There are those days when your social disability just shines through. You could even frame one of these and present it as evidence to the judge of the world as to why you need to not exist anymore.

To an observer, it would appear as if you were trying to attract all the attention with the awkwardness that you seem to unnecessarily inject into the situation. And maybe there is some truth to this. Maybe this is your mangled inner self wanting some attention drawn to it so it could find solace and respite.

You get hurt by hurting those you are in the situation with. The same people who you were there to help celebrate their little victories. Not because you want to rain on their parade, but the only occasions that you ought to break out of your shell is for such celebrations.

Celebrations of life. Those of success. Those of longevity. Those of existence. All destroyed by me.

Starting yet another series – something that I have been meaning to do, especially considering that many of my longer-form posts stem from conversations or ideas that I happen upon in text conversations with my friends.

On experiences that can only be had via motorcycling:

“There are many things/activities that one can’t be convinced as to why they should indulge in unless one indulges in them in the first place. That’s life, I suppose.”

On how I have been doing:

“Physically, never been better. Psychologically, riding a wave that is yet to manifest on the surface of society.”

This would not make sense without the original note from Mike, a dear friend of mine, who I was responding to. Mike, in turn, was responding to my sharing of a paper in which I and my main blog Engayging Life was referred to in a research paper titled “Queer Blogging in Indian Digital Diasporas A Dialogic Encounter” published in 2008.

Maybe I can intersperse the usual appellation with BHGG (Baywatch Hunk Gone Gay)! wow, you are really famous as a trailblazer! I see that this is a 2008 paper, long before I knew you, so your fame is longstanding.

A very interesting paper – although plenty of sociological jargon – which makes some great points. How things have changed from 2008, 14 years ago, and yet the performance stays essentially the same but with more complex and/or explicit visuals.

I read it on the flight back from Houston – I had a business meeting there, it was nice to be back in 22 degree weather there for a while (it’s warm here today too, up to minus 8 degrees). I was just on a Zoom with Cape Town this morning, they were complaining about a sunburn epidemic, and I had to note that right now, we were concerned about a frostbite surge!

I’m working on a car booking for Iceland, putting pieces together. Just submitted a paper to it on our work on transwomen in Dar es Salaam. And going through your photos from previous messages, I love re-seeing them.

Here is a paper that we did in Kenya that might interest you. We did it as a photovoice as well (still writing that one). Plus a picture out the back door!  Ganesh in his winter attire.

I like the idea of looking at the same blog phenomena in SSA – maybe Kenya and Tanzania. We couldn’t use actual handles, though. Much love, Mike

I responded such.

Hi Mike:

Am I relieved to hear from you! My mind has been working overtime with scenarios as to why you haven’t yet responded, and J has been a pacifier of sorts. I’m glad that I have been proven wrong yet again.

Even though I have been told to never apologise for length or girth, I think it is only fair that I do for at least the former of my response. :)

We are in ABG for a longish weekend–probably the last one for this season. We rode to ABG on Friday morning on the bike pair (my friend has left his with me for a few weeks as he’s visiting his hometown at the passing of one of his grand-aunts).

We have been having a few good weeks/weekends on a stretch with fews squabbling episodes. This is indeed a welcome phase of comforting stability, and I’m not quite sure what triggered it. The single-motorcycle ones initiated the change, but all the good was eroded by the discomfort that J has while riding pillion. I have always suspected that he exaggerates the discomfort, but the whole experience, with or without the exaggeration, was not conducive to us building on the good.

We also have upped our physical activity game. Yesterday morning, around the same time that I find myself writing to you this morning (7.30 am), in an excited/frantic/relieved headspace, we had just started the foot leg of a trek to a temple on top of a hill.

The base of the trek is about 15 min from his house, and the elevation is 900 feet (ca. 274 m) above sea level, and the climb has about 700 steps. The Wikipedia page, which has an obviously inflated value, lists the elevation as 5000 feet (ca. 1,524 m). Below I’m sharing a link of some Google Photos albums so you can get a feel of these.

