The Hypocricy of Self

Mean bitches don't take advice: good or bad. They do give plenty of it, though.

 

It is always difficult to sit through an "advising for your own good, beta" session. Plenty of people want to give advice because that is all that they are good at. "Do this", "don't do that", "go there", "don't go there", "you'll suffer plenty, you damn bitch", or "you'll burn in hell, for that, you ugly witch". I've heard the "U" and over-18 versions of it all.

Instead of remembering anything useful from school, what we learn is to give advice. Our parents and teachers are excellent source materials who teach us advice methods and its language. As people who have failed in some aspect of life, they "know best". Of course. When you are below 18 25 30 unmarried and living under the good graces of your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, relatives, servants, neighbours, and passers-byes, you do not have much choice. However, when you turn 18, the situation changes drastically.

At 18, the government itself entitles you to give advice. The right to vote gives you the freedom to flaunt your knowledge (or lack) of the right idiot who is fit to lead the country. The right to a driver's license gives you the liberty to advice yourself to park wherever you wish and abuse in any number of tongues, including Klingon (which people will reciprocate). These freedoms come with the fundamental duty to exploit them. Hail democracy!

The brilliance of giving advice is that you don't need to know or care about the person you're advising. It comes naturally to you after undergoing 18 years of intense conditioning. You can't easily shake off such mental manipulation. It becomes a part of who you are and what you become.

Dear reader, keeping all the above in mind, is it wise to insult my advice-sharing? It is tough to judge oneself before, during, or after advising someone. In fact, it is impossible to even know how and when you switch to "advice mode". But, being a humble person, I have decided to list my hypocrisies and make you all aware of what you are doing in life, and to stop doing it. You aren't benefiting anyone by telling them what to do. We live in a world of idiots who need to insert their fingers in a live socket to understand how electricity works. It's this curiosity that has got us so far up the evolutionary chain. There's no climbing down.

1. "Stop Being My Mother": Being a woman, elder sister, girl friend, girlfriend, best friend, friend, colleague, classmate, and Metro traveller, I hear this phrase almost once every month. Including from my own parents. For all the goth that I tried to imbibe as a teen, this is my biggest failure. I try not to think from my ovaries when I am put in a situation where the only solution I have is a "mom-type answer".
2. "Thanks for the advise": Plenty of times, I have gone on a lengthy monologue and received this response. It's almost always sarcastic in nature. Most people already know whatever you're advising them about. And Google has left no stone unturned. So why do I still feel the tell people again and again about what they should be doing, based on my life's experience?
3. "I don't need you to tell me how to live my life": I love this response mostly because I love saying it all the time I receive advise. A single lady, portly or chubby in nature, and devoid of fair skin or an infectious smile will always receive advise on how to "change her life around". Because that's what she needs: people telling her that she's been living her life wrong all these years. She should have been born looking like Katrina Kaif, with Indra Nooyi's salary, Preity Zinta's smile, Gauri Khan's luck, Marie Curie's brain, and Sonia Gandhi's persistence. Sure, one person can be all that and marry some rando who you think is a "good match"? Would you like some advise on that matter?
4. "You think you know everything?": The answer to that is "Well, obviously!" Friends, and friends who are family, ask me this question all the time. As if! Based on the vast knowledge I've collected over the years, I have the authority to reflect and respond on certain matters that require the level of expertise that I possess.
   Shit, I sound like my elders. Forget whatever I said.
5. "I think you should...": Of course, you should do exactly as I tell you to because my pompous ass is superior to yours. I vomit in my mouth every time I realise I'm saying these words because I have hated being moulded into a "role model". People should be free to choose whoever they want to follow, or not follow. Freedom is free, but getting it so impossible, thanks to all the roadblocks in our way, set by our parents and ourselves.

In conclusion, I have no conclusion. This is a post against advise, and I shall keep it that way. I cannot propagate what I so despise. Do propagate this blog though because I can earn money if you do.

Struggle: Every Minute, Every Moment

It is the new year once again, and everyone is contemplating on what to do in the coming year. Honestly, this is the only area in my life where I did not procrastinate. I have been asking myself what I am doing in life and where do I see my life going for the whole of last year. Too many metaphorical slaps on my face, too many face palms, heartbreaks, and disappointments later, I am no closer to finding a suitable answer to my questions.

