The Unforgettable Desire

You write or share a post about depression. A couple of people ask, Are you alright? Yes, you say. You add a few more lines just to assure them. You find it difficult to lie even to a stranger until they ask, How are you? The answer is a lie you’ve excelled at. It often makes you wonder that you certainly need help but you cannot accept it from most people. You need to have a history with them, a history free of hurt, a history full of belief and faith. You need to know that they understand what it is that you’re going through, you need to know that they have done their research before providing help. Many people, family and friends, have offered help. You are grateful. But you have no patience to explain them what you’re going through. You perform a one hour stand up act, making them laugh at your experiences, lessons and inability to move on. You say it in a way that they are dumbstruck. All they ask in the end is, Are you sure you aren’t feeling this because you have read too...

If you haven’t watched Grey’s Anatomy yet, you should. It is a test of your commitment. I am a highly committed person. I might find labels uncomfortable, but I don’t doubt my commitment. I have recently learnt or am still learning to have healthy boundaries in order to not feel like someone who is so there for people that she doesn’t have her own back. All I am saying is Grey’s Anatomy is worth the pain if you describe yourself as broken, empty and fucked up. Grey’s is the light that passes through your crevices to heal you, if you allow yourself to.  The first time you watch the series, you’ll just want Meredith and Derek to get together, it’s all about their romance. But, if you pay close attention, then you’ll also notice the creators’ views towards the politics – they have made it very clear beginning from Bush to Trump. They took up the #metoo movement, renamed the Harper Avery Award to Catherine Fox award because we all know who did the work and who got an award a...

Death continues to remain the element of my fantasy. Although it isn’t as dominant as it used to be when I was a kid. The last page of my copy of Midnight’s Children has my understanding of death scribbled – a thought that perhaps occurred to me while reading the book. I am not the one who deals with death with poise. During my teenage I had learnt that there is absolutely no point talking about how someone’s death affects me. The response from people was – it’s a part of life, you should know better, you have gone through so much. It was terrible to hear these words. Does any amount of experience help us be okay with death? A month ago when a relative died, I was amazed that I didn’t react to it. I had not known her closely, and the little that I knew wasn’t enough to make me grieve. I went about my day, checking up on my mother who stayed up the whole night. I was far from feeling any sense of loss. It put me in a dilemma – have I really gotten used to death? As I thought abo...