On forgetting that I write

Hello keyboard. Once upon a time I used to use the keyboard to translate the tiny packets of information in my brain to virtually written words in the word document.

Somehow that faded. I started writing lesser and lesser. And lesser.

And yet lesser—to the stage where I felt lazy to write anything at all.

I remember how dramatically I used to flaunt my habit of writing daily; I used to say I cannot live without writing, and writing daily this, and writing daily that.

I don’t remember clearly how I fell out of this habit. Might be the dry spell of human interaction when I stayed in Guwahati with my parents during the holidays. Might be the lack of a keyboard and a holy plug point while staying in the hostel during the college days. Might be the fear of being in trouble due to the several stupid rules in the hostel I used to stay in.

Anyway, I needed to write. It feels good. It feels like collecting my little pieces from here and there like we collect eggs during Easter. Fun times.

Today is the first day of a new year. New year, old me. My new year resolution? Not losing myself.

Speaking of new, I experienced a lot of new things the past year, a few of them were not to anyone’s taste, a few pretty satisfying, a few extremely ordinary, while the remaining one or two magical. Magical will be the right word, yes.

Besides this, I have been doodling quite much.

I have been an instagrammer who is crazy about getting others to see her photos.

I have doubted myself when others trusted in me.

I have been waiting for my phone to pop a wanted notification.

I have been slapped uncertainty on my face.

I have tasted freedom.

I have received a lot of love and support, a lot more than I would have asked for, but longed for day and night.

And for now, look at this cat with a parachute, descending cutely. We named him Doodle. We hope you like him.

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Old and new

I’ve been in Guwahati since the last two days, after spending a bit more than a couple of months in the scariest hostel I’ve ever heard of.

Two days back when I arrived at home, I went around like a curious ferret, hopped around like a bunny in a hurry, looked at all the comfort around with eyes as wide open as that of an energetic owl, drooled like a hungry dog and drank water like a camel and behaved like a cute monkey, as always (right, A? *an imperfect wink*).

Drinking water like a camel has nothing to do with my life at that hostel. I wish the constant fear of dwindling charge in my phone had nothing to do with my life at that hostel either. I wish.

Damn, the only thing this new hostel life has taught me is that I must keep on complaining about the thousands of problems in my life, is that I must look at the positive sides of things. And I’m doing a pretty great job already! It’s glee in its glacial form on my face when I tell others about the rules of my hostel and people are united in saying “why are you even considering staying another day in that hell hole?”

People also consider me brave or something. And I pull off a bit of swag.

Anyway, let’s not make the present as sad as our hostel. I came to Guwahati two days back, and trust me, it’s like I can feel a cushion everywhere. A metaphorical one, obviously. Let me list a few things:

-A plug point to charge my phone, in the same floor, in the same room! For the entire vacation I won’t have to descent four floors to plug my darling phone, for crying out loud!

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I kissed the switch board containing the magical plug point. So much emotion overboard.

-I can plug in any device I want to on this plug point here. My power bank, or my hair curler, or my little white lamp. Anything. No one will charge me a ridiculous fine for charging anything other than my phone. Anyway, I don’t have a hair curler, but the rule against charging power banks is just plain preposterous.

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This is how we charge our phones and laptops. Yes, this is how. And don’t even get me started on the side of the story that anyone can steal any of our only electronic belongings.

I kissed my little white lamp too.

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And now it is red and has kept its little head bowed with joyful embarrassment. Gosh, lamps these days are so sensitive.

-I’m writing this stupid post at 11.45 pm. It is post 10 pm. And the lights in the room are still on! Can you believe it? I believe in miracles once again!

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FYI, this is me dancing.

-Also, I can charge my phone now, whenever I want to! No No-charging-phone-after-10-pm policy works here, FYI. I feel like an ultra important person already.

There were many other rules. But I’m too sleepy to write them all now. Oh, and the only luxurious thing that belonged to me in the hostel was a small stack of wet face wipes. It was so cool and moderately but perfectly wet that I used to feel someone had dipped those wipes in the magical solution of comforts you find at the place you call home. Or to break it down further, it felt like I was slapping cool slices of cucumber on my face on a hot day.

You see, I had all the things I am grateful for now, three and half months back. Staying in a hostel (read: the one I have to stay in for some time) has taught me the value of these things. I’ve been acquainted with this kind of a lifestyle since when I can remember, but this seems pretty new to me. Old is the new ‘new’.

Well, that’s it for now. Have a great and bright and kind Monday! Lol.

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Oh, and here I present a picture of two cows in deep meditation. You are welcome to join them to find your inner peace and the meaning of life. 

