19. Sleep and schedules in Mumbai
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Something I feared came true. I didn’t go to therapy for almost an entire month, and when I finally did I blurted - I haven’t written as much as I want to! When I was in the residency program, I wondered how I would continue to be creative after I left the fresh crisp mountain air. Wouldn’t my writing and art turn stale too? It turns out it’s not the quality of my work that was affected, but my enthusiasm. My social energy got sucked out of me so fast, that I spent 2 days in bed doing nothing. Finally, on the third day, I got tired of being tired and made shitty art while watching stupid reality TV.
I have been working with my therapist for a while now on balancing my social energy. It’s the same old - am I doing this out of duty or obligation instead of desire? will it fill my well or drain it? will it disappoint someone and am I okay with disappointing them? I’ve gotten better at realising how many social events are too many social events, and even opting out of many. The switch between being in Fagu and being in Mumbai was severe though.
“I don’t think I want to run at the same pace as Mumbai does”, I told her.
There’s always something happening in this city! And it’s always something that sounds amazing, looks amazing, and will be an insane experience. Concerts, workshops, book readings, plays, picnics, tours, walks, shows… the list is endless. And then I have to tell myself to stop feeling that fomo because everything will happen again I’m sure. In my chats recently, someone called Mumbai ‘the city of dreams’, also known as ‘the city that never sleeps’ in India. And so of course, I get exhausted of it and sleep for days. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s unreasonable to expect myself to create with the same peace or time or mindset as the residency program. Instead, I’ll find habits to exchange for ones I want and try to build a schedule that’s sustainable here. Because the truth of it is that I’m not leaving any time soon.
I intend to write every chance I get, even if it’s only small pieces of around 200 words. I found myself an hour this week and attempted the same prompts we had put together for my Get Writing workshop last Saturday with
and Watermelon Art Fair. Like the participants, I chose 3 out of 4 prompts and wrote for 10 minutes each.A letter never sent
There is absolutely no way I would actually have the guts to send this letter. With every inch and foot I fill up on this blank page with black typed letters, I already think of how alien this feels. Where are the dents in my fingers from holding the cheap ball pen too tight for too long? Where are the blue stains on my fingers and blue smudges on the paper? Where are the soggy wrinkled patches on the paper where my tears fell? How will I fold this page and keep it by your bedside, tiptoeing around you in the middle of the night so you find it in the morning? An email in an inbox overflowing with your work contacts hardly feels meaningful. If I write you a letter at all, I wish for it to find a place in the shoebox you keep in the back of the bottom shelf of your cupboard, the one with letters I’ve written to you since I learnt how to write, the ones that start with ‘Dear Papa’.
Except this one. This one’s home is in the drafts of my Google Docs - unwritten, unsent and unread. This letter will stay incomplete just like our relationship, waiting for words to unfold the next chapter. Neither of us knows how the story goes, let alone how it ends. Maybe this letter is meant to be incomplete because I don’t want this story to ever really end. It will hurt too much.
The Magic Object
In the depths of her cupboard, obscured by piles and heaps of half-used clothes lies my mother’s ring. All I have to remind me of its existence is a distorted photograph I took 5 years ago when we sat as a family in an attempt to track every piece of jewellery my mom had left behind. I have seen it multiple times in the past on my mom’s bony fingers, a loose circle of platinum kept in place by her wrinkled knuckles. The deep blue stone sparkled like a bonfire set in the centre of diamonds twirling around it, a never-ending dance. Every flicker of light was instantly caught by the stone and turned into a show, like a disco ball throwing small white squares on every inch of every wall. The magic of this ring was not the outstanding colour of blue, deeper than the Côte d’Azur. It was not the infinite diamonds that served to sparkle for the Tanzanite. It was not the pliable platinum, holding up the weight of the gems. The magic was that it made you feel priceless like all you needed to wear and carry was the ring and the ring itself. And now it was lost in the abyss of my sister’s band T-shirts and ripped jeans.
A hidden place
There is, whether you choose to believe in it or not, a hidden place in my house. I first discovered it when my relatively new phone went missing. I was certain that I had been using it only 10 minutes ago, mostly to scroll through Instagram reels. Here I was, still glued to my seat but my phone was gone. I had to call it from my sister’s phone only to hear it vibrate. I turned my hand into a metal detector for rhythms and caressed the suede fabric till my hands moved quicker than in other places - then I went digging. My fingers disappeared, then my palm and finally my wrist! I grasped around in the dark, trying to touch the smooth glass of my phone until I found it. The cavern under the armrest of the BarcaLounger was huge! After securing my phone, I went digging a bit more only to find a tote bag’s worth of items - missing lonely socks, paper clips, Dairy Milk wrappers, fliers for Big Basket, a single double A battery, the small remote for the old projector, five rubber bands and brand-new looking earphones with no charge.
I also had the Coffee Connect Create monthly online art meet-up that I host with Mugdha from Art Sutra Studio. Everyone made beautiful art and one person even worked on their song-writing! Here’s what I made:
I’ve been experimenting with new media recently and that includes alcohol markers! They are fun, but I have to say that the process is quite ugly. I’m learning to trust it though, and the outcomes have been quite pleasing so far.
Vedi’s Postcard Club!
The Postcard Club combines my love for art, sending postcards, and writing personalised messages. You receive affordable original art, dcevelop a low-effort hobby for collecting postcards and hopefully encourage you to send out your own!
Every month, you will receive a postcard dedicated to you with artwork I make specially for the club's members. For subscribers of this Postcard Club, there will also be some bonus content including newsletters, giveaways and goodies! The monthly subscription is USD 3 = approximately INR 250.
I have reached 100 subscribers! So let’s do a small giveaway.
I am so bloody grateful for each and every one of you who have subscribed to this newsletter. I started this as a small way for me to practice writing again, after a long long hiatus during which I was only writing academic papers or work emails. Slowly, this space has grown in words, people and my love for the community here. And I want to celebrate this milestone with you!
If you like reading my work and perhaps want friends to participate in the giveaway, please consider sharing this publication with others.
How the giveaway works:
Subscribe to my newsletter & follow my art Instagram account Ubad Khaabad
Finish the writing prompt given below - the beginning of a sentence is provided, and you turn it into a small story that’s 20-30 words long. Your story must be one complete sentence.
Submit your story in the comments of this newsletter or via email before 4th September.
You can submit multiple stories - each one counts as a separate entry. The number of entries you make decides the number of times your name is fed into the random name generator, thus increasing your chances!
The winners will be declared in the next newsletter! Please note that your story might be published too.
Winners will receive original artwork from me and some artists I love!
It’s that simple! Are you ready to read the prompt?
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“When the clock struck midnight, I…”
I’m looking forward reading your super short stories!
Excitedly choosing which artwork to giveaway,
Vedi
When the clock struck midnight, the two who were awake sighed in relief. The children had stopped this midnight wishing nonsense just this year and they got the best anniversary gift ever- undisturbed sleep.
When the clock struck midnight, I snuck out of the house to go for a drive but my dog caught me and held me ransom for a bunch of treats or he'd start barking. In the end he got the treats and I still had to take him for a drive.