The Homo sapien has a Sub-Species...

...and I'm naming it Homo sapien pedestrianis.

Found in various pockets around the world, you can see the H. sapien pedestrainis right outside your window. Just look for a road or a sidewalk or the pavement. Any humanoid figure that is walking by is a H. sapien pedestrianis. I am one too.

I know that it isn't taxonomically correct, or even biologically, as there is no change in the genetic structure of a H. sapien pedestrianis, but for the sake of this piece, I am going to be biologically incorrect. 

A common name for this sub-species is 'pedestrian', or someone who walks rather than travels by a vehicle. Of course this means that they are more susceptible to accidents on the road due to a sub-species of impatient drivers. It's quite the challenge to stay alive, what with Herbert Spencer's phrase 'survival of the fittest' putting so much pressure on the pedestrian to compete with moving machinery.

I should now add that when I started writing this a few years ago (in 2016 it would seem), I was only thinking of my experiences at home. Now that I've lived in or visited places outside the country, my perspective has widened a fair bit. 

The social order in some other parts of the world places the H. sapien pedestrianis near the top, where there is almost no need to make survival checks on a sidewalk. It's an experience being able to walk down the pavement or to cross the road like you're royalty. That is, till the odd bicycle or electric scooter goes whizzing past you. There's no sticking out your hand in the desperate and unsure hopes that the vehicles will stop for you and let you cross — my friend says they call this the "hand of god" as she too recalls similar differences between here and her home-country — because when you do stick your hand out to a vehicle, it will be to signal a thank you for stopping and waiting. 

Though I have to say, as a pedestrian nothing beats the rush of being able to stroll slowly in front of a line of motorcyclists as they honk incessantly at you to move out of their way, despite them riding on the sidewalk. Not even the thrill of getting the right of way in other parts of the world.

« after passing through / before goodbyes »

I watched Before Sunrise a few years ago, during my bachelor’s studies. I did not appreciate it back then, and I can’t say I appreciate it now either (I don’t really remember much of it). Mine is not a popular opinion as many people have made it clear to me. That said I’m up for giving it another watch, though I can’t say when. 

But the reason I bring it up is because today I remembered a particular day from 2018.

Those who know me, know me. I’m not someone who feels entirely comfortable going up to random people and having conversations with them (though I do find myself doing this more often now). It’s not that I don’t like talking, I just like listening more.

Anyway on this particular day in October two years ago, I attended a sound workshop part of BLR Design Week. I had hoped that we would get to record sounds and put them together, and had taken my laptop along with me in much excitement. But for the three hours the group of us sat there, we listened to someone talking about the process and its technicalities the entire time.

It was a mixed bunch, present for different reasons and interests: a 50-something-year-old who’d started making podcasts, a fresh-in-college kid who wanted to produce their own music, a fashion-graduate exploring something new at Design Week, and me, a confused-art-and-design-graduate wanting to go deeper into sound design. While the Q&A session afterwards was slightly more interesting, I was still fairly disappointed. And my plan was to leave, grab a quick lunch and head somewhere else. In the process of doing the leaving, two people approached me; I’d apparently asked a question that struck a chord with both the fashion-graduate and college-fresher.

Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon and evening was spent with the fashion-graduate and college-fresher. The conversation was surprisingly easy during (the best) lunch at Indian Coffee House and our walking up and down Brigade Road; it was easy, but it was also open, deep and maybe a bit raw too. We impromptu performed Riptide by Vance Joy at Music House Instruments (we were linked by sound/music): I’d picked up a ukulele, college-fresher has a beautiful voice, fashion-graduate joined in with enthu. (We’d gone in for different reasons: to buy guitar strings (me), to check out guitars (college-fresher), to play around with different instruments particularly the hang drum (fashion-graduate); not that this matters though, I just want to remember it later).

It all just happened on its own and it still is a surreal moment (and day) for me. Even though we vibed so well, I can’t remember their names, and of course we didn’t exchange any contact details because we wanted to Before Sunrise the day.

We’d all ditched our plans. I was thinking of surprising friends at my old workplace (I was talked into not going, and am very glad), college-fresher was in two minds about meeting the person they had a crush on (we convinced them to just go for it), and fashion-graduate was planning-to-but-unsure-about meeting their ex/friend (we talked them out of it).

At some point in the evening, we sent college-fresher off in an auto to head to their crush’s place, before the two of us head on towards Koramangala. Fashion-graduate was looking for a particular store they’d mentioned earlier in the day, and I was looking to kill time before heading home for dinner (we didn’t find the store, and I can’t remember what made it particular).