 

No, not, no way in hell, never lonely

So, it’s been over a month that I have been staying in this hostel.
It’s not that bad. Not that good either.
One of my roommates is playing songs on her laptop and getting ready to go out. Today is Sunday, people go out. This is why I love Sundays, I get to stay alone.
I get to fume, I get to dance to songs I play for me, I get to act as clumsy I can without anyone watching me.
But oh, did I tell you, this hostel is run by some Sisters, who find out-of-the-world happiness in coming to our rooms and taking our things away. Things include towels, or trousers on the line, or shoes.
Picking on students aside, these Sisters don’t bother to listen. I complained twice the last week that a tap in one of the bathroom stalls isn’t working. But hey, who cares, right?
So, let’s get back to me. Let’s go over my plans for Sunday. I woke up late, at 8.15 am. Had my breakfast. Then I read a book. Took a bath. Went downstairs to charge my phone. Decided to write something and here we are.
People are going out. I’m not. I’d rather sit in and spend some time with…well, my pillow.
Earlier I had this idea about hostel life — going out with friends, hitting the malls, dressing up well. But oops, I’m right there where I was. I haven’t met the perfect people to go out with. I don’t like gossiping. I don’t like having non-chicken stuff at KFC. I don’t own a Burberry dress. I don’t own a Gucci handbag (yet. I don’t need one to qualify as a girl who goes out with others). I don’t like applying makeup. I don’t like talking about other’s boyfriends and calling other girls bitches.
And to hell with other differences, I just do not like gossiping!
It’s apparent that people think I’m an introvert. And they think introverts are weird even though I’m friendly with everyone. I greet people and they greet me back. This is not weird.
So, while others will go out on weekends, I’ll sit in and write a dumb blog post. I’ll go out too, have the exact thing I like at KFC. Or maybe a mini pizza at Domino’s. Or maybe I’ll go to the bookstore and spend the day there. Or maybe I’ll go to the malls and buy something cute.
Or maybe I’ll just draw something silly. For example, a pirate rabbit I drew some days back —

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So peaceful.

2 am thoughts

It’s 2 am. I’m awake. I’m staring at the street light.

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It feels like what my life was like a couple of months back, when I used to surf the net for several articles, watch movies, write. The time of the day which allowed me to be honest and at peace.

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I miss my computer which is back there in Guwahati. I loved the fact that I never worried about its battery dropping to 5%, because it was always plugged, had a direct supply to electricity. Nowadays I live with a fear that phone’s battery might run out anytime and that my window to the virtual world might shut, because the internet signals here are weak and sometimes they stray elsewhere.
And, no, for the last time, neither my college nor my hostel provide WiFi facilities. Let alone WiFi, they don’t even provide us with enough and easily accessible plug points.
I started out as a slightly trusting person, only to be embarrassed by a classmate within these few days time. These days I come across many facepalm moments. But you know, you gotta push that smile onto your face, for at least these initial days, for the love of the next delicious meal you’ll have. Man.
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Well, the alone time we all need is a luxury too. I get that only in the toilet. When I talk on the phone people assume I’m talking with my boyfriend and give this idiotic derp-y smile. I might be talking to the Batman too, but that’s none of their business.

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I miss the peace of mind I earlier owned. I don’t have much idea about what it takes to enjoy hostel life like I see others doing. I took a go at gossiping. I’m done with gossiping. My jaws hurt due to talking and smiling without any rhyme or reason. Also, I realised that perhaps gossiping is an art, and I suck at it, without any puny doubt.
I miss going on drives through the city with my parents, during which I used to sit on the backseat and stare outside the window like a dog with my tongue sticking outside and getting blown backward due to the wind. Most of this pretty description is true.

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I miss holding the hands of people I love and trust with all of me, embracing them, telling them about my feelings, in person and not over the phone. In this aspect, my life sucks right now.

The only thing I don’t miss right now is being a loner. Being so isn’t bad for someone with jaws so weak that they pain after talking for awhile. So, in a classroom in the absence of a teacher, while others chat, I doodle at one corner of the black/white board with a chalk/marker, with so much glee.

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Also, I keep taking pictures of dogs, crows, squirrels, lizards and caterpillars in my college, because that’s the kind of weird I love to be.

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An evening

The sky is beautiful today. I just talked with my mother and I video called her. I told her all about my day and smiled and laughed a lot.

I’m sitting on the covered terrace of my hostel, alone. There are many interesting things going on on the other terraces. On one, there are a little white chicken and a goat, enjoying their solitude and freedom to treat the entire terrace as their toilet. Their personal, sprawling toilet.

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One another terrace, some forty crows are perching, and are looking here and there.
On a window pane, a pigeon is sitting peacefully.
My mother noticed I find the domestic animal kingdom very fascinating. What makes them execute such actions? How on earth can they be so cute?!

