This doesn’t have to be difficult, it isn’t work. I said this to myself as I say a lot of random things all throughout the day. For the most part it is just me trying to come up with a good comeback or a convincing argument for an old conversation I might have had or would’ve had if I had said so and so, and that goes into its loop. At other times, like this, I catch my own mistakes. This place is not a place of work, not a place to prove anything, but to simply have a medium of conversation with the reader, who if not anyone else will definitely be my future self. So, from this newsletter on I promise to simply share, share my love and gratitude and endearment for the things I encounter. Or perhaps only giving the due recognition to what’s going on. It’s true that I have a dearth of words, of style, of lines flowing into each other like crocheting, however it’s also true that a lot of things have been going on which didn’t get my due recognition only because I have been waiting too long for the perfect words to show up. I still don’t have the worthy words but Ma made chicken biryani thrice this month and it was worthy to be written about. In fact this whole month has been a delight during meal time—from the arrival of gur, to having gur with gola ruti, Kachuri with peas stuffing, patishapta for Makar Sankranti, chingri malai curry, payeesh and shimoyee because the heart wanted it, they were all awaiting their due credits. Went out on Sunday evening to have my passport photo taken and came along with a 400 page notebook and it made me so happy, so it is worthy to be written about. Started going for morning walks yesterday, and I might soon fall out of it but it’s worthy to be written about when its ongoing. On yesterday’s walk near the playground I stood to watch the yellow jelly-like orb rise from behind the treetops, the sun looked about double the size I see from my window. Today as I turned from my lane, I saw a flight of yellow into the greenery of the neighbour’s lawn. My sight followed the path of the flight to find a yellow and black feathered bird perched on a branch. The morning walks these past two days have given me a good hour before breakfast to do some reading. Right now I’m juggling several storylines across genres. I delay the reading by letting the laziness get the better of me whilst being prompted to pick up new ones. It took me over a month to read Train to Pakistan, a only 200 page novel, not because it was difficult—it was rather really simple and absolutely beautiful, not because I wanted to savour it, but because I knew something bad was going to happen in it, something bad on religious lines—as it was on India’s partition, it has become a triggering subject to read about in these past 4-5 years, and for the same reasons it is worthy to be written about.
I’ve figured recently, while reading Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, that abuse and violence in the name of religion is triggering to me irrespective of the culture or country. Something about the misuse of this particular manmade concept sucks out hopefulness from me. I have stopped reading all the comments of the politicians, as it serves no purpose to know how deep the valley is when you know already it is deep enough to kill you.
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This month, or perhaps it’s the new year, stripped off the listlessness and fears I was shrouded by since November, and in place covered with indifference. It’s not the indifference that drags you down but neither pulls you up—an absolute indifference. I notice things but none of it leads anywhere, all like signs to dead end streets, like sand dunes to be swept off of significance in minutes. So now I watch and note as they are, each sign listed one under the other, each discreet passing moments separated by commas. List making became quietly a part of my routined daydreaming, perhaps a byproduct of having too many discordant thoughts lately or could be traced back to the strong impression made by the ‘On lists’ chapter from Essayism by Brian Dillon. This newsletter for example has been fleshed out of my list of gratitude I wrote as the first entry in my new notebook. As Dillon puts it,“the list, if it’s doing its job, always leaves something to be invented or recalled, something forgotten in the moment of its making.” We confide in lists when we suffer from dead ends in our mindscape, then wait for each entry to open its portal to the world it has locked behind. For the past three years I’ve listed the books read and movies watched, and in turn it has helped me read and watch better. Other more day to day listing—of food, shopping, to-dos, habits, obsessions, current favourites, fears, dreams, things I love, things I forget—never got past the first week because of the obvious reason of ‘missing out’ on an item or a day. The chapter on lists ends on this particular trait of this form:
Nothing seems easier, says Perec, than making (or is it writing?) a list; but it is really a complex undertaking. You are bound to forget something, and you will be tempted to give up, or let the thing tail off, and write ‘etc’ – ‘but the whole point of an inventory is not to write etc.’
Walking through dead ends is good enough too, when you’re only on a morning walk. But soon the day will grow warmer, the shades will recede, the shadows will be small but sharper. All this indifferent rumination works for the early hours before the day breaks into chores. It is always better to find creative ways to get chores done than trying to delay them somehow. That way there’s time left before the sun sets to sit by yourself and make ample lists. Lists like groceries that are non-durables, lists like journals you can go back to, lists like constellations that tells your story, lists like mother’s food as a curated self care and love.
Recommendations
The Glass Essay by Anne Carson
Ada Limón on Preparing the Body for a Reopened World
How Scribbling in the Margins Transformed My Reading (Book Lovers, an article that caught my attention now that I am always leaving my mark in the books I read. So, that lead me to find two more articles: Book Lovers Fear Dim Future for Notes in the Margins (a fear I don't personally have as I like taking notes digitally as well but also that physical books are still valuable products) and Scribbling in the Margins.
Stephanie Delpon on Books you need to read in 2022
Laura Jackson walks us through her London home
I made a playlist called soft summer.
Until next newsletter,
Enjoy list making!