the idea of religious fervor and trances arose from bipolar highs. 

so in one way, religion is probably a concoction of mental illnesses. but on the other, for that very reason, it's basis exists naturally in the human mind. what to make of that? 

seems like I had been unconsciously preparing for this for the last few years with all that reading about genetics, mental illnesses, psychedelics, and the human mind. new purpose in life, or my fate. 

we are both in therapy now. he is back to his reader self and I realize how and why I missed that so much (he reads so much faster than me). and I'm feeling superheroic too. I always knew life wasn't a gift. Now more than ever when I'm overwhelmed though, all I need sometimes is a look up into the trees and hear the birdsound and look at those various shapes of green leaves. or a run in the park.

and I should have never come back to India.

sometimes I love reading books written decades ago to know the words used then, to understand the dilemmas occupying their minds then. to learn more about the origins of and the evolution of our thoughts and language. 

Raja Rao writes of his first meeting with Nehru, and I learn that there was/is a dialect called Deccani Urdu. That in the northern Urdu, idol was translated as 'budh', probably connected with the idea of Buddha. and that 'murti' is in fact Deccani Urdu for the same.

I learn that Nehru had a British passport, and probably so did Indians then as British subjects. but it seems like Raja Rao did not; did he have a French one because he married a French woman?

I have earlier read Nehru write about his visit/stay in the black forest in Germany. today Raja Rao describes visiting Nehru there. and for a while I transcend the passage of time and find myself thinking their thoughts and listening to their conversation.

there's also an essay where Rao extolls EM Forster (one of my idols/loves), but I have yet to read that. 

and I learn new words when I read old writings. chthonic; esurient.

But there are also the women who claim to be feminists but are ironically sexist in this regard. They assume that men can only want any advances they make toward them, verbal or physical, subscribing to the sexist myth than a guy wants all the sex and female attention he can get. Women also need to keep their hands to themselves, also need to understand consent; because although feminism is about women's (sexual and others) liberation, it is more importantly about equality. And consent is crucial to equality, either way. Any analysis of harassment or inappropriate touching/talking should be gender neutral.

boys (in India and elsewhere) grow up being told a whole set of lies about human sexuality in complete contrast with the silence we girls receive. about their need to masturbate in contrast with the taboo-ness regarding female masturbation, about their need for sex in contrast with the myth that women don't really enjoy sex but do it for the man.

so they as men are moulded by talk and treatment (and porn) to become (sometimes) unpleasant sexual partners. the holding her head in fellatio, hell even in intercourse, the objectifying of the breasts as having their own identity separate from the person (or the butt for that matter). I've always pointed it out when it happens to make him stop doing it cos of how inanimate it makes me feel. and it needs to be pointed out, every time every instance. 

even when we tell a street harasser that it's not ok, we somewhat correct the imbalance in conversation around sexuality. even when you kick away that leg from invading your personal space on a flight or bus. 

many years I wondered how such sexist parents brought up reasonably feminist sons like him and his brother. now (I'm a slow learner) I realise how much the sexism of the parents has percolated within them. 

the things the mom says, "Because she's a girl she must have told you everything.... she will come around ..."; and thinks and suggests, "having a kid will solve all problems". 

someday I will still probably write that book, now it will have to be about honesty and sexism and marriage and proximity to someone with mental illness (and how it sometimes feels contagious not by touch of course but by connectedness of minds and by the togetherness of dealing with it, the sharing of thoughts and the effort to obliterate myself so I can be less judgmental and less upset). 

just this morning he told me about this other blog and in comparison I felt like a coward because even in my mostly anonymous state here I haven't had the courage to confess and tell; therefore this today.

I have a strong sense of intuition. even other ppl have said this to me, ppl who know me well and have heard me a lot. these days I'm feeling like I also have some premonition. kinda scares me that. 

but now in hindsight I wonder if those falls on my runs were a warning for what lay ahead (I fell once more, soon after buying new shoes). I also remember telling him around that same time that almost every year the coming winter encourages me cos I do look forward to these few months of not continuous sweating but this year it felt strangely dark and depressing. 

even my plants are dying one by one, some red tinier-than-ants-insects feeding on the spotted croton.

there are my memories, 

and there are his, 

and they don't often align. 

and half our life, 

spent together

is a lil hollowed out.

even though I dream his memories now

and there is no 'truth'

only what we manage to construct together,

feeding each other's version

in and out back and forth,

sometimes losing touch of the boundaries

between us and the walls within.

it's hard to explain. I've read a decent bit about mental illness, I've seen friends who refuse to get help and family some of who have been blurred from being due to medication. I've always found the topic captivating, dark yes and scary yes, but enigmatic and mysterious. I've met ppl who almost brag of their struggles and those who are surprisingly open and matter of fact about it. There was also this girl once in hostel I was getting friendly with and then one late afternoon in her room (very dark I don't know why) she told me things about her family and childhood and violence which spooked me enough to avoid talking to her after that. Ive wondered many times since then if I could've helped her and I didn't. But what I feel often when I think back is not guilt but a strong sense of self preservation. 

In a similar way I have avoided some family members because I couldn't bare to see or hear them in their state of being. Sometimes it's very hard, you don't want to hurt them in the slightest but that means allowing them to bruise you quite a lot. 

And now, now I want to read a lot more about it. I remember that time I ate that spiked chocolate on a not great day, almost dehydrated and tired, and how it felt like my mind had gone across. That was soon after reading Plath's Bell Jar. Since then I've been ever more curious, of coourse because I crossed that line back in my mind but the fact that there was a line, right there, made it all too real. 

Now I want to study it professionally I think. It's becoming more and more irresistible. And these words from The Gene keep hanging around in my head, something to the effect of (I don't remember the exact words) 'where does the illness end and the person begin' or 'how do you separate identity from the illness'. 

some theories I have formed over the years and some words I need to put in writing so I don't forget and can quote later. "being human is becoming difficult" ppl who suffer from anxiety depression and related issues can't help becoming more self centered. can you ever really know someone? if you confess something to ppl, they will sometimes extend/impose their idea of things onto you in that moment of your vulnerability. ppl love to equate themselves to you especially in moments of defeat or other types of low. even if you know ur a much better fighter in life than them, even if that intent to equate kinda humiliates/underestimates you. It's hard to be objective, but it's not impossible. Reading has been a trove of wisdom and empathy, from where my sense of right and wrong emerge and evolve. And if you write, try and make a deep incision; don't barely scratch the surface, you can be better than that. And if you daren't do that, then ball and crush the written surface, obliterate it. Language is secondary.