But the most fascinating aspect of the trek was not the trek itself or the gorgeous surroundings! As soon as we parked the bike at the base, we were greeted by a black pariah dog (it’s a he who we referred to as Blackie), who seemed excessively friendly to us but was mildly aggressive toward another stranger. To our utter surprise, he followed us up the first few steps, and I found myself telling J that I have never had a dog who would lead the way on walks or treks.

As if on cue, he went ahead and started leading the way. The surprises didn’t end there, however! At the first big clearance on the way up—which is where we ended our mini-trek (about one-fifth of the way up)—last weekend, we were joined by his friend—a pastel brown, golden Indian pariah (it’s a she who we referred to as Brownie) with a collar.

After the initial physical pleasantries exchanged by the quadrupedal duo, the leadership role was elegantly, almost deterministically, taken over by Brownie. She led the way, often 50 paces ahead of us and often 20 paces ahead of Blackie. They would climb up and rest at a landing waiting for us until we slowly made our way, thanks to photography and sufficient periods of breathers for Jehangir.

Brownie was the quieter, more elegant one, and yet she was a hunter. Once, she veered off the path, and in a minute or so, we heard a rustle of the drying bushes. Soon the soundscape of the forest was overwhelmed by the cacophony of strange cries, which I thought were from a large bird.

By the time we caught up with the duo, we realised that the source of the cries was a tribe of rhesus macaque monkeys (we couldn’t quite see them, but this is the best guess that I have) being chased by Brownie, being tailed by Blackie. Eventually, they joined us at the trekking path, taking a route that no human could comfortably take.

At the top of the hill, there indeed was a temple, with a small village. The duo were greeted by a dozen dogs of varying sizes and colours, clearly communicating displeasure and discomfort of the perceived invasion. We went past the standoff–the only time when we were able to overtake the duo–and explored the temple for a few minutes.

At the top, apart from the dog party, we found ourselves in the company of a handful of visitors, a couple of priests who work at the temple, vendors at shops that were open at the time, and a buffalo. Considering the tense standoff between the dogs, which was not welcome by the visitors, we decided to pick up a few tiny packets of Good Day biscuits and head back down.

This is where we evidenced how the duo had naturally assumed their protective role for us two, with Blackie holding the offence line as the others receded, with both us encouraging the dogs on either side to calm down. After a brief phase of dorsal piloerection and baring of the canines from Blackie, which was dissuaded by the sudden appearance of Brownie from the flank, we were able to start on our way down, leaving the village and its inhabitants behind.

On our way down, we stopped at the first clearance to have the biscuits and the black coffee we were carrying in a small flask. Blackie gorged on the share of biscuits we offered, while Brownie was softly indifferent. Both were however more equitable in lapping up the water that was poured in little chalices that we made with our hands, especially mine, which seemed like an insubstantial, yet practicable, repartee of fluids in response to the salivary offerings of Blackie, mostly to my face. You’ll find evidence to this in the pictures in the albums!

But that’s not the only thing we ended up doing this weekend. We were at the beach both evenings playing Frisbee, which is a passion of mine that I have not been able to nurture enough in my adulthood. Jehangir, who seems to have been given a new lease for life with the motorcycle, surprised himself and me by turning in hundreds of strong throws, albeit aided by the breeze at the beach. I caught these with some nimble footwork, which was hardly needed because of the throwing precision. My loopier, less meticulous responses were greeted by less sporting attempts at catching.

Apart from physicalising, over the last couple of weeks, we have managed to spend time with J’s father/wife as well as his uncle/aunt. These experiences have been joyful, yet painful, because of the inevitability of their prospective paucity.

Now shifting back to our usual correspondence style.

“BHGG” is indeed an acronym that I could live with. The discovery of the article has given me an impetus—one of the many that I have had in the past few weeks—for approaching my writing with more seriousness. That has manifested in more frequent writings on my blog (Engayging Life), which I realise that I should have never neglected, considering that it used to an avenue where I could present my creations that could move people.

This last realisation has been consolidated by some kindness offered by Jehangir after I shared the paper with J. He wrote me something that was extremely poignant and reassuring.

