So when I was sitting in that chair and talking to my Manager (another post, someday soon, I’m sure), I felt I could taste freedom. It was within grasp only it meant a whole lot of uncertainty but God, the seduction of freedom – who has been able to resist that? Not even celibate Gandhi who they now say was not so celibate, after all, just a clever bum-boy and in love with a German man. Ah well, knowing German men, I’d say, ‘Lucky you, Mohan.’
Sitting on that chair, even as I was talking, arguing, wondering where it was all coming from and what it was really all about, I could envision life as it could be – time to heal, time to rest, time to write, time to attend classes, time to find myself again. So much time. So little pressure. And not being associated with something that bored me nearly to tears and doing something with that nagging inner-voice saying, ‘But your heart’s not in this rubbish, darling. How long will you pretend, Bhumika?’
So this is how my day should be:
4.30 am – Breathing exercises and relaxation techniques
5.30 am – Walk to get some exercise and fresh air
6.30 am – Breakfast of vegetable juices
7.30 am – Yoga
9.30 am – Tender-coconut juice and conversation with new tender-coconut vendor friend
11.30 am – Back home
12.30 pm – Lunch
1.30 pm – Work on book/stories
3.30 pm – Read
4.30 pm – Socialize
5.30 pm – Attend X class
6.30 pm – Study French
7.30 pm to 10.30 pm – Anything I fancy doing
10.30 pm – Bed
Instead, I sleep every alternate day as I am slowly weaning myself off the anti-depressants and the anxiety pills. And most days are bad days still with one ailment or the other. An ache here, a pain there, general discomfort that sometimes brings me so down, I could die. But I don’t because that is what would give the half-wits cause to rejoice and that just won’t do. So instead, this is how it is:
4.30 am – ‘Another night of no sleep. Fuck.’
5.30 am – ‘Buggering tired. Sleep. Fuck.’
6.30 am – ‘Hungry. Fuck. Is there nothing to eat? I want real food.’
7.30 am – ‘Will go for the 4.30 class. Need. Sleep. Now. Fuck.’
8.30 am – Sleep.
10.30 am – ‘Trying to wake up. Fuck. Why is Bangalore so fucking hot!’
11.30 am – Get back to bed after waking up and walking about for two minutes
12.30 pm – Lunch
1.30 pm – Yawn. ‘Write? Read? Ah fuck.’
4.30 pm – ‘It’s raining.’ ‘It’s too sunny.’ ‘I have nothing to wear.’ ‘I am too tired for any class.’ ‘I hate yoga.’
5.30 pm – Try TV and get mad that there is nothing worth watching, so read a book instead
7.30 pm – Go slightly mad and wait for the phone to ring
8.30 pm – Madness reaches feverish pitch and still have nothing I want to do
9.30 pm – God bless Hindi soaps, so predictable, so comforting, so non-scary
10.30 pm – Try the bed
10.30 pm – 4.30 am – Stay awake and wonder when I will sleep
The medicine count has decreased. And I am still alive, contrary to my own belief that I would die without my pills. Eventually, I know I can and will go back to having a routine, to being able to do exactly what I have planned to do in the day.
For now, I don’t need to talk to anyone I don’t want to talk to. I write if and when I can, when I want to. The only agenda when I facebook or tweet is to keep in touch with friends and not scout for fans and feelers about some community. I can continue hating most people and being as anti-social as I choose.
I finally have the time to remember long-forgotten songs and remake my memories, rearrange events in my head, because if I don’t do that, how will I make myself again?
For now, this is bliss.