tanisha

My brain is consumed with the 30 seconds scrolls that i am addicted to on my phone. my phone follows me everywhere, to the bathroom, grocery shopping, late nights when i cant sleep, and sometimes even during the bleakest moments of my life. i feel like i am escaping life every time i have it in my hands, my mind is blocked, and my thoughts are lost. the only thing present is the constant doom content absorption which leads to nothing but a deadly rot of the brain.

I am forgetting words mid sentence, i have forgotten how to imagine, i have stopped being curious. because my mind is occupied 24/7 with some or the other type of media, be it music, a podcast, some short form videos or just photos with unfunny memes. my brain has become an amalgamation of data that i cant remember. there is no space for my thoughts, there is no intent while thinking. I fear i will slowly wither away with the phone. lose my potential, or worse fail at everything i am dreaming of.

I can write a lot about how this 'brain rot' is getting imposed on us through clever and manipulative UX that the tech giants are coming up with, but that is something i can only rant about. that is something i cant change. the only thing left for me is to: recover.

When i was a little girl, I saw my dad shaking his head at couples. Girls with scarves on their faces, sitting behind boys on their expensive bikes, I saw him judge the girls who were liberal and had a lot of male friends, male friends which he doubted were just friends. He was more angry about girls at boys apartments. He was and is still vary of girls who are not 'good girls'.

For him, I am a good girl. For him, I go to office, I work hard, I come back and I sleep. And on weekends, sometimes i go out with my boy friends who are just my friends. For him, I've never tasted a drop of alcohol, or I don't have any idea what i will tattoo on my body. For him, I'm a good and a simple girl.

Oh what a lie that is. I lead a double life that he knows nothing of, and most nights I feel incredibly guilty of letting him think of me as a 'good girl'. I struggle immensely for separating myself from my dad's ideologies. Not in the action, but in the aftermath. The overthinking that pursues after a night of alcohol or a night out with my boyfriend, who he thinks is a protective best friend instead. Its triggering, sometimes even scary. Scary to think what would happen if he ever knew of my double life, even scarier to think what if he already knows?

I had stopped writing when i was with him, i had stopped getting inspiration to do something new effortlessly. i am not sure why but i had become a shell of a person of what i used to be. i had thought i was happy with him, i had thought of a future with him. But nothing ever happens like we think it should, right? and that was for the better. i am not writing with inspiration, nor am i writing with an intention to write well....right now maybe it could be called as an emotional outburst of sorts. day before yesterday, i had some realisations of my past relationship. the issues that i had ignored, the issues that i had swept under the godforsaken rug. that rug mustve gotten suffocated because of all the secrets it was holding. that rug was the dustiest furnishing in the house of our relationship.

he cheated on me. i dont have any proof of physical cheating but i was there for the emotional one. i saw it and i ignored it, i saw it and i decided to not say anything. more than the anger i feel for him, i feel more disgust at myself. why did i stay quiet? why did i not create boundaries? am i that much of a people pleaser? do i just not fucking care for myself? how could i stay in a relationship where several things were happening that i was not happy about. it says a lot about him, but what all does it say about me? am i a scaredy cat? a loser? what was it during that period that made me fuck myself up so bad.

We were listening to music, he told me to scan the back of his phone. The back of the phone? I questioned. Yeah, the stickers. He said thats the scanner for his breakup song. It was a song called changes. Pretty apt, i said. He was in the kitchen squeezing lemons in a glass for my drunken self, talking about how he related to the song. I went over, stood next to him and saw him squeezing every drop out with the utmost force. He told me to chug it like i chugged that bottle of wine. I did. Didn't bother me all that much, the scrunch of the face was an attention grabber. He roamed around here and there in the kitchen, we were talking, i was playing with fire. Quite literally. The lighter in my hand kept flickering on and off.   I said to him im afraid of fire, and he asked me if im afraid of fire or the consequences. I took a pause and answered in a whisper, consequences. The lighter flicked again, hurt me a little. He was soft, he was kind. His voice a whisper, with my thumb between his fingers, does it hurt. I said yes, kind of. He went and brought some creme for it, put it on himself. I was surprised, where this gentleness was coming from.

We were standing across from each other, leaning against walls of a doorframe. A foot of space between us, maybe less. He says, cry it out. I said i dont know, he said you should. And i did, i got emotional and some more. Started rambling about how i cant write about him, how nothing comes to me to write about him. About how i think he must hate me, and how i should always have the guilt. He, of course, ensures me about it. But then the conversations get more hectic, he offers me his arms, and i lean into them, bury my face in his chest, my head partially on his shoulder because he is just so tall. And i cry. I cry a lot. But no tears come. I think i kept crying because i wanted to stay between his arms.

