“Congratulations on writing 100 posts”; my phone beeped, as a flood of memories warm and cold, sweet and bitter, calm and torrid hit me. It has been a journey of sorts for me, from me venting out to writing about people I admire, adore for life. From creating characters to taking a stand for causes I believe in, this has been a ride: a joyride and a rollercoaster at the same time.
“You aren’t someone who would catch someone by their collar and vent out, try writing, give it some time. Write about your experiences – good and bad, about people and trust me you will feel much better, lighter.” said the psychologist. It was August ‘2015, the onset of doom perhaps, the relationship I had treasured now razed to the ground. No traces of it remains now, expect for the skin that I haven’t been able to shed. And, three springs later as I look back, I know certain things are meant to be, for the good.
My heartfelt gratitude goes out to the counsellor who understood the pulse of my mind, understood the kind of person I was and gauged deep into my psyche. I thank her for asking me to write, to begin with it in the first place, for enabling me in tracing out my then lost passion for writing.
I thank the one I lost my heart to when I was teenager for helping me write, giving me content and importing content for me from the plains of Northern India. The starting phase of anything depends on stability, the relation had none but the content was more or less stable. I thank her for being the dark chapter of my life, it helped me in seeking light and sunshine for myself, all by myself.
2015, was more of an experiment; I tried to communicate what if felt like to be out of a relationship, nothing self-destructive, self-realization here; I was holding onto a toxic relationship; it was a cruel test of time and fate.
2016, got me going; the heartbreak felt real, and as I sulked in depression I sought intervention again; suicidal thoughts and tendencies gripping my mind, never had I felt that frustrated and low. I saw my counsellor again, she asked me to write, helped connect me to NGOs and take up volunteering work and referred me to a psychiatrist. “He is a mental case”; they talked behind my back and as the murmurs grew I knew to myself that the pills had to work, ease me and put me to sleep. Anxiety had always been an issue with me, fighting the monsters of depression now seemed arduous too. Popping a tablet and scribbling on my phone became more than a pastime, I was jobless and broke too; it aided in me venting out.
My blogs did reasonably well in 2016, the viewership grew; posts were shared widely and it did help me in breaking the shackles of depression to an extent.
I thank all my subjects, people whom I wrote about during that time.
Mr. Sharma for being the content he is, I might have not written about him recently, but I still hold him in high and low regard, we have shared a symbiotic relationship and I shall glorify it again.
The freak; my friend whom I met on a train journey from Mumbai to Calcutta, the owner of my favourite pub; a place like no place else, the girl who inspired me with her grit, my ex manager (someone who pretended to be), the junior from college who loved metal and the senior from school who taught me a thing or two, my tattooist friend, the Mallus in my life, the Nagas I grew up with, the friend who came out to me and Delhi; Dilli for me – Hazrat Nizzamuddin Auliya, my savior, my guiding light; for guiding me through the tumultuous times.
2017, took off slower than expected; my writing suffered a bit of a spasm as other worries crept in, being jobless does that to you. The nagging, the taunts and jokes about me being depressed now taking me nowhere, with me writing lesser and lesser with each passing day. The only relief then was meeting a publisher who wanted me to write, but write his version of my story. I agreed initially, but then my principles weighed in, it wasn’t for sale; I couldn’t spice things up to sell something I held close to my heart. The end result, 300 pages deleted for good. I had better things to write, even better things to experience. A miracle awaited, a blessing sent from the Heavens was to be parceled soon. Chester Bennington, the late Linkin Park frontman was the angel who delivered to me the greatest gift I was to receive: My Muse, Estella was in sight!! Perhaps, She’ll understand as to why I mentioned Chester here.
The second half of 2017 got me going as I discovered a new zeal to write, with someone inspiring me with her words and silence, her calm and chaos, with her presence then and absence now.
And, as I step into my journey again with a vigor now renewed, I know: I can only write about her, write for her and write to her, endlessly and seamlessly. I would also like to thank my depression, the pain I held within and my pills for making me write, the authors I grew up reading and the songs I grew up listening to and the tales I grew up romancing, they are all adding up now; as I ready myself for another voyage, this time a tad bit difficult with her absence, but then isn’t the Northern Star far away too, miles away from the earth.
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on;
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene: one step enough for me.
~ John Henry Newman
P.S: A big shout out to all the readers, followers and people who took time out to read, share and provide feedback on stuff that I wrote. A big thank you for keeping me sane, giving me time and enabling me to do what I am worse at doing best – scribbling.
abhishek purkayastha 