Warming My Cold Feet.

See the thing about fear is that it can seem bigger than you.

What’s funny is that most fears actually start as tiny little thoughts. Minor what-ifs, really. They sit there, festering and gestating, coming and going, becoming bigger, asking for more attention and whining if you don’t give them any. Far from giving them attention, we ignore them. Ask them to bugger off and come another day.

And yoohoo, they do. At which point, we have the audacity to actually be surprised. We expect the another day, to be an other day that is not today. We act petulant. We keep asking the fear to go away, until such a time as when it becomes louder and more demanding, and then we try to negotiate with it about its it next ETA.

Like a deadline that we’ve forgotten, we’re astounded, annoyed, and frustrated when it shows up again. We then try to actively, and rather stupidly, run away from it.

Stupid, I say, because the one thing that we cannot do (and yet, most of us do do), is run away from anything in our own minds. The longer we run from it, or hide it under our beds, the bigger the imaginary monster gets. It grows in size, new and shiny claws pop out, and if you leave it unattended long enough, it starts to speak in strange, scary tongues, with added spooky background music for effect.

I had one of these episodes recently. Mine was called Cold Feet (here on referred to as CF). Unlike the most well-known type of CF (the wedding bells variety), this one was rather unusual, and therefore one that I took time to recognize. You see, quite contrary to the wedding bells variety, where you’re shitting bricks about committing your whole life to someone and wondering if you’re making the right decision, my CF was my fear of committing to myself.

Surprised? Yeah, me too.

Here’s the story of my CF—

A couple of months ago, I finally decided to do the thing I’ve been thinking about doing for a while now— live by myself. I had been running around house to house, broker to broker, landlord to landlord, on my new-house hunting expedition. I had done this before, but the difference this time, was that I had to do it all by myself. As I’ve outlined in this post, I’ve always had a problem doing anything by myself (or rather, without company—which if you really think about it, is a different kind of problem, really).

When I started this, I wasn’t sure if I was looking for the right things in these houses, or if I had been talking to the right people, or making the right decisions. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to answer the preposterous questions that landlords ask you.

(Example1: Why does a single girl in Bombay want to live alone?

Example 2: Will you have many parties in the house?

Example 3: Will you get married and move away soon, you think?).

I also wasn’t sure if I would know how to pick the right refrigerator, or know if I got duped while getting the carpenter to do some minor repairs (actually, this one I still don’t have answers to).

I was just beginning to realize what I’d taken on.

It hit me, full scale, one morning a few days before I was to move in. I was supposed to meet the landlordman that evening to give him 11 post-dated cheques, and sign a contract with ONLY my name on it (how adult is that!).

And hence came the full descent of the CF. Because, dear god, will I be able to, or more importantly— do I really want to do this! ALL.BY.MYSELF!

Eating by myself, cooking myself, handing all responsibilities- big and small- BY.MYSELF. And the worst of them all, SLEEPING all by myself in a house. Oh, the horror!

I’m feeling hot and cold even as I write this (a watered down version compared to that day, I’m pleased to report).

But here’s what I did to battle my CF (it was the plan for today anyway. I believe in baby steps)— I wrote. I wrote about how this felt.

As I wrote it, I felt like I was, in part, conquering my fear. Or rather, telling it, that it’s silly, by doing something that reminds me of why I’m doing this at all. I was reminding me of the good stuff.

I sat by myself in an empty apartment with a suitcase full of books (it was the first and only thing I brought there that evening :) ), and my laptop, and I typed away in a silent house. I listened to the trees rustling outside, felt the wind come in (I have HUGE windows in my living room, whee!), and reveled in the sound of the tippy-tap of the keyboard.

I realized that this was one of the things I’ve wanted for the last few months. Nay, this is what I’ve craved for.

I’ve wanted silence. I’ve wanted just me. I’ve wanted my words, and my very own world.

And so here’s the conclusion to my theory on fears— you don’t banish them, and you don’t even need a grand plan to conquer them. Instead, what would maybe work, is to just show them the good stuff. Tell them that while they are very much real, so is the good stuff.

   

Relationship Power Play

Remember that song Quit Playing Games With My Heart? Yes, the Back Street boys one- don't pretend to not know it- you know you know it. In fact, like the rest of us teens who grew up in the 90s, you probably know every lyric and every ummm baby, nanannaa... oh yeaaah! Besides how could you ever forget that cute-as-hell Nick Carter (I don't know how I thought that- now I feel like taking a scissor to his hair and asking him to grow a pair)?

Yeah, so the first time I heard that song it meant something completely different than it means now, more than a decade later. Then (I was probably 13/14), it was just a song with someone else's heartbreak and the song and it's tune, and the band of boys were cooler than the lyrics. A few years later, with a real heartbreak up my sleeve, it meant relating to it a little more (although it was still too a peppy pop song to really feel it, and a ballad-like one like the whiny Alllll By Myseeeeeeeeeelfffff was more effective with the water works more than a BB song).

Anyway, coming to the Now- that song, or at least that line means a whole different thing- it's feels like they should sing Quit Playing Games with my Mind. 