Disappointment is so disappointing. The despair that it brings is crushing; it stops you from going forward and forces you to feel bad about the choices you have made that led you to that particular disappointing moment. There have been so many such moments that my whole life feels like a failure. I can't have done wrong all the time, could I? After all, half of my decisions were not my own but where what everyone around me expected me to do.

Two years ago, I would have happily taken advise from my parents, elders, and friends. I was a very pleasing person. But that aggravated my suffering. Realising that my freedom was being compromised for the sake of others, I decided to put a stop to things the way that they were. I stopped respecting the advise and views of others coming to me. They said it was for my benefit, but I realised that my "own benefit" could benefit only if I was the one making all the decisions.

However, I am not totally independent of responsibilities or social sensibilities. Not yet, at least. I still live with my parents, I have to work hard to keep a job and earn money to live a certain way. I still have to clothe myself and keep up appearances with friends and other family. The benefit to my own well-being has come very slowly. Every day is a struggle and the despair is soul-crushing. It is not easy to live life the way only you want it. But it was never easy to make everyone happy, after all, everyone is a critic.

The biggest doubter of my own capabilities has at least been shut down. I am more confident without all that externally placed doubt on my shoulders. I have proved again and again that I am better than my doubters, and each day is a joy to prove it once more. Trust me, I'm not one to gloat but as a stubborn individual, I do enjoy my small victories. And as a dear friend would say, I love proving people wrong. I can't help putting up a mirror to the doubters and show them their own weaknesses. They can't bring me down, if I simply do not care.

I do not care about a lot of things and I can see that from my emotional detachment from people, causes and things. This detachment has been gradually increasing each year. I do fear that one day, I will not be able to feel anything and I fear what will happen that day. I hope it does not come to some drastic measure. So far, I have stayed away from any form of death or illness, but the mind is more complicated than ones own understanding.

I think that if I am able to care about small things and a couple of people, I can keep the emotional part of me alive. A good cry once every few months would help, I think. And I also hope that the people I truly love, but do not always convey my feelings to, do not give up on me. Their hope is the beacon I need to tackle my doubters and self-doubt. I feel things will be fine in the coming year. I feel that they despair will end one day. I just do not know how. For now, I can live in the ignorance of the unknown. I just tell myself that it's something to look forward to, a certain event in the future. That's the only prediction that I am 100% sure about.

Ask Me Anything But Not How I'm Doing

It's funny how people close to you are so concerned about your well-being. I find it endearing and sometimes it makes me go all "aww..." very loudly. That is emotion for you. I do not have a higher compliment for love or concern shown to me by others.

The reason I love being emotionally closed off to others' concern is because I find a lot of the "concern" to be fake and a formality. As it is the only form of conversation I have been taught, I also do the same. Not surprising, it makes me hate myself and I can never ask that question without gritting my teeth or hitting myself in the head. I do not like to inflict the question "How are you doing?" on friends, colleagues, acquaintances, or strangers.

How I am doing is a personal question. Do I want to tell people that I am learning how to get by in life one day at a time? Should I tell anyone that a former boss of mine was a prick in the ass? Does anyone need to know that I enjoy travelling in the metro every day while going to work?

I actually want to keep all of that to myself and show that in my writing. I've never been much of a talker as I've always let my creations speak about myself. Be it the clothes, Lego houses, drawings, illustrations, photography or writing. I am proud of each of my works because they are a part of my soul. It is very personal, but that is exactly what I choose to share with the public.

So, these days, whenever someone asks me that question, I roll my eyes or take a deep breath. I quickly run the updates of my life in my mind: what can I share with this person? Here are some of the options:

1. I made amazing pasta over the weekend and I gorged on it so much that I farted myself to sleep.
2. I visited a hill station and got piss drunk. I think I may be an alcoholic.
3. I was constipated for the whole of last week but then I ate some funny food the day before yesterday and now my system is all clean.
4. I've had a dry spell for such a long time that I had to fondle the girls for some self-love.
5. I am fine. My mother is fine. My father is fine. My brother is also fine. And my job is also going fine. There are no problems in my life. Thank you for asking.

Honestly, I am not trying to shock people or anything. But I have a limit of politeness and it usually does not last for very long. Sooner than later, my honest-but-potty mouth takes over and my brain keeps spewing stuff that people do not want to hear. I mean, I shouldn't be telling my former school teachers that I cannot get a guy because they fear my hyper-level libido or smart talk. I should not tell the priest in the church where my parents force me to go that bra shopping is difficult because they only seem to be making lacy or leopard-print stuff these days. I mean, there is a limit to honesty in a social setting. Something on the lines of "don't talk at all".

