NickKnacks

Earlier this week, I saw that an influencer bought her first house. She talked at length about how it had been her dream to own one when she had been raised to believe that she would go from her father’s house to her husband’s. That’s got me thinking deeply because I want to be like her too. I want my own space. I want to be able to travel when I want to and buy things whenever I want to too without having to wait for my bank balance to fill up every month. I also don’t want to go out without fearing I might not be able to bear my own medical expenses should I get into some accident. Above all, I want to have a career that makes an impact. I like what I’m doing now but it’s not making any significant impact on anyone apart from the company. I’m not a life saver, nor am I doing anyone a favour. Last week I was asked to fill my self-evaluation form and in the future prospects section I realized I didn’t know what more I wanted to do in the company! Happiness is important. Mental health counts and I chose that over everything else. But now, I think I’m ready to find that right balance. I’m going to find a way to get the things I want but not at the cost of my mental health. I don’t want to look back years from now and think I could’ve done so much more but I didn’t because I was just too wary of still waters.

I’m still trying to find that line between nice and not nice but earlier today, an hour ago to be precise, I concluded that it’s because I don’t like conflict. I also don’t like it when people are aggressive around me so it’s probably the old “teach unto others” aphorism. I think it’s also got to do with my need for validation. While playing a scenario on loop in my head where I’m giving a speech to some juniors at my old college, dropping the one or two funny anecdotes now and then, I saw myself talking about my life’s choices based on validation- external, alot more than internal perhaps. Validation that has become more maiming than peace building has turned into my signature dish served piping hot. Looking back on the choices I’ve made, it would seem easy to blame my society, parents and extended family but, regardless of their influence, they have been my choices. I don’t know how long this validation will go on but I know I do need to change it if I want to get ahead in life.

A Nepali, cautiously stepping into Hindi when the immigration officer speaks to me in Bengali. A broken Hindi laced with an English accent because my mother tongue was pulled out by a foreign one. I can’t afford to be rude because I’ve spent money, time and effort to come this far so one mistep could lead back to square one. Given the status quo, I could even be sent back to a home that isn’t home anymore.

Some days I think I’ll blow people away with my intellectual, well thought out conversations. Most days, I’m quiet, acquiesing and nodding my head at what they say. This makes them believe in their convictions all the more so because here is a smart girl agreeing with what they’re saying. I think my inability to communicate my feelings largely stems from my awkward situationally introverted nature and partly from my upbringing of having to agree even when I disagree. Often I’ve been told I’m too nice and I’ve read too many posts on how not to be a people pleaser but I still can’t seem to recognize when to draw the line.

This was probably said because when you’re ageing, you find there are fewer things that tick your boxes so as you cross out one item after another, you finally reach one or two or three that fit you just right. The more boxes you cross out, the more boxes you’ll have left to tick off as opposed to not having any left at all.

Perpetual rain clouds.

When it rains in June, the earth heaves a sigh of relief. Hot air rises as clouds of dust lay to rest in forgotten corners. The grass grows longer and greener, birds sing melodies in gratitude and the entire race of man pauses, even if for a second, to watch nature in motion. Kathmandu welcomed me with open arms into the dust ridden, chaotic conundrum of her centuries old folds. I embraced her back like an uneasy adolescent, an eager globe-trotting hippie and a weary refugee worn down by her abandonment.

On their wedding day.

Human habitats are much too close I can't recall the last time I screamed My lungs out Almost on the verge of bursting At the seams of the enclosed spaces Created by us. I no longer feel safe screaming my lungs out Lest someone should hear the agony in it. I no longer open my mouth to invite unwanted guests.

Sometimes you drown in hopelessness, other times in despair. But you have to come out. You have to face life by the horns. No one is going to pull you through except you yourself. You will have some highs but more lows than the former. You have to work your way through this. No one can help you but you. Henceforth, develop your character, your willpower, your determination. Find joy in other things. The matters of the heart seem to affect you alot. You must overcome it. You must be strong and resilient. Build up your defenses from the pieces you have managed to salvage but be sure to strengthen them with stronger material. This new ''material" is your experience. People will advise you. They always do. Listen to them but be sure to filter them. Develop yourself. You have a goal. Achieve it. Life is too short to be spent mulling over spilled milk. Get up and go. There is beauty to be found in the world. Embrace it. Mould your perspective. Let emotions assist you but not over rule your judgement. Reason things out. Don't lose touch with your humanity. Live. Laugh. Love. Learn.

I just took my first step and it’s a wobbly,uncertain one. Wobbly makes it sound so British. Urban middle-class British life that I dislike simply because I am reminded of marmite, tea and fog through the window. I don’t despise my first step as much though. It’s a beginning and like all beginnings, it’s repetitive in places; loosely strung seeking a glow worm in the dark. But it is my baby and I am proud (dare I say proud?) of it. My past midnight monologues in the a.m. propel me from person to thing to person to place. The destination lies uncertain. Going back to where I started, my step is uncertain because I am an imbroglio of uncertainties. I speak of fixities and make elaborate plans but none of then hold through but I am making starts from stray strands now.

I go out drinking and I’m judged Judged by the colour of my skin, the length of my hair, the shape of my eyes, the shade on my lips, the sway of my hips. My hips, they’re sacred. ‘Meant’ for birthing. They move with the rhythm of my sexuality. Desire. I’m supposed to suppress it, squeeze it, tighten it. Box it up and ship it to Narnia beyond the closet And keep it there for inspiration For creative sparks now and then that emerge with caution and precision The songs I sing come through some other’s voice Dry and hoarse. Do you even know what I’m saying through all this noise? I am female. I am she. I am woman. I rip myself apart at the names you’ve given me And I drift from heart to heart, Resting my weary soul even for momentary pleasure I crave love, I crave pleasure Unsatiated, I box them into Christmas presents And hide them under the Tree of life. Waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be found.