[thecattyindian]

[thecattyindian]

I put eyeshadow for the first-ish time.

[thecattyindian]

[thecattyindian]

Hey, how have you been? I hope you’re doing okay. How’s Bombay been treating you? Not sure, if you are gonna answer the anonymous prompts here.

Who is this?

[thecattyindian]

She wore a big, loose black t-shirt with a big, loose white t-shirt under it. A bum bag sat across her chest. Doc Martens (I think) on her feet. Short hair with little whispers of grey. At first glance her face seems child-like with those big glasses, there’s a softness behind it, but on deeper inspection---it’s when you look at her eyes, or when she finally speaks, you understand that time has left its residue.

Is it the egg recipe she forwarded? Is it the way in which she asked questions patiently, or offered advice? It felt like the calmness of a pond, a small pond tucked away, that I had been looking for for some time, without my knowing, and on finally arriving here—a part of me wanted to cry, all of me could breathe.

[thecattyindian]

I was sitting on the toilet, looking down at my crotch, debating whether the length of the wiry black hair needed a trim. And at that very moment, I heard the buzz buzz of a neighbour's electric trimmer climb through the window. And at the very next moment, the whir whir of an electric saw—the kind found at construction sites—joined in as well. Sometimes the universe is so on the nose about these things.

[thecattyindian]

Sandakphu 2021.

[thecattyindian]

For 21 days, I lived in a multi-purpose room.

[thecattyindian]

[thecattyindian]

I was pooping when my father called on my phone—15 minutes right after I'd broken the news to my parents: A boy would be coming over to watch a movie. 

We ALL fucking know what that means, don't we? I picked up the call, the tiniest bit of anxiety bubbling up my throat. "We need to speak. Come to our room for a minute." Between the time it took me to finish my business, give myself a confident nod in the mirror, and go back to my parent's room, I was ready with my material:

Mom. Dad. I'm a grown-up now. No, the door of my room will not be kept open. Firstly, it's hot and we need the air conditioner. Secondly, and more importantly—I'm 25. We're only going to watch a movie. Nothing is going to happen. Okay, maybe just some kissing. It's just kissing! Did I establish that I'm 25?

I snap back to reality and approach the battlefield. Mom and dad are no longer sitting in the same room. Point noted. Dad informs me that the next time I have news, I must deliver it separately to each of them, like a spy playing for both sides. They both have strong opinions - that feel unheard when in a room together. 

The irony - that none of their opinions regarding the boy were shared. 

[thecattyindian]

[thecattyindian]

[thecattyindian]

9am pouring in through the windows.

[thecattyindian]

Morning after Amphan made its way through North 24 Parganas, West Bengal. Trees have been snapped in half, uprooted and thrown around by the super cyclone.

[thecattyindian]

My spirit animal is a chest of drawers. Smooth edges that sit tightly shut. I suppose the fear is: If I let a trickle in, it could grow into a rivulet and then a mighty flood. I never learnt how to swim, you see. Choking on a sea of emotions, I would ultimately drown. Like an overstuffed sausage that tears at the belly, or a week’s worth of clothing in the washing machine⸺ soapy tears leaking all over the floor. I can’t afford the repair guy.

[thecattyindian]

[thecattyindian]

.