Since self-care is not always bubble baths, endless shopping or rebounds. Break-up is a deep punch on one’s stomach giving a pain so stubborn which refuses to leave.
The clock struck 2:30 am. Eyes wide open, tired but open. Fingers tired of scrolling down feed on social media. Phone’s dying. Sleep-deprived, I lie on the messy bed like a corpse. I am not much of a believer in the concept of 3 am friends. I don’t feel like bothering friends at the dead-end of night. By nature, a shy and introvert girl, I always try to keep things to myself until I can’t hold it any longer. Maybe a bath will help. I need to sleep. I haven’t slept for days. Far from home living in this single room apartment in Kandivali, Mumbai makes me feel even lonelier. Was it the right decision to shift from the city of joy to the city of dreams? But I deserved it. I deserved the job that I had worked so hard for. I miss family but isn’t this what I had always wanted? To fly from the nest and explore the world? I have no regrets whatsoever and everything was going good so far until I met him again.
After 15 minutes of further self-evaluation, I finally dragged my body up. I stepped my foot on the floor in a pool of dust and ashes. Cigarette butts rolling out from under the bed. I should have just hired a bai and not be overconfident that I can do all the house chores, cooking and working all together. I think of very highly of myself at times, I guess.
The sharp sound of the shower broke the silence of the night. As I got soaked under the shower, he came to me again. I see him every time I stand here under the shower just like that night. My eyes shining with love looking up at him. His hands cupped around my cheeks. His words imprinted in my mind, “I love you a lot.”
The alarm went off at 6:30 am. I couldn’t wake up. The pressure cooker whistle sound from my neighbour woke me up at 7 am. 20 minutes to take a bath, 10 minutes to get dressed, 10 minutes to eat breakfast from yesterday’s leftovers, 7 minutes in auto-rickshaw to the station, and 3 minutes walking to the platform. Reached. 7:50 local arriving. This is Bombay. You can’t be late. Not a minute. As the train screeched at the track, my demons from last night went to sleep only to wake up again tonight when I am back home. For now, I must beat the elbows, and blossoms, and bags, and bums to make way inside the coach.
Rest of the day pretty much looks the same. Client meetings, fights with accounts team, briefing and de-briefing, crazy deadlines, lunch in between (i.e. if you get time), and several rounds of tea and coffee. Calling my mother to talk is also part of this routine now. Twice a day, on my way to the office from Mahim station and back in the evening on my walk till the station before getting on the train. Office colleagues are a relief, they help me to cope with my otherwise mundane life.
After I come back from office, I often go over to my friend, Rhea’s place who stays right opposite my building. She is soo a Mumbaikar now. It’s been 7 years she is living here and has got the right attitude, knows how to get her work done, and always holds her shit together. And she is my that free of cost therapist we all girls talk about.
Jogging at 5:30 am – check (now I go for it only on weekends)
Zumba classes on weekends – check (I didn’t like the trainer)
Cooking new dishes – check
Buy indoor plants for the house – check
Revamping apartment – check
Listening to motivational videos – check
Binge-watching The Marvellous Mrs Maiselle – check (I loved it!)
Appointment with a psychologist – check (but I never turned up for the sessions)
I have done everything she suggested. Yet, the demons come back. They haunt me every night. My mind goes over every tiny detail of how we had met, who started talking first, who said what, did I show him enough that I cared, read the Whatsapp chat for a millionth time especially the ones where he got me, but still can’t pinpoint the exact reason or word or action or reaction which led to this. My anxious mind is just like a giant wheel. The thoughts come rotating, the good ones cheer me up, and the not-so-good ones make me feel low. It is again dark at night. Another pack of cigarettes turned into ashes. I lie there awake, with eyes wide open staring at the nothingness.
‘Prem, Politics, Porashona.’ – that is what Presidency College stands for, I was told one day when I was in my first year. Prem is Love, Politics is for the student party and politics, and Porashona means studies. Just out of school, I was beaming with excitement waiting to tick off my wishes from my bucket list.
“You don’t start living until and unless you have been truly hurt. One big heartbreak and your whole life go topsy-turvy. You start looking at life from a different perspective, you start understanding the meaning of life better than anyone who hasn’t got hurt in love” said Priyanka. I remember her as a fat girl (body-shaming was not in trend then) with dark complexion (beauty creams were still worshipped), one of those girls who knew how to make it in the big league right after the admission in college. And I had seen this kind of girls in school as well. It never got into me how did these girls become the sorority girls (influence of Western chick flicks) overnight. I was shy anyway and dreaded these situations where you have to speak about what do you think of love, and life, and the universe, and cosmos etcetera (typical Bengali aantel syndrome). But Priyanka was not like me. She was much more confident and had an opinion about everything. Although gradually I realized she could never accept her bodily appearance and hence she always had to do something to prove a point. Well, that’s a separate story, later maybe. But what Priyanka said on that knowledge sharing day had struck a chord with me. Before college I never even had any romantic rendezvous with a suitable boy, forget about heartbreak. So, what Priyanka said had made me curious. Was I actually alive, I never had fallen for anyone head over heels. Will this extremely intellectually superior (and proud to be romantically devastated) bunch of people accept me in the college society? She also added to her Bible talk saying, “You haven’t also loved truly if you haven’t been a wreck after a breakup.”