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The goat has been enjoying its view delightfully for a while now. And…now it found out it was being watched.

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I wish I could stay on this terrace. But that’s against the rules. It’s airy in here. If no one comes here I can have my share of solitude.

Now, the biggest problem would be going downstairs umpteen times a day for several reasons, one of them being to charge mobile phones. There are plug points only in the waiting room, on the ground floor. There are none in the entire building, except of course the rooms of the workers and the kitchen maybe. If I can, wherever I’ll stay in the future, I’ll have at least 5 plug points installed in every room, just to spite the ones who came up with this ridiculous idea.

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Oh, and now the goat and the little white chicken were brought leaves are rice respectively. The goat has its way to the leaves, but the crows are eating the little white chicken’s rice and chasing it away. Poor little white chicken.

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Little white chicken walking away

Hostel

Now, dear reader, I need you to stir your imagination a wee bit while reading the sentences I write here. Say, I’m in my hostel room (with 9 others, so technically it’s a dorm) at this moment.

So, it’s 20th July evening, around 5.50 pm. And I’m in the hostel. I’m looking through my stuff and the pathetic lack of space. I remember I need to drink a lot of water. I get to my school bag, then to my purse, to get my keys — to get the steel glass out of the broken drawer. I do that. I drink water.
Just as I sit down, I realise I need to change into softer clothes. I get the lock of my suitcase opened. I get my clothes out. I lock it again.
I go to the bathroom to change. I come back and hang my clothes to dry.
Then, just as I sit down, someone comes asking for something, or plainly to gossip, with that sparkling glee. I cannot say no directly, if I’m not feeling it, so I go along.
Then they ask me to go to their room or to the corridors. I get up. I look around to check if my stuff is in place. I check if my drawer and trunk and suitcase is locked. I check if my keys are in my purse, which in turn is in my bag.
Then I look for my phone’s charger, because since I’ll be out in the corridors, I might as well have my phone charged (Because the plug point is outside the room). Then I reach for my bag to get the charger.
It’s 8.30 in the evening already. People visit our room as if it’s some merry fair and as if we’re giving out free candy. If I don’t smile I’m considered a snob. If I smile a lot I’m considered creepy.
Oh, the bell rang. Dinner time. I have to unplug my phone’s charger, put it in my bag, and check the keys. Then with the keys I have to unlock my puny drawer, which has 2 small doors, one of them broken, and get my plate out. Lock it again, carry my keys with me, and I go downstairs. So well.
I spend the entire time eating rice and checking if my phone and keys are where they are supposed to be. I fill up my bottle for the next day.
I eat like a dog and run upstairs like a coyote. Then I look around like an eagle if my stuff is safe. I unlock my trunk and take my kit bag out. Brush my teeth, wash my face. I return from the bathroom, put my kit bag back into the trunk, lock it, and sit on my bed like a moron.
Then I remember something else and unlock either of my three locked cases. Then lock it back.
My life is spent away in locking and unlocking my cases all day long as if it’s my job. And to highlight the irony, I’m paying for this! Not technically, but yes, I’m the one suffering both ways, nothing is neutral, and the reserve of saved time is showing negative.

And then, when I’m sleeping at night, some eerie thought creeps up my brain that someone is messing with my stuff, and I wake up at 3 am and check. Then again at 4.25 am, because the last day I heard that some money was stolen, and the dorm I sleep in has doors that do not lock from the inside.

By the way, since I consider drinking a lot of water is a very good habit, I have to frequent the toilet, the well of germs, many times. Now point out the goodness in all of this, if any at all.

And don’t slam the “oh you’re learning a lot” on my face.
Edit: I shifted to another hostel which, thankfully, has provided me with quite much amount of space, and a cupboard of my own.

An hour.

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When we think of an hour, we wonder how long that would feel. A few minutes? Many hours?
Right now, I am sitting with my grandparents who are advising me for the nth time about colleges. Yep, many, many hours. A few days back when I was in Durgapur, the night before the day I was supposed to meet up with my friends for a movie, it felt like I slept for a lifetime, and when I woke up, it was only 4.45 am. Morning was crawling its way up to me like a snail.
A few days back I was watching a few episodes of How I Met Your Mother, and in no time I had watched 5 episodes sequentially. Again, yesterday, I went out with my friend, and time zapped by in a tiny minute, which I must say, was unfair to us.
Similarly, when you’re staring at the wall having run out of things to stare at, a minute seems like an hour, and when you spend quite sometime staring into the eyes of someone you love, time goes by in a blink of an eye.
An hour or many, the clock does not seem to agree with our perceptions, and somehow the mystery fits well and fine.