quaratine scribbles

A year has gone by since my last blog. A year ago I never thought I would stop writing out of nowhere. So many things happened in the meantime which I forgot to document. I didn’t even write the year end blog for 2019, nor did I type my travelogues of Spiti and Auli. Its strange right, you keep thinking you will write it eventually and before you know, a year passes by so eventfully that now you are just too exhausted to pen down your thoughts.

I have to admit though , for this whole year and till today, I have been asked by a handful of friends about why I stopped writing. Ofcourse, my excuses are forever ready. A writers’ block is evident to me which has affected even my academic writing. My fb posts are full of angst, loud and sad, I know it pretty well even why I am writing it. At the same time I am jealous of my friends and acquintances who have rediscovered the joy of writing while in quarantine. These days everyone’s a writer it seems. The sanctity of the art of writing is limited by a privileged few. All our emotions and arguments are judged by who expressed it better, who published it in a more acclaimed social media space and how many people share it on your behalf. Its a competition I never imagined to be a part of, yet here I am, another one amongst the everyone.

I have learnt to acknowledge by now that I am an ordinary human being. But in someone else’s eyes, I am privileged and I can’t change that fact. Our privileges are weighed in relatives, and we partake in it willingly as long as it soothes our egos. We spend our lives fighting to fit into narratives that echoes our disadvantages and as we grow older, this urge to fit in takes up an insidious space in our subconscious. We also become more protective of our bodies because it is getting more fragile each day. It’s strange right, how things that we thought were our merits slowly transitions into a skill to polish. For instance, I knew my language skills are an advantage for me and I used it to the best of how I can to advance my academic career. I traced how this skill of mine developed over the years, how it kept me sane as it enabled me to have an edge over my peers. But when I slowly began facing the accusations of the privileges behind my skill, I gradually began to falter.

I am a weak, sensitive person at best, but for a long time, I sincerely believed I was a strong soul…that I could stand up unabashedly for things I thought was right, that I could pick a battle to defend another human being, and that I really made a difference in this tiny little world of mine. The bubble is long gone by now though, As I sit in my dim-lit room, soaking in the summer heat that the cooler can’t compete with and think of how far my realisations have taken me, the only thing I feel is this immense exhaustion in my body and mind. Maybe that’s all I can pen down for today.

And for all my friends, who kept a tab on me through my writings and bothered to ask me about my absence, I have kept all of you in mind. Every compliment I have received mattered to me. Thank you. _nayani