Before leaving, college-fresher had suggested meeting at a night trek trip that they’d heard about, organised on a specific weekend. But to keep with the Before Sunrise theme we were going for, none of us agreed to it — we wanted to leave it to chance. We didn’t know if we were going to bump into each other ever again in the future.

I still don’t. I hope college-fresher (probably a grad now) is pursuing their music and fashion-graduate found something they really like doing. And if I get to bump into them ever again, it would be pretty cool.

I had the Chutzpah to Wash Myself Free of Her

I wrote this poem while at work, simply to use the various words I had up on the wall as inspiration but never did use. There are some words that I can no longer remember the meaning of...

But I love the way they all sound nonetheless.

I had the Chutzpah to Wash Myself Free of Her

It was pure and utter serendipity.

The first time I saw her,

She had all the panache of a Victoria’s Secret runway model.

It was in a department store.

She was standing still.

Achingly so, like all the world couldn’t have inspired a movement.

I stepped closer.

‘COWABUNGA!’

I knew our relationship could only be quixotic.

In a few weeks I took her home.

Our life together was a labyrinth,

Bamboozled by my idealistic dreams

And her ataraxic nature.

She always smelled of fresh laundry.

And I, of petrichor.

But our shenanigans were fairly transient.

She was acting ridiculous and I,

Was pernicious to her health.

And so I,

In a lackadaisical moment,

Left her standing out by the door.

Where she haunts me every day

In her ephemeral beauty.

Her pizzazz fading with the days,

Weeks, months, years.

Saudade.

Saudade.

Saudade.

Our time together lingers,

Festers,

Obfuscates.

My current quandary

A riptide through my being.

This vermicious pain is quintessential.

But it’s such a buzzkill.

Her body is now a palimpsest.

Rust, leaves, metal, vines.

Green, white, brown.

Her pulchritude even more irresistible.

Only she could smell fresher than laundry.

Saudade.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And now if you are wondering who she is, as so many people have, I present to you, her:

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

COVID Quarantruths

I sit at my desk having binge-rewatched five seasons of Community after years. And it’s left me slightly unsettled as to how much I have been escaping or avoiding facing certain things (and also that I can apparently binge-watch a show at all – Community is just that good; definitely recommend it, the humour is brilliantly meta).

I’ve been Abed-ing my way through the last few months, and as much as fiction has always been a way to create/escape to utopias, I have been actively avoiding reality. While I physically distanced myself from people as recommended, I also did virtually. I justified it as a coping mechanism for excess stress, or that I was too busy with coursework to talk to others, but the reality was always that if I did talk to them I would have to face what was happening within my 17-square-metre apartment. I would have to face the fact that I was not doing okay/good mentally, as I had been telling anyone who asked. And I didn’t want to face it. Taking care of others and making sure they were doing fine was my way of staying out of my head and in others'; it helped them, but it also helped me. And I guess it is incredibly selfish of me to do so. Taking care of myself on the other hand was very low on my priority list.

I became anxious about multiple things. I wondered whether I would ever see my family again. I had irrational fears about never meeting my grandparents again. I missed home-cooked meals with my family, and their warm safe hugs (I cried and hugged myself when watching Coco, which I rewatched too many times). I missed home. I worried about the situation back home, because it was so much worse than where I currently am. And I felt helpless that I couldn’t do anything about any of it. Everything was so compounded, each issue tangled up in too many different other problems – and it wasn’t just COVID-related.

I wanted to distance myself from my family so that I wouldn’t give them the chance to find out something was wrong, so they wouldn’t worry about me from so far away when they had their own things to stress about. But I knew if I did distance myself, they would know something was up and worry about me anyway. And so I talked to them every weekend and swallowed any negative feelings I had accumulated over the week.

I distanced myself from friends as much as I could. And as much as I wanted to stay away, I was also worried about their well-being, mental and otherwise. And I’m glad I reached out to some of them; I was right for being worried, and it gives me peace of mind to know they are doing ok if not well. Of course if they asked how I was, I stuck to ‘okay’ and ‘fine’ as a response. Not the truth, but not lies either. I tried to make them laugh when I could with my overall silliness – sometimes I had really good timing and I don’t mean comedic.