He wrapped his arms around me. Our first hug. Others have been partial awkward side hugs. This was different. It felt complete. His arms around me, his face on top of my head, one his hands caressing my hair as i cry and cry. He shushed me, he said come here, in that soft voice. The feelings i had kept buried really came alive at that point.

He said Never overthink that no one will love you. I am sure about your love life than i am of mine, i am more sure about the good in yours than i am in mine. You deserve good and you will get good.

I am here because of you, ive looked up to you. The only reason i am here, is you. I cant think of not calling you everyday. You are the only person who knows me so much, i am the only person who knows you this much. We….we love you.

(The pause at we made me rethink the whole conversation at night. Made me think whether he meant just him. Or no.)

We broke apart from the hug. I sniff, he pulls me close. He wipes under my eyes, no tears. I laugh and say all the snot is coming through my nose. We laugh, hug again.

He tells me his dad said sometimes they wish they didn't have him, my heart breaks. I hug him wholly, my arms wrap around his neck, bringing his face to my shoulders, his body down to my height. His face nestles into my shoulder, my hands cup his head. My cheek touch his, only for a moment. Vulnerable, naked, shy. All of it, both of us.

I say, im not good at words as you are, but i am always here with you. He nods, i know.

Emotional, longing, heartwarming. All of it, both of us.

Hey guys, i am tanisha kharde, a communication design student; and this is my portfolio. please have a look, it will be very appreciated. 

i have realized i only come back to writing when i am sad. 

i made mistakes. i am aware. i know how to fix one of them, the second one i don’t even know what i did; but it seems like i have done something to have an ocean full of distance between two birds always squeaking around each other; flying together.

so much has changed in a year, last year i was so excited for my birthday to come, i was counting it down, i was searching for dresses from a month before. it was so surreal, and i was so happy. it felt like i had a family i could call my own, a found family. 

and that found family has such cracks in it now, i don’t know where to find the glue to fix them. i don’t know if i should even fix them or let it go. but i cannot feel like this everyday, i feel so gut wrenchingly sad when i see the change everyday in front of me. i think it would be better if i couldn’t see it everyday. 

it has been two months since our first date. it still feels like yesterday though. it is very funny to remember us being very shy around each other. i want to write about every moment of that evening. i don’t want to forget about any little thing, of our first date. the small nuances of when i first saw you, of how my heart reacted when i saw your face after three years; how you captured my hand in yours, slowly, like a a delicate flower being plucked in the early mornings; of how your eyes followed me every time my face got flushed and i avoided your eyes. i want to remember all of this like the back of my hand. 

i reached early at the mall; as always the early bird. your text got to me the moment i was walking towards the entrance of the mall. that youll be late. and my overthinking started right at that moment. oh shit he’s going to ditch me; oh shit all of this was a prank. but when your 5 texts of sorries pinged my phone simultaeneosly, i thought maybe not; lets stop overthinking. 

our first date was at a bookstore, at my insistence. entering the bookstore calmed me down, but not enough so i started browsing the shelves of classics and found some kakfa. i tried to read but my mind was on you. every footstep i heard, my head turned around and observed whether the feet matched the face of the boy i last saw during boards exams. finally, after waiting for around 15 minutes and trying my hardest to get into reading the precious kafka; i saw you. you were wearing a white print shirt with some leaves on it. you were coming towards me when you saw me, i raised my hand to wave at you, and you did the same. you removed the mask and all i could do was look at you for a second. last i had seen you, you looked different, younger in a child like way. you used wear glasses back then, you didnt wear them that day. i remember i told you you look different, and you’d said something along the lines of how its been years since we last saw each other. after a beat, i remember you said that you’d thought i was shorter, but i laughed and said i was wearing heels. we talked about what i was reading and you asked me what the book was about. and while i was telling you the basic plot of how kafka personified the essence of losing himself with the help of an insect; i felt your hand hold mine. it wound tight, i could feel your eyes on mine, but i was shy, i just looked down and squeezed your hand back. we roamed the bookstore, you asked me what i expected you to read. that question filled my heart, the mere thought of you caring about what i thought you should read made me feel warm. i decided to buy metamorphosis by franz kafka, as we were going towards the counter, you offered to pay for the book. i don’t know why but somebody buying, or doing something for me always makes me flushed. because why are you doing that for me?  

when we talked to your sister later, you said something like the mask mandate is lifted no? i got the hint. i was still wearing the mask. you wanted to see me. so i laughed, and removed my mask; and yes, avoided your eyes. but in my peripheral vision, i could see your gaze linger on me for a few seconds longer. 