“I’m so proud that your work moves people in such diverse walks and fields. You have a voice and a fire in you that is so relevant and sensitive.”

Your encouraging words do have the same effect, and I am deeply grateful for them and your presence in my life.

As you might have noticed, my writing to you in this detail is a humble attempt to incorporate the acts of drafting routine correspondences as a means to hone the craft of writing. In fact, I have been documenting the best excerpts from these on a series called Correspondences (#1, #2, #3) on another blog (Neverlast) that I have been maintaining. I truly hope that I am able to sustain this rekindled passion, with the eventual goal of writing stories and books.

Your shuttling—both physical and via correspondence—between extremes of weather are quite remarkable. I’m certain that thematic/linguistic analyses of letters written in the early to mid twenty-first century would provide conclusive evidence of how real the anthropogenic climate change is in the lives of commoners.

I have read the abstract of the paper. I have the long form open on a tab, and I’ll go through it later this week. Please link me to the photo voice piece when it comes out. Needless to say that I long for collaborating with you in the manner that we did a couple of years ago. Please let me know if we can make that a reality soon.

I’m cautiously optimistic of making it to Iceland this summer. There remain several moving parts in my life—one of which I will only be able to tell you in a video/voice conversation—that need to align for this to work out, but I will promise that I’ll do my best.

I love the photo that you shared, and I hope that you will enjoy those that I’m sharing with this note!

Love,

K

1. I am kind.
2. I am skilled and talented.
3. I make people comfortable in the way they are.
4. I encourage people to do well.
5. I set goals for myself and I generally achieve them within those deadlines
6. I am intelligent.
7. I am a fast learner.
8. I am safer, in a pure physical and financial sense, than I have ever been.
9. I have dreams and aspirations that are admirable.
10. My creative output is generally good. Good enough to be showcased to the world.
11. I have a loving partner who would do almost anything to take care of me.
12. I have one of the most incredible pets one could ever hope to have.
13. I have friends who genuinely care for me and my well-being.
14. I am strong and resourceful.
15. I have had memorable life experiences and I continue to build an environment to have more such experiences.
16. I have come a long way despite hardships in my life.
17. I am still alive after all the darknesses that I have had to pass through.
18. I look forward to many things in life (i.e., travel, exploration, riding, learning, reading, self-improvement)
19. I am relatively healthy, at least from a physical sense, despite being as old as I am.
20. I can impart the knowledge that I have to others, helping them on their way.
21. My work has positively influenced others.
22. I have multiple avenues of creative output from vastly different fields, which have left a positive impact on the people who I have been able to touch.
23. I am a talented musician.
24. I am a talented songwriter.
25. I am a solid performer of music, someone who is improving consistently.
26. I contribute useful ideas and thoughts when needed, in a wide variety of situations.
27. I am motivated to help people and touch people’s lives.
28. I am proud of my achievements so far.
29. I think I have a lot to contribute to this world.
30. I am able to get inspired by the art that I consume, and eventually come up with my own interpretations in the form of my artistic output.
31. I can learn or acquire almost any skill if I set my mind to it.
32. I am not overwhelmed by tasks that might be daunting to many.
33. I bring smiles to people’s faces and lives.
34. I inspire and encourage people to improve in whatever they are doing well in or are struggling with.
35. I have a truly beautiful home.
36. I have several places that I can call a home, and all of them are spectacular in one way or the other.
37. I usually find myself in an environment that is nurturing and rewarding.
38. I am able to find joy in most things that I have once found joy in, even though some of these have become heavier because of the accompanying responsibilities.
39. I continue to love most people that I have ever loved, even though I might not be able to engage with them.
40. I am honest and forthright.
41. I have been improving as an individual for most of the period that I can remember.
42. I work hard to, and am frequently able to, find solutions to the problems that I encounter.
43. I keep my word.
44. I am trustworthy and reliable.
45. I am always on the hunt to seek new information/skills.

1. Why do you write?

I presume you are asking me why I write in the context of writing prose.

