Starting Anew

What do time tables, soaps, pens, diaries, and a writing workshop have in common?

May 31, 2024

I

Every holiday would be THAT holiday when I would transform into a different person. And this new and improved person would do things differently.

All in my head!

I spent more time making this time table than actually following it!

This attempt to fall into a regimented life stemmed from the very unruly yet very predictable routine that I followed when school was on.

For instance, for a 7.45am assembly, I would wake up anytime between 6.45am (dad’s one final attempt to wake me before he left for work) and 7am (mom’s cut off time for spending any more energy on me). Any later than 7am and I would spend at least five minutes crying “pehle kyun nahi uthaya”.

Then, of the next half an hour, 20 minutes would be spent in the loo (Indian loo, mind you) and in the remaining 10 minutes (plus a borrowed couple of minutes) I would brush, bathe, iron uniform, polish shoes, stuff my face with a French toast, get dressed and leave. The school was 100 metres away, yet each one of us in that building were the last ones to reach. 7.40am—the big black gates would be shut.

So you see why I yearned to straighten up my life. Start anew. Every year, every vacation, same exercise.

To my credit, I would follow the routine to the T on day one. It was ridiculous how everyone else, the kids in my block and the neighbouring block, did exactly the same. We went for a walk, like grown ups did. Or did they. Actually, I don’t recall any uncles-aunties walking in the evenings (mornings were too groggy for me to make any observations).

On day two of the great holidays, life would slip back effortlessly to the same old routine laced with a little sarcasm from mum.

So nothing really ever changed but I remained hopeful and “at it” every year.

Finally, it was 1999 December—final year of college—and I couldn’t quite understand all the excitement around Y2K. But it was so palpable that I had (and I am hoping others too) imagined that on 31st Dec when the clock would strike 12, the whole world would transform—new shiny, swanky buildings; robots instead of people; moving roads instead of people moving on them; and flying taxis. (This is how far my imagination went).

Obviously nothing happened. 1st Jan 2000 was when I realised, nothing changes. Old is the only new.

II

With time tables out of my life, I started focussing on smaller things to usher in newness. It could be new pens or pencils or a new writing pad or a register anything.

It was never clothes. I believed that if I wore new clothes or even put in extra effort to dress up for something new—tuition, job, class—disaster will strike. I still believe it and I think it is born more from the fact that I am just too lazy to dress well (and this was a good excuse to palm off to my mum).

When it isn’t stationery, it is SOAP. A new bar of soap taken out of its crisp packing while the old one awaits its end—some whose end is closer (like a chip) than others (still a bar). There is a weird thrill in waving the fragrant wrapper of a new soap at Udit’s face. Unless of course he has already opened a new soap for himself first in which case we prep for round two of the Soap Wars!

Now it is also DIARIES. New job, new diary. New project, new diary. Travel for work, new diary. I believe with a new diary anything that I do will be pure gold. Cart before the horse and all that! There are many diaries at home with just a couple of entries in a couple of pages because another diary took my fancy.

We are compulsive diary buyers. Both of us. The only difference is that Udit is in NO rush whatsoever to use them because he wants to use them at the RIGHT moment. But considering he forgets everything, the right moment never really comes. I, on the other hand, want to use them as soon as they arrive.

Since our ‘diary stars’ never align and there is always a diary war waiting to erupt.

I also organise a lot these days. Could be the age. I organise especially when there is a looming deadline (at work or of travel). I organise—a cupboard, a shelf in the cupboard, the entire kitchen, or one of the bookshelves. I dust the house. I get rid of expired cosmetics, medicines and eatables. I hunt them out. I am on a mission to declutter and to organise. Then only do I come to the more important things like deadlines.

III

But something changed in 2023. I had been reading

Natasha Badhwar

for a long time in The Mint but then I heard her five hour long podcast with

Amit Varma

. It had been a few months since dad had passed away and I was unable to figure out a way to express what I was feeling. Strangely, I could express it to Udit but not so much to myself.

This was also the time when my organisation was on the verge of shutting down and I was angry. I was angry at the government, at the selfish super boss, at the loss of good work, at the loss of the legacy of Oxfam India.

I wanted to write. I didn’t know what or how or where or why. All I knew was that I wanted to be close to Natasha, in her vicinity, in her orbit.

And that was it. The July Workshop was announced. I went for it. Then I joined the writing circle in October.

After the workshop, since July last year, I have slowed down (even more from my usual slowness) in the most remarkable way—I am excited about words, about writing, about reading, about revisiting my past, and about understanding people around me.

Writing with Natasha,

Raju Tai

and the 35 writers (across the workshop and circle) channelised my energy. I was no longer angry. I quit in December and I knew there was a job somewhere in the horizon and I was in no rush. I was in no rush because I had found my calling. I went off social media because I found my new circle of friends.

I have enjoyed every moment of writing, of letting a story stew in my head for days, of getting up in the middle of the night to key in the story and share it with the Circle (and three others—Udit, Bose, Amma).

I have enjoyed doing things differently. For instance, I made no resolutions this year. I wrote a poem instead and listed 23 things I learned from 2023.

At 44 (and reluctant and awkward outside of my comfort zone), I didn’t think something like this would be possible. But this was a new journey and I was on the right track of transforming into that different person.

IV

And I am going back. I start my second workshop tomorrow.

Ochre Sky Stories

Workshop is next in August. You can sign up and find your safe writing space here.

This essay was written on the prompt “When I Got A Chance To Begin Anew Here’s What I Did” during the

Ochre Sky Stories

Writing Circle Workshop.

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