I understood there were rules of falling in love, falling out of love, and then falling in love again. Characteristically we Bengalees celebrate sadness and take a certain pride in doing so. But how do I prove that I indeed had loved someone with all my heart? How many gallons of alcohol, packs of cigarettes, boxes of chocolates, random sex with men will prove I had loved him, and these are just meant to forget him. Isn’t love supposed to be personal? If the man I tried loving, wasn’t aware of the fact that I tried and had put in all possible efforts while being in the relationship, what’s the point in putting up a show after he is gone?
Well, that’s how I have always interpreted love and heartbreaks; not many will agree with me.
One day I felt it. The twinge in my body right where the heart is supposed to be when I saw how Aakash looked at Sweta the way I had wanted him to look at me. It happened in the second year of college. We were all friends. While I had started falling for Aakash, the love cupid had other plans. Well, after wasting gallons of tears, and listening to the whole playlist of all the depressing songs for a few months, I finally survived my first heartbreak. Had I come out of this storm more enlightened? Do I have a new perspective towards all the happening around the world? Have I added meaning to my life yet by my unrequited love? Can’t tell actually, because I found myself more decked up, had landed an internship and was ready for the world!
Ten years on, and I still don’t get if loving a man has added any value to my life. All I have felt is a vacuum, a deadness as if I have no heart. The only other time I had felt this was when I had lost my Dad. I was never an expressive person, and even when he left, I was at a loss of words, of actions, of emotions. But I was sure a part of me had died with him that day.
My friends are of the opinion that I am not a traditional, conventional lover. Because I am a Virgo, I have a much practical take on everything. Some also ended up saying I won’t be able to be a good lover ever. And I still wonder on what basis these certifications are made. Now we are all grown-ups and don’t draw such absurd conclusions anymore. We have learnt to be more mature, but does that hurt less? Maybe our coping mechanisms have changed and hence we don’t put up a show out of it.
P
lace, Irani Café. Day, Thursday. Time, 5:30 pm. The lifeline of Bombay has stopped. The local trains of Western Railways have been suspended due to waterlogging in the railway tracks. Me and my colleague, Meesha are waiting at the café for the tracks to get cleared and the trains to start again. It has been pouring incessantly since morning. We had somehow reached office today but since the rains were not stopping, we thought of leaving office early and try to go by the road. But of course, that didn’t help, everything is at a standstill. It’s one of those rare moments in Bombay when you have time in hand. These are the times when you reflect. Conversing with a younger person about love, life and world gives you a whole new perspective. But the best part is no matter how much you package the emotions and feelings differently, at the core of it, it’s all the same. When people lie, it hurts. When people give hope and then act otherwise, it hurts. But that was not the key takeaway from that rainy evening. It was something else she said that hit me.
“So Radhika, what is that one thing you have done for yourself?” asked Meesha in her usual nonchalant self.
“Sorry? How do you mean?” I was startled at this question. What am I doing for myself? Everything that I am doing! Duh?
“I mean…look at Rebecca. She has her hand-made jewellery brand…she’s still working on it but they are pretty good ya. She is seriously going to make a good business out of it. And Prerna and Sonia. Both of them are so serious about cooking and having their brands someday. Prerna is already in talks with Swiggy. She’s gonna make it big man. I’m telling you.”
“Yes, of course, I feel so proud when I see them. Members of the girl tribe doing well.” I replied.
“So that’s what Rads! After their work hours, they are working so hard on these. What about you? Do you have any plans? I might as well start doing something. My doodles are getting quite a traction on Insta.”
“Yes Mish, you should totally take your penchant for art seriously.” I smiled. And then before I could even start thinking of what to answer her other questions, my phone rang. After I hung up, Meesha had decided to get another keema pao and we just started talking about food then.
That night, (somehow we had managed to reach our homes, by bus and then by auto-rickshaw) after a very long time I went to bed with a thought of my own and not invaded by my demons of past. I was awake, anxious but thinking not just looking at blank hopelessness. What was I doing for myself? I always wanted to be in advertising, and I am doing a pretty good job. My job keeps me on my heels, I love the kick it gives me. Probably this is the only thing that I don’t have to worry much about in life. So then? What’s the issue? Maybe I had started overthinking now. Meesha has this thing of messing up with your head. Funny kido!
I wake up the next morning, it is Friday. The rain hasn’t stopped yet. I skip having tea in the mornings as I don’t get time to relish a fresh morning cup of tea but today it’s different. As it was raining, I couldn’t resist the temptation of enjoying the moment. I poured myself a hot ginger tea, sat alongside the window and watched the rains. I didn’t even realize an hour has passed. As I checked my phone, I got a mail from the HR to work from home. I couldn’t be happier as after a long time I get to see the morning before the work mails start shooting. And there I was sitting, enjoying the rains with a smile on my face. It felt like ages since I have felt so much at peace. Suddenly it seemed like the storm inside is finally tired and taking rest. The demons were nowhere near me. I had become so used to my thoughts that it doesn’t feel like a burden anymore. I have created my own comfort zone with the most uncomfortable thoughts and dragging myself with those all along. I can’t remember since when it had started because probably the worries were always there. What if doesn’t work out with him? What if I am not enough for him? What if he falls out of love with me?