I have had a passion for languages since I can remember. Writers, through the books and articles they write, have inspired me in countless ways, not least by making me feel like I can replicate what they have been able to. I love the experience of expressing myself in words. Writing seems to give me the ability to refine my thoughts and communicate them at my own pace, allowing me to explore nuances of language in manners that are not accessible while speaking. There are other aspects like the lack of waning listener attention, which would detract a speaker from expressing themselves.

From the context of music and songwriting, it is slightly different. I use songs as a means to express my deeper emotions. In other words, songs are less cerebral than prose. Similar to writers, musicians have inspired me. I feel connected to music in a more primal way, and I feel that I can create music that can move others like how I have been by the thousands of artists that I have been moved by.

2. Where does this desire to write come from?

I believe I have expressed some aspects of this in the response to the previous question, but I believe you are probing why I write at an existential level. Like everyone else, I feel I need to be heard. I feel I have thoughts/ideas that are worth spending time on. I also crave attention, which the output of my writing can provide. During my formative years, I felt I was being constantly judged on the basis of my performance (primarily in academics, but also in other aspects of my being). Writing gives me a platform to prove myself and my self-worth over and over again.

3. What is it that you most desire to communicate?

My thoughts and my emotions. The ways in which I see the world. The ways that my mind attempts to make sense of the complexities that come with our existence. The somewhat unique insights and ideas that I can come up with. The pains that I have felt and how I think I am coped with them.

4. What’s more important for you, being a writer or engaging in a life of writing?

The latter, for sure. I don’t want to be known as a writer/musician as much as I want my writings/songs to help and move people in ways that would not be available had I not written in the first place. Validation of self-worth comes hand in hand in this process, but I don’t think I’m dependent on it.

I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your Mom. I know what you mean when you say that her passing was a blessing. I endure the same when my father passed away after months of being in agony after having metastatic cancer. Watching him struggle was more traumatic than the actual act of taking care of him through the phase, and we were all relieved when it happened. I was the one who openly acknowledged this feeling, but my mother and sister warmed up to it after a few days of him leaving us.

That was in 2018. I lost my Mom in 2019 to a freak accident (or that was what it looked like). She seemed to have slipped in the kitchen and had a cardiac arrest. I was the only one in the house when this happened. The guilt of not having been able to do anything while she was gasping is something that I have been struggling to get past, but being questioned for suspected murder by the police didn’t help. I’ve been on the low since late 2019, and the experience of her passing might be the trauma that I’m still recovering from.

I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Pablo. I have heard many a story like what you have had to go through. I guess it makes sense to see people who you can physically see, and if compatible, pursue a longer-term relationship. As I have said to you before, just keep on looking, and eventually you will find someone worthy of being with.

The story of your weight loss is incredible, and it is via a very worthy and sustainable cause! I hope you feel great after having lost the extra weight. Quite coincidentally, I realize that I’m 153 and have been in the 151 to 154 range for the past two years or so. I’m light for my frame (5’ 10"), but I’ve also put on some muscle, thanks to some basic, at-home weight training, bicycling, and running.

I’m not sure if I’m well. At a physical level, maybe I am well. But at an emotional/social level, I’m not. Also at an artistic level, where I continue to struggle to take past the finishing line all the music that I have been working on (the songs that I have written and produced). I’m still working on my craft but I need a way to can get myself together and start publishing songs. The same applies for writing prose too. The day job continues to occupy more time than I’d like it to, and the eventual resolution of this situation might depend on me finding a freelance solution to what I’m doing.

Since the time we last spoke, two main things have changed.

First, I have been reading more, mostly inspired by a sci-fi book club that I found online. I have been reading about two books a month through their read-along schedule. This experience—of being able to read with others and share our experiences with each other—has been extremely rewarding. It has also brought back a sense of reading routine to my life, which has helped me get to reading more literary fiction, with The Promise being one of the few that I have managed to finish. I am currently reading A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara and Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami.