I do wish I could get away with my honesty. It doesn't bother me that I can only speak the truth to the public but lie very conveniently to my parents/teachers/bosses about the naughty stuff that I am up to. It seriously doesn't bother me. But people tell me otherwise. Friends who genuinely fear that I may get a fatwa or a slap on the face. The ghost in my room. The angelic version of me sitting on my right shoulder. They all wish the best for me and tell me to shut up or make stuff up when I am bombarded with this dreaded question.

So, how am I really doing? Seriously? Don't ask or I'll slap you on the nose bridge.

What Sort of a Person Are You?

I think I am a nice person. Most of the times. And yet when I think about the way I behave with people around me, I doubt myself. How nice am I? Is holding the door open for someone considered nice? Yes. Is letting an old person get on a bus before you nice? Yes. Is apologising to someone after you step on their toes nice? Yes. Where then am I going wrong?

Thing is, I might be more than a bit sarcastic. In my attempt to be funny, I may come across as rude sometimes. That's OK, comedians are sometimes nasty. That's where we get all our good material from. All the pain and suffering we endured as children, and then adults, has to be projected onto someone in our present--loved ones included.

There is a reason for the pain and suffering and the internalisation of it all. How do you express to people your true feelings when all they expect of you is to make a joke of it? They expect that you will know how to make light of a serious situation. Sometimes they are also angry when you do that. They know that they should not expect anything apart from jokes of you. That is your job, after all.

Internalising anger, pain, hurt, emotions, and true feelings is bad. Look at me, I tried to eat my way out of depression. Six months and many awful looks in the mirror later, I am still in the same spot. I am fatter than ever and I do not how to stop myself. Once upon a time, I starved myself for 2 months and I was only happy when that ordeal ended. It involved a guy and the moment I came to know that he was not interested in me, my stomach sang with joy! It meant that it would see food again. My colon wasn't too happy about the junk I piled onto it for the coming weeks, but it helped me ease the pain I felt emotionally.

I am still eating. I do not tell my friends what I truly feel. I listen to them talk about their problems and I can never bring up the courage to talk about what I am going through. Somehow, when I hear them talk, I feel like my problems are nothing compared to theirs. Depression really isn't such a big deal compared to job stress, or husband troubles, or weight loss issues, or getting over an ex. Right?

I know that I am my own top priority but when I am busy stuffing this body, who is watching me? Sure, friends, family and colleagues say that I should do something about my fat. But what do I do? I cannot starve myself even though I eat normal portions. I do not feel comfortable exercising because I cannot come to terms with why I am doing this to myself and why I want it to stop. 

Every time I go out, I cannot stop but feel pitiful of the fact that I have no one to tell how my day went. People who ask me that question are content with an OK. They would not like me to elaborate. Anyways, what would I say? "I feel like my soul is being crushed into a million pieces each day and I do not have a clue how to repair it?" Yes, I see how that conversation would go. Awkward silence all the time.

So I make attempts to write everything down but even that doesn't fully help with the depression. The sadness lingers like the smell of garbage. It rots and rots your soul until you feel so helpless that you give up and find the smell fascinating. By then, you end up smelling like sadness. Who wants to hang out with sadness? Clearly no one who is sane. Not even myself. Depression hurts and it adds to the pain which already put you in a depressing phase. How do you turn your life around? There seems to be no rock-bottom like in the movies. The spiral just keeps going down endlessly. How does one make it stop?

Well, I internalised my anger and I make fun of people. I tell people everything is just fine and I ask them to tell me their problems. I act and act and act and never stop. I'm bad. I'm terrible. This is the worst thing. Feeling bad about myself and still not being able to help my situation? What could be worse? Being in Sudan, most definitely. See, I never stop. Depression is lesser than hunger and civil war, evidently! What a moron I am for thinking otherwise!

Landing in Shit, Mud, Garbage & More Garbage

Adventures in Delhi never fail to surprise. Just getting out of home is an adventure. Staying at home is also an adventure. The maid says or does so many amusing things that you can't help tape her mouth but you keep on listening to her anyways. She's like crack to a non-addict. Weird, but surprisingly an experience worth having.