I missed eating at uni with my friends here, since I couldn’t meet all of them anymore. I am grateful for the people I did meet with in person, initially occasionally, but later every day. I kept in touch with some of them virtually, but most of the time, with all the online classes, I just wanted to stay away from everything school-related. It was exhausting and I sometimes wish I had stayed in touch with more people, but I also knew I just couldn’t. I also wished summer would come faster so the courses would end and I could just be done with everything. I don’t know if taking too many classes to distract myself and fill up my free time was a good or bad decision.

Keeping in touch with people has always been a bit more on the mentally exhausting side, and so this situation was just more intensely tiring. In the end with all the deadlines piling up, I just stopped talking to everyone except my family and the friends I met in person.

I grew tired of taking care of myself. I got tired of cooking meals. I stress-ate/binged on junk food. I forgot to water my plants. My room got messier. The laundry and garbage piles stayed for a little longer. I stayed in my room for hours on end. I stayed in bed for longer most non-working mornings. My overthinking went into overdrive; I began questioning myself about who and how I was as a person, it was not a good place to be mentally.

Social media was the worst/best distraction.

I’m a month into summer vacation now. Things have relaxed a little. I have some projects to work on, so I’m not completely bored. I’ve binge-rewatched way too many shows (ATLA, Gravity Falls, Community), movie-marathoned myself to sleep or got caught up with some food-related shows on YouTube. I have stayed away from social media as much as I can. I stay outdoors for longer and more often. I’ve tried to meditate and do yoga again. I have been able to meet up with some of my friends from uni while also being anxious about using public transport to do so.

Most of them would be going home for the summer, and I was glad my friends were able to go back to be with their families. But it made me realise that I wanted to be with mine, even though I knew and was mentally prepared that I wouldn’t be able to. Though I knew I would see most of my friends again, it was still disheartening and it also felt weird – like a feeling of loss. There were some I knew I wouldn’t see again, at least not until way beyond summer ended, and that felt much worse.

I have never been good with goodbyes or writing endings, and so I think the music I have on in the background right now is quite fitting – a bittersweet score from FMAB. After I spent the last two days rewatching Community (and too many more of escaping reality), I’ve resurfaced. I’ve begun cleaning my room, shuffling things around, eating healthier, trying to get pending work done. Much like Abed goes through his mental coping mechanisms of escaping reality only to face and maybe adjust to the truth at the end of the episode, binge-rewatching Community provided that cathartic experience for me. And I feel a bit lighter than I have in a long time.

Holes

Depth, size, shape, location,
Factors that affect your mood,
Your state of mind.
Bottomless pits are the worst.
They'll hit you the hardest
Scientifically because of potential energy
If you ever reach the floor.
But psychologically,
There's a loss of earth,
Weeks are light and floaty.
Reality is an illusion,
Like a magic trick performed all wrong
Got you stuck in another dimension
Because the science behind it wasn't fleshed out.
You're living in two parallel universes
Running through both
Crossing into the other
Each different but can't be told apart.
You can't survive in two worlds.
You can't bear that pressure.
It's inhuman.
You're delirious.
In search of the answers to questions
Or is it questions to answers
Questions that lead to questions
Lead you to your mind.
A piece of muscle
That can't be flexed
Without a crossword with hidden meanings
Codes and ciphers to drive you crazy
Are you even in control of yourself?
Actions that are inexplicable
Like that wrong turn on the way to the supermarket
Away from that crime scene
Which had clues to your existence
Scrubbed clean of luminol
Nothing to decrypt it.
It's left you empty without purpose.
The quest is over.
That heaviness in your chest
Is a hole in your brain.
A mere bit of data that went missing.
But bits fit into bytes
That grow into gigabytes
And soon you're left with
Traces of information.
Incomplete, inconsistent, incoherent
Incapacitated.
Scattered in forks of time
You're getting left behind.
Catch up to yourself.
To that brain that keeps whirring
In constant need of comfort
From unknown familiarities.
A separate part of you
Detached from the world
Nothing to keep you grounded.
Missing soil can't hold you in place.
Patched up holes leave a mess.
Rusty computers
With information half lost
The rest recovered
In attempts to fix the memories
You'd rather not remember.
Old mixes with new
Sand replaces clay
Or clay replaces silt.
Soil that is lost
Has more likely been used elsewhere
To cover up other holes
Put a lid upon
The remains of disturbances.
It'll happen to you too
So that you may not
Further dig into rock while
Prospecting for gold.
Gold found in rivers
Washed along with the flow
Of time and space
Sieved into nuggets
By astronauts looking for moonrock
During a supernova.
Supernovas can go two ways:
A new star or
A black hole
That takes in everything
Leaving large blanks in your mind.
Your attempts at filling those blanks
With forceful words
Leaves you with bad grammar and
Too much punctuation.