Can you call it love, if you have to worry all the time? I don’t know. Maybe I was yet to know the difference between falling in love with someone, loving someone and being loved by someone. I am not a big fan of rains, but it feels so good today – the sound, the smell, the wind. It is making me happy, a feeling that I haven’t felt in a very long time.
The rains stopped in the late afternoon. After a long day of work, I thought of having my own small party to celebrate the happy me! Two small pizzas and two bottles of beer delivered at home in half an hour. I thought of turning to one of my favourite film directors for the icing on the cake for this evening, Nancy Meyers. I had avoided romantic mushy films for a very long time. But Meyers has never been only about romantics. That’s what I have gradually learned to love about her films. She has the most beautiful female characters who have a purpose in life, doing well and loving or being loved. No matter how fairy tale it may sound, the fact is I realize, things are always going to get normal. Times will change and this too shall pass. But all one has to do is stop depending on it, stop getting into a comfort zone that only harms and doesn’t comfort.
So now, here I am, with pizza on one hand and beer on the other, enjoying my rainy evening with one of my favourite films, The Holiday. By the time it got finished, I had started feeling a lot better. It felt as if I had some chronic disease waiting for the right medicine and now finally, I am getting medicated. So, I started healing.
The following weekend was a marathon of all films that can uplift my mood. The Devil wears Prada, The Intern, Definitely Maybe, Sex and the City (both the movies). And then, of course, it was the turn of my favourite actress to soothe me, Julia Roberts. After a very long time, I watched Monalisa Smile, my most favourite film of all time. Followed by Eat, Pray, Love and then finally Notting Hill. After a long weekend of movies, food, and rains, my rehab was finally over, and I was ready to face the world with ounces of positivity.
But Mondays never really change? Do they? Poor Mondays.
Few months have passed since my therapeutic weekend. I get to sleep at nights now. I laugh more. I have started reading more as that is the best and most productive distraction one can ever ask for. I get sad too, whenever he visits my thoughts. He still makes me sad; I think love hasn’t died yet maybe. But I don’t get depressed anymore. I embrace it. Acceptance of the feelings is the best way to survive it, outlive it. I walk around the streets of South Bombay on the weekends, visit one new café every week. Sit on the beach and talk to my friend, the sea, for hours. Finally, I was at peace.
There was a time when I used to keep asking myself, when can I see the daylight? When will I be at peace again, when will I be happy? But you never really know when it’s gonna hit you. There is no deadline for your miseries to end. You just have to give yourself time, and time will heal it, it must. But I agree there was something still missing. I was almost there but I was still putting an effort to get up, dress up and show up. There was something that still needs to be healed, I don’t know yet.
Durga pujas are here and I am travelling back home. I finished my breakfast and looked outside the window. Miles and miles up above the land, flying in the sky, floating amidst the clouds, so aloof from the world where my phone also can’t disturb me. This is how it must feel like being a bird. No baggages, no worries, only fly and fly. That’s called being free. I registered this moment so well. I wish I could be so free. But what do I mean by being free? I have everything I ever wanted. But no. I don’t. I don’t have everything I ever wanted. There’s still something inside me that was still asking for love. And then again it hit me.
Why do I have to ask for it? Why do I need validation from someone that I am capable of loving? Why I am not enough for myself? Everyone wants to be loved and it’s a great feeling, but it can’t come at a cost of one’s internal peace. Moreover, one need not keep asking for it. I think one can’t chase love; it takes its own sweet time to come to you. Meanwhile, you should be competent enough to live with yourself.
And after so many months I finally understood what Meesha was asking me on that rainy evening. It was somewhere there on the back of my mind, but it never occurred to me. The question is absolutely valid. What have I done for myself except fretting over my future of love life? I love my job but is there anything that I can own, something that I can call mine? I used to dance, I had learnt classical dancing for 10 years. I could cook well (only if I am in the right mood). I used to write articles for papers and e-magazines. I could start writing again and start my own blog again and in future venture further. But voila! There you go…I know what to do…I know where I was stuck…what was holding me back…and what needs to be done. I have got an idea but baby steps first.
You can ask me, who is the hero of my story? Is it Meesha for pulling that trigger? Is it my friend Rhea who stood by me giving life support? Is it Rebecca, Prerna and Sonia whose stories inspired me? Is it the morning flight? Is it Nancy Meyers or the characters she built? Or Julia Roberts? Definitely Julia Roberts! You may pick and choose the answer as you wish but it takes a village. And this is my tribe, my sheroes who changed my life. There were right here, all I needed was a change in a perspective.
Still, an hour before I land on my homeland, I take out my journal from my bag and start; have lots of things to plan for. And as I started jotting down my ideas, I felt as light as the cloud, as happy as the Sun and as free as the bird.