It's all about Power Play these days, isn't it? I don't know if it's just me (and my fabulous and infamous bad luck with men), or if it's the age (late 20s and you're more jaded), or if it's the place I live in (Bombay with it's really screwed up artists and actors and what not), or if it's a combination of all three. But the thing is, these days I seem to be running into people who just want to get into a relationship to make themselves feel like they're in control.

Which, by the way, is such a retarded concept. If you're not in control of yourself and your life from the start, then how the hell do you expect to be in control when you've added another whole human being to the mix? In this kind of relationship, one of two kind of mind games happen (or god forbid, both- in which case you must really have it bad)- 

a) the guy is completely into you, and he is fully and absolutely involved and invested in your life (which you love- who doesn't love the attention?), and then suddenly, BAM! the guy expects to mind control you. He will tell you what to do and what you can't/ shouldn't do and then next thing you know (slowly but surely), he thinks he owns you and your mind, and it leaves you wondering if it's he's completely lost the plot and/or if this is his way of validating his painful existence. 

b) the guy is into you- sometimes SO much and sometimes it's all meh, not so much. Aloof be-th his middle name-th, and he's cat-and-mousing you all over the place. This kind of guy will give a little, take a lot more, and then disappear for a bit. Sometimes he'll give a lot and before it even fully reached your hand, he'll snatch it right back. He'll be more inconsistent and undependable than the weather in New York. He'll have you guessing alllll the time, and this way he'll be on your mind all the time. The idea is that he has all the power. He'll be nice when wants to, and highly ambiguous when he wants to. Mind you, he'll very rarely be mean directly, so you can't point any fingers at him, but he'll make sure he's playing those games with your brain all the time, because you see like the other guy above, he too needs to do this to feel powerful, in control and good about himself. 

Why is power such an important part of a relationship? Don't get me wrong- the above two examples of men, they could just as easily be women (although I've honestly heard of rarer cases with women)- greed for power and being in control is gender neutral. But I realllly wonder- why is the world so hungry for power- whether it's politics, at work or in bed? Doesn't real power come from within yourself? Do you have to make someone else feel small in order to feel like the more powerful one? 

All I can do is roll my eyes, and stay as far away from these power plays as possible.

On the rocks.

"With my back towards the whole world, I sit hoping for some sanity. Facing my fears like a deep calm sea."

(In the words of new Bombay bestie, AC)

Bombay Blues

If someone had asked me if I thought my life would be so different (in every single aspect) 6 months ago, I would’ve laughed, called them dreamers and asked them to go write the script of a K series prime-time drama (sans the bahu and saas). Seriously, my life has felt very much like the complicated plot of a movie/ book over the last six months.

The best part of it? My salvation? It’s got to be my move to the big (bad?) world of Bombay. 

When I say Bombay Blues, I mean it in two ways-

1. Blues as in sad. Like Monday blues. Like it depresses me kinda blues.

Despite the population of 12.4 million, there are times when you feel so very alone, you can’t help but cringe. Every man and woman (and child!) is on a mission every single day. If you’re in their way, they’ll push and shove until you’re moved aside and out of the way. Life moves so quick here you don’t realise how Monday started and how you arrived at Friday. You live life from one taxi to another, from one train to another, from one morning to the other. Never stopping, never skipping a beat.

There are days when I realise that I don’t do anything other than work and commute. That I had zero  social contact with another human being. In those ten minutes between when my head hits the much-sought-for pillow and I actually fall asleep, I realise the impact of the lack of social contact and the sense of loss I feel for it.

And I feel slightly bad.

Just for those ten minutes.

When I wake up the next morning, it’s forgotten and I just get on with it.

     2.Blue- blue as in my favourite colour. As in the colour I associate with mad-happy-grinning. As in the mood that Bombay has me in most of the time.

I’ve always had some of my best memories in Bombay. With a boy I fancied, with crazy girlfriends, with cousins at weddings. But for some reason I didn’t want to live here. Not ‘now’ anyway. I thought if I actually lived here my illusion of Bombay being the city of dreams would be shattered. I kept making excuses- ‘No, no. It’s too hot.’  ‘It’s waaaaaaay too expensive, I’ll move only when I’m making mad-crazy money like the Khans do.’ (ha, dream on)

‘And life has a funny, funny way of helping you out,’ sings Alanis M, and I agree. When I was going through what maybe the most confused and lost time in my life ever, it sent me Bombay. And that too, to work at a super fun place and hang out with some of my most favourite people who live here. I think back now and I’m wondering why the hell I made excuses to not move here.

It’s like being in an amusement park/ circus. You have the crazy-fast-head-is-spinning ride that is everyday life, the freak shows and the clowns, the supremely good street food, the magicians (there’s so much jhol in this city, you can’t help but smile in wonder), the entertainers, the show-offs, the ridiculously good looking people...

And in the middle of it all, when you stand still for one minute, you realise you can be anonymous and still feel like you’re just a part of the madness as everything and everyone around you is. It’s a beautiful, smile-bringing, liberating, welcoming feeling.

In the three short weeks that I’ve been here, Bombay has me wrapped around its little finger. I’m dancing to its beats and I’ve discovered despite the heat, the dirt, the super fast pace, what was previously just a school-crush girl is turning into falling, spiralling helplessly in love affair!