Weirdly Normal

They were twins. Fraternal twins to be precise, seeing that they couldn’t have been identical although they looked it. You see, one of them was female and the other was a male. They were inseparable, always hanging around the other when they weren’t actually standing next to them.

Normal grew up to be the favourite amongst her peers and their parents. She almost always wore black. Even if she wore any other colour, she wasn’t one to experiment with her clothing and always played it safe. She was always dressed properly, her hair always in place, combed and pinned back. The only thing out of place was her fringe, and it irritated her to no end.

On the other hand, Weird, with his wild and curly messy hair, played pretend with himself, carrying out social experiments in his head. He always wore mismatched or rainbow socks, and ended up being made fun of for the very reason. Because he was bullied so much by his peers, he grew up to hate them and people in general, never really making any friends.

Though Normal was shy, she was always surrounded by people. They included her in all their circles, even though she was always standing in the wings and never in the spotlight. Weird always hung around Normal, never talking to anyone but her, never enjoying being in other people’s presence and was always lost in his own thoughts.

All through elementary school, Weird was bullied. For being different and simply too weird. And because Normal was too shy to speak up, there was no one to stop it. Their parents were too busy working to notice what was happening in their home. Although they spent time with their kids over the weekends, playing games and cooking together, there really never was time to sit down and talk about school or work. Weekends were days when they all just wanted to have fun and forget about the week. There were a few times Normal tried to talk about Weird’s situation and would bring up the topic, but Weird would always nudge her to keep quiet.

Middle school didn’t stop the bullying, but it did lessen it. While Normal found her place in society, Weird could never be a part of it. He would never fit in and he found he didn’t want to either. He also found that sticking to Normal helped in his self-preservation. As long as he was with her, no one could say anything. She never let anyone. He didn’t like it one bit, having to rely on her, but he admitted that getting only dirty glares was much better than the verbal attacks. She knew he hated relying on her and feeling like a coward, but she was happy that he wasn’t suffering as much anymore. If being with her helped him then she wouldn’t let him be alone.

When high school started, things were different. No one had time to bully Weird anymore. Frankly he was glad, as it allowed him to worry about things other than what was going to jump out at him as soon as he turned the corner. Everyone was stressing out, especially Normal. Normal fell ill more often and Weird was more than happy to take care of her. Weird still hung around Normal, as was his habit, even though no one bullied him anymore. No one noticed him anymore; they didn’t glare or try to trip him. It was as though he had never existed. Weird quite enjoyed his invisible status, even if it meant sitting in a corner, in his own little world, at someone’s party. Normal was invited to a lot of them, and she always dragged Weird along for company. She was always on the fringes of the groups she was a part of and it left her feeling lonely at times. Weird sensed this and was always dragged along willingly.

She never admitted it, and she never wanted to accept it, but there were times when she wanted to blame Weird for her loneliness. Because he was always hanging around she never had any close friends. And because she wanted to make sure nothing happened to him and so had him stay within her line of sight, she was angry at herself for blaming him. This predicament, and all the stress of school, affected her health adversely. Despite Weird nursing her to health each time she broke down, Normal never recovered completely. Her guilt ate at her continuously and in the end, she was so sick she had to take a year off before college.

Weird was adamant about taking a year off too and going to college with Normal. Normal wouldn’t agree to it, telling him she’d only feel guiltier if he did.

Reluctantly Weird got himself into an art college. Their plan had been to study biology and get into genetics or microbiology. But if he was going to do this alone, he thought he might as well choose to study what he really loved. It wasn’t easy being alone all of a sudden. He had to talk to people, interact with the very species that’d made fun of him for most of his life. But he found that people were like-minded and didn’t approve of bullying others just because they were different. He found that they each had their own eccentricities and that it didn’t stop them from doing anything. It didn’t stop them from being who they were.

Weird finally felt free. Most of all he was happy. Seeing his happiness, Normal felt happy too. She started to get better. She loved to hear Weird talking about his day and what he did with his friends. She loved that he could express himself so freely in front of people, his new friends and the faculty, but most of all their parents and even her. She loved that there were people Weird didn’t hate and could talk to. She loved that there were people who didn’t make fun of his mismatched or rainbow socks, who actually appreciated them instead. Weird finally felt like he belonged.