So, getting out of home and experiencing Delhi. Well, I find that my dad gives the best driving experience. He's an absolute bore, so you have to drive the conversation. But since I'm the family comedian, I know that it is my job to keep things cool and to make everyone laugh. It's OK, they laugh. Though some of my best lines sometimes go over their head. 

OK, so driving in the car with dad. He has a real knack of making sure he stops the car for you to get off at the most amusing places. When I switched jobs in June last year, I travelled in the metro. That meant that dad had the job of dropping me off at the station and picking me up if I got late. Firstly, he ensures that he is the best dressed man when he gets out of home. Not a hair is out of place because he knows that the women are watching him. Yes, he thinks he is young enough to be my brother. (Sigh!)

So, what was it like being dropped by my dad? Well...interesting. There was hardly a day when I didn't raise my eyebrow at him. Most of the days, I would say, "Dad, you have a real talent for 'landing'."

I do not know if it is talent or his internal, male GPS honing system, but it never works. Whenever he dropped me at the metro station, he would stop directly next to a puddle if it was raining. On dry days, he would stop right next to the pile of garbage that the street sweepers would pile up on sides of pavements where they know no one steps.

Well, everyone except me.

My dad has a real knack for these things. Come mud, garbage, sewerage spill, dog poop, or cow dung, my dad has stopped right next to them all. Recently he topped it all. I opened the car door and put out my left foot. I know that I should always look down, so I did this time too. Since this was in the morning, the sight that greeted my left foot was fantastic: a used condom.

When my dad does the usual "stopping the car in top of garbage", I look back at him with disgust and have him drive forward a few inches to "clearer ground". When that is not possible, I do some acrobatic stretching and long-jump out of the car. This time, I rolled my eyes. And I opted for long jump.

When I looked back to close the door, he was grinning. That's his way of saying "Have fun at work!" Yeah, right! Like that ever happens. I could not really say, "Dad, you topped the car stopping list today." I navigated carefully out of the way. For a condom, it was in quite a good shape. "Recently used", I thought. "Hope the wearer had fun." Well, when you have to start a day by not stepping on a used condom, I believe that positive thoughts like these help. After all, worse could have happened. I may have stepped on dirty semen and ruined a pair of lovely leather shoes. Now that would be a real shame.

Depression Sucks at the Soul

I was not clinically diagnosed as depressed but you know that there are symptoms. As a formerly sane individual, the patterns of my behaviour took a complete dive. It was not because I had changed as a person. I was still the same, goofy person. It was what I was projecting and internalising. That was the most dangerous part.

When you are in that state of mind, your gender doesn't matter. Your mannerisms and behaviours are more or less the same. Drinking, eating, laziness, dissatisfaction, aloofness.... I could go on but it makes me sad. It is not as if everything has completely become alright suddenly. It's screwed and very badly screwed.

And everything in the world is seeming to be alright. That's ok, people should really try hard at that. Facades are so important. Trust me, I know. It saved me from telling people how screwed I was.

Internalising my anger, disappointment, sadness and hurt was something I was a natural at. I would pluck at my cuticles and rip off the sensitive skin. I still do that. Once the skin is all out, you can't eat with your hands. The spices in the food hurt. Even salt does. The pink, exposed flesh hurts physically. Yet, when I am having an idle moment, I press at it and relive the pain. Just checking that I'm still human.

Pain is really bad. It hurts physically as well. The mental agony of my experiences are not easy to put into words. Where would I even start? People have mostly been good to me. So how do I tell them that there is something wrong? My facade of being a happy person and a sane individual is going to be diminished. What will happen after that?

Sometimes I think that my future is going to like those bleak, apocalyptic zombie movies. No, I won't be the lone survivor fighting off zombies and trying to save stranded humans. The scenes that I remember are always the lonely walks through the deserted city. That is my mind. There is a lot of clutter but all of it is important. Those desolate buildings give my messed up mind its character. How can I bring those walls down? Each window pane is a memory that looks down on me with pity. What am I doing in this town? I should be somewhere where life exists, where existence is not always at risk. A place which values human life and where there are people to help protect you.

That's in my fantasies. A part of what keeps me going are those questions my memories ask me. Is that a good thing? Probably not. I dream too much. I read too much. I see too much. How does one stop doing all of these and still be sane?