Second, I have finally been able to get myself a decent motorcycle (a Honda CB350; got it in Dec 2020). Since then I have been riding as frequently as I can and as long as I can. It has been a truly liberating experience to get away from the city and explore some wonderful places (there are some gorgeous hills/villages/roads about 100 miles east of Mumbai) that would be unavailable otherwise. Jehangir, my partner, is also interested in motorcycling, and sometimes we borrow a friend’s motorcycle so we can both can ride on separate motorcycles.

About my relationship – it is pretty much how it was. During the pandemic, we lived together far longer than we had ever before and far longer than we’d have ever expected ourselves to. Yet, I continue to feel more at ease when I’m by myself, mirroring my state in other social settings. He has his own share of issues, and I try to do my best to support in whatever ways I can. We have been together for almost a decade, and I don’t expect things to change much in the future.

I have missed you too. I’m not sure if I

will ever be active on Facebook or social media. GoodReads is an unlikely medium to restart interacting with my friends, but it will have to be until things change.

K

I have decided to start a series of email exchanges with people who I have touched (and/or continue to touch) me in ways to enrich my life.

Hi Doug,

It’s been well over two years since I logged on to Facebook. It was getting a bit overwhelming and I have considered deleting my profile. I haven’t done that yet, but I still don’t feel strong enough to be exposed to the rest of the world or to expose myself to the rest of the world. Yet, I found friends like you frequently in my thoughts, and I have kept on hoping that things are well with all of them.

I just logged on to GoodReads after a similar period and you’re the first person that I’m writing to. I got back on here after I noted that you were one of the friends who have finished The Promise by Damon Galgut, which I thought was an excellent read.

I hope you are doing well, and I hope your mother is too. I hope you have found someone to share your life with, and that you have only gotten more attractive!

K

In today’s session with my therapist, we explored my memories and beliefs centered on my current state of not wanting to be interrupted while I’m doing things. These interruptions, which really are well-intended communications and overtures, could come from even those that I might be working on a project with. I simply don’t want to have anyone take me out of whatever I was doing. It feels like I am not in control and I can’t focus on what I would be doing. We then traced this back to a memory.

I’m upstairs doing my own thing. Mostly reading or doing something related to music. Either listening to or playing an instrument. I hear voices swell up downstairs. I’m caught unaware or there are auditory clues in the form of a vehicle or the opening of the gates. A few unbearable minutes later, I hear one of either my mother or father yelling for me from the foot of the staircase. It was my mother most of the time. They must have thought I was either deaf of incredibly imperceptive. My delayed responses must have helped to consolidate this image.

I would reluctantly make my way down the stairs right into the middle of a conversation, and my furtive attempt at self-insertion couldn’t be any more awkward. The conversation might take a slight detour with questions on how well I was doing at doing what they thought I should be doing, with me giving the most boring template responses with a thick layer of veiled sarcasm, which often went undetected. Just to break this dreary segment lasting a handful of minutes, I would often walk across the living room to the kitchen to get myself something I didn’t really need, before excusing myself to get back upstairs.

Back then, I would be able to get right back into whatever that I had been doing. I don’t quite know when things changed. Such interruptions now make me feel threatened, forcing me into a state of reduced mental clarity. Something like an adrenaline surge in a fight-and-flight response.

During the session, the things that I correlated with this insight were these:

• The transition into my current state must have happened after I moved to Mumbai. Considering my first major depressive episode happened about 3 years into my Mumbai stint, it must have been triggered by my negative experiences during residency.
• Residency in Mumbai is tough., especially if it is in orthopedics. As a junior resident, you are put through quite a lot of emotional and physical torture. I remember sharing these with my sister a few years ago and the astonishment in her vocal reactions. It is fresh in my memory because of my sister’s colorful choice of words while talking to our friend/neighbor during our latest visit to Kerala.
• The template of me being defiant and not wanting to be told to do things was a well-established trend during my childhood. The worst triggers used to come from my mother and her side of the family.
• Sudden auditory interruptions while I’m focusing on something trigger the same response, with the worst ones even triggering a panic attack. I think it stems from the traumas from my previous apartment. Kids living on the same floor would bang on the door of the apartment whenever I would do anything musice related. I even have recordings of these multiple, almost conspiratorially plotted, bangings.
• I often want to wipe my life’s slate clean and start over. Something like what the main characters of Breaking Bad end up doing. I guess I’m trying to get back to a state where I won’t be as vulnerable to interruptions. Almost like putting together the pieces of my former life with a stronger mind in a new location.
• This would also explain why I keep my phones and devices to be in silent or do-not-disturb modes, and my burning desire to play dead on social media.
• I want to make carefully put together plans with the least social interactions as possible.
• I almost always enjoy doing things by myself. Things like going out and watching movies and TV shows.