we went to this all you could get store after the bookstore to hang around. we roamed the aisles and talked about complete random stuff. we held hand in aisles where no one was present. it was addicting, holding your hand; connecting myself to you. peak romantic moment of my life till then, holding your hand.

we took a roundabout towards the food court after that. while we were deciding what to eat or drink, i came to know about your lactose intolerance. i added that fact in my brain where all the things about you are treasured, cherished, remembered. we decided to just drink juice, too nervous to eat anything. you wanted litchi juice but it wasnt available so you settled for your favorite; pineapple. during the entirety of time in the foodcourt, it was kind of awkward to carry conversations, not because we didnt know what to say; but because we were both shy. i stole some glances at you in the middle of the conversation you were having with your sister, i was liking you better every second. i could feel you looking at me too. it was cute. 

but soon, i had to go, the date had to end. so we walked down together and as the impending realisation of not knowing when we,ll be able to meet again came into my brain and i suddenly got a little brave; and held your hand. when we reached my vehicle, we stood around for ten more minutes, chit chatting about the littlest of things; both clearly not wanting the night to end. so i became braver for the second time that night, and hugged you. it wasnt a full hug, it was a side hug that my shy self dared to do. after we pulled apart though, i realised i hadnt wanted the hug to end, because honestly, i felt safe in your arms. 

i told you i believed that when someone is upset, you should give them options. options for consolation. first, you ask if talking about it would make them feel better, second, if they need a distraction; third, if they need some space. i told you i learnt this through of experience in wrong consolation techniques; or as my friend would say; your consolation is simply salt peppered on the wound. i’ve learnt to be better now though. ive learnt more. i ask you what would you need when you would be upset; you said you’d need to talk about it. there was silence after you answered. i had the answer to the same question in my mind prepared, space, id need space; i repeated. but you didn’t ask the same for me. in a bout of nervousness i spilled that id need space actually. you hmm’d and changed the subject.

you came back from work one night; frustrated. i asked you if something was wrong; you told me about some issues at work were troubling you. as usual; i remembered how i had to calm you down. because i had practiced; id created my own theory and i knew what worked for you; as did you. so i distracted you.

and you got distracted. from the whole thing we had between us.

we had a fight. i was upset. very upset, tears dropping down my face upset. and i wanted you to give me space, like my theory, like we had talked about. like i had wished you would. 

but you came barging in through the door and changed the topic of conversation; you ignored the tearstains, you ignored my boundaries. 

and that was when i realised, you only wanted to talk and talk and talk and shout.

you were like the bitter, powdery aftertaste of the medicine. you were sleepless nights and you were those insecurities. you were the sour experiences of my life. you were the blue sweatshirt i wore even though it was tattered to death; you were the distance and you were the cold. you were the hellhound that plagued my dreams. you were the one closer to the mold. but;

but;

as i gulp that medicine down, and drown out the complains over the bitter aftertaste; i realize. i realize i am my dreams. i am the vineyard growing over a grave. i am the shiny new rings i love to adorn. i am the happiest experiences of my life; and i am the sun. and i am the indulgent sweet i love to have after dinner. i am all the little things that make me content;

and;

we had daal for dinner today. just daal, plain, boring daal. nothing more. in my culture, daal is eaten when you are sick. when your body is too warmed up, too congested, too tired to even think of cooking anything else. you eat daal.

so, it was quite disappointing when we had daal again that day, so after eating some dinner that was served in the dining hall; me and my friends set foot outside our hostel at nine in the dark night, to get ice cream. we ended up getting pastries instead. even though it wasn’t what we wanted, it was way better than sick food.

we ate them while discussing our exes; to be precise, their exes. i was silent when they talked about their experiences. a root of insecurity started to grow at that moment. but i ignored it; because when you bottle things up. it stays bottled up right?

they talked about their kisses, the warmth of their ex boyfriends. i could only talk about my best friends way of loving me. and how i regret i couldn’t tell him more. in a pastry influenced haze, we all texted our exes. mine lived in a different time zone, so i didn’t get a reply in an instant like them.

i saw them smile and giggle and sigh while texting. and i imagined, i hoped it would be the same for me.

he texted me at 1 at night. for him it was 10 in the night. after six texts, of how are you, how is university etc, he texted me goodnight. a bit abrupt, wasnt it? 

it made me unbearably upset at the moment. i was upset, i was jealous. i couldnt take it. so i hastily said goodbye too; and when the anger faded away; the bouts of sickness started to grow around my body.

maybe it was because i was the problem, i thought. it was my fault. i romanticise everything, and get nothing in return. how could i expect my unrequited love to know that i loved him, still?

the sickness of regret and guilt grew around my body, my body became too warm for my mind, i became sick. my heart grew tired. i wanted daal. i craved it.