Two sides of a coin

Normal and Weird are the same.

Who is the odd one?

Spiral Staircase

It’s a staircase for sure.

There are steps one after the other and they’re decreasing (or increasing) in height at equal decrements (or increments).

It’s definitely a spiral. I’m quite dizzy from all the circular walking.

I’ve been on this spiral staircase for a while now. A long while.

I walk endlessly, taking the odd short break.

Time is an irrelevant factor, as is direction. As variables, I have no idea of either of their values.

Sometimes I can tell. The direction I mean. Whether I’m going up or down. Most days it doesn’t matter; I just keep walking aimlessly in that same direction without being able to figure if it’s up or down. Maybe I just don’t care enough to figure if it’s up or down. Then there are those few days when it’s absolutely certain which way I’m headed. And it’s almost always most likely to be downwards.

Of course it also depends on how you look at the entire setup. In all honesty I’m the only one with the key to the giant room. Sometimes, if I’m willing, I’ll let someone else do some poking around, although it never ends well. I always end up in tears and it doesn’t look or feel like anyone cleaned the place up. It’s as though they took a pile of the mess from one side of the room to the other. I would’ve done the same anyway, just alone, with no one else’s help.

Getting back to the setup. There’s the aforementioned giant room with one key. Within it is a small room (to which the someone elses are invited for a good poke and clean up) with a view to the setup that occupies the greater remainder of the giant room. When I say giant I mean giant to the power of unimaginable vastness. A never-ending spiral staircase (the entire setup; no really that is the entire setup) floats in this interstice of a space, contorting itself, unravelling slightly, nonetheless staying a spiral, filling up the space in entirety, almost as if consuming itself.

I, but a puny little pawn, walk along this staircase, climbing step after step.

One step, two step.

Go ahead a step.

Back-up a step.

Skip a step.

Fall off the step.

Step-by-step.

Step after step.

Step, step, step.

Step, step, step, step.

Step. Step. Step.

Step.

Unfortunately when I installed the Pay-per-view, I put on a permanent zoom lens. So now if I invite someone in, they can only see a close-up of where I am standing, instead of a breath-taking whole view, of which I have no patience in describing to others. A painting is only as beautiful if it has been viewed upon carefully, as a whole and as smaller parts that have come together.

While the viewing room that saw different people invited in had only that one lens to offer, the giant room itself had two tiny windows, which couldn’t really be seen even when inside the room. But if anyone did find them and gaze into either, they’d see a lot more than through the Pay-per-view. I can’t say many have dared to opt for that option. I also can’t say that I’ve given them that option. It’s more or less a discovery on each individual’s part.

Just as walking on the spiral was a discovery for me. I hadn’t noticed it until much after feelings of love towards staircases had consumed me enough to make me want to consciously ignore the elevator. Such disdain for an elevator I’ve never felt before. Now, even though I yearn for the elevator, I can’t seem to get off the staircase. Ever since I got on, I’ve been looking for the end so I may step off.

There are days I run around, under the impression that I’ve reached the end, having apparently seen it in the distance. An illusory glance. Sometimes I turn around and walk back, having forgotten a piece of the eternal candy that I would’ve left behind on a lonesome step. That candy is the only source of energy to keep me climbing those stairs.

On more days than is usual, I slide on the banister, whooshing past. These are the days I usually fall off as well and I have to pick myself up and trudge all the way back to pick up whatever might have fallen out of my pockets (all of them being pieces of eternal candy). The picking-up-after-myself part is super hard, but I like keeping things clean and so it’s more or less a necessity. And because I like cleaning, most of the time I’m glad I picked up all the pieces till the very step I slid off of.

Sometimes, I find myself going around in circles on the same step. When I suddenly realise this and stop, I sit down to regain my bearings, but by this time I’m so confused about which direction I must’ve come from (and there are only two to choose from) I just turn around some more, slowly this time, and whichever way I’m facing I walk in the opposite direction. I don’t walk backwards. I tried it once, it didn’t end well.

But there are some days I take my time on each step and walk slowly, step by step by step. These are the days I look out at the vastness. At the nothing that surrounds the staircase. At the tiny speck of a viewing room. At the someones inside the viewing room. At the two tiny pinholes of a windows. At the multitude of anyones outside the windows. It overwhelms me. And calms me. It makes me wonder if there are more staircases out there to climb. And if I’ll ever get to climb them.

I wonder if they are all spiral.