This inspired me.

“Write the tale that scares you, that makes you feel uncertain, that isn’t comfortable,” she said. “I dare you … Visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success. Do not be afraid to disappear—from it, from us—for a while, and see what comes to you in the silence.”

https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2021/09/michaela-coel-emmys-2021/620130/

Yesterday I cried for the first time in a long time.

J and I were talking about my disappointment at people, including my Mom, when they would not heed my suggestions to make their lives easier. I had brought up a counter-management solution I had proposed.

In 2019, before her eventual demise, I had passionately demonstrated to my Mom an efficient to wash, dry, and put away the dishes so as to have the most counter space available. She had been letting the dishes pile up in the sink and on its periphery until her cooking sessions ended. Then she would wash the dishes and let them dry on the counter-top drainer, which would remain on the counter until the next time she would cook, when she would just pick up the dishes from it and use them.

J asked me if I would expect my Mom to walk up on stage and perform like you do.

The image of her walking up to a large brightly lit stage flooded my vision. She was clad in a dull green saree with big golden circles with some pattern in them. She had on a non-contrasting dull green blouse and had wrapped her saree’s pallu around herself tight, in a very submissive, domiciliary way. She was older, with mostly gray hair, had a mild hunch. She had her hair tied up in a bunch and seemed to be smiling and crying at the same time.

She looked around trying to find me. Trying to make eye contact with someone who she trusted. Someone who would take care of her. She kept on looking. She kept on smiling/crying. But I wasn’t there to take care of her and to protect her.

I broke down and wept for a few minutes. The despair of my inability to protect the people I loved (or should take care of) overwhelmed me. The image of her gasping self in a pool of water on the kitchen floor slipped into my vision. I did do what I could. Yet I couldn’t help her.

The thing that others may fail to understand is this. I have had a lot of experience taking care of dying people. As a doctor, I am trained to pick up on the little clues that predict death. Put the twos and twos together and I can make out the changes in people when I observe them doing things that painfully remind me of how things are going to be in the future and how I won’t be able to do anything to protect them.

Of rediscovery. 
Of uninterrupted loneliness. 
Of good music.
Of cicatricial resurgence.
Of a purpose.
Of serendipitous referencing.
Of an image.
Of an unlikely happenstance.
Of a being.
Of merciless entertainment.
Of softness.
Of olfactory asphyxiation.
Of relaxation.
Of philosophical regurgitation.
Of life.

Many people think I am happy. They think I’m proud and satisfied with what I do. They say I have a life. Some squarely blame it on my tendencies to play music live to audiences. I am a rock-star, apparently. In the literal sense, barely. In the figurative sense, no way! Some think it is because I get things done. Both at work and at home. That I have accomplished something meaningful. That I cook for myself and take care of myself. That I’m in a relationship. That I have a cat that I adore.

Cool generic story, bro. But wrong. Here’s why. What’s the last best thing(s) you have had happen to yourself in the last few months?

If your answer(s) include(s) items other than the joy of experiencing (watching, to be more precise) high-quality art, genre-limited works in a particular medium, I think you’re better off than me.

My list?

• Better Call Saul
• The Walking Dead
• Star Trek (the Original Series)
• Stargate SG-1
• The Shining
• Bojack Horseman
• Dark
• The Expanse
• Stranger Things (First Season)
• Riverdale (First Two Seasons)