Last week was really tough physically, mentally, and emotionally. After the episode with my society, the municipality’s Garden Head came for inspection and the management still hasn’t reached out to me to assuage my concerns. It has been 40 degrees in the city, the heat waves continuing to beat down on us unchallenged, undeterred. You see the cognitive dissonance in my brain?
Work was, just, well, work and a whole lot of AI-thumping. The upside was that I was able to finish my next essay for my Small Heresies sub-category of writing. I want to stop calling it Substack simply because a tissue is a tissue not Kleenex. Americans are unable to identify a thing without naming it after its brand. We’ve never had to say “I will WordPress this.” It has always been “I will blog about this.” The proper noun is not substituted for the common noun on this site, and I, for one, am happy about it.
Anyhoo.
I was humbled pretty quickly when a team member expressed disappointment that despite raising many concerns nothing was done about it. Dear Reader, it was not for lack of trying. As middle management, I have learnt the hard way that the world is an unfair place, and I am powerless to change it.
Come to think of it, that’s how I felt the whole week — powerless and helpless. Who was I to make a change? No one. What did my opinion count for? Nothing. What was I gonna do about it? Zilch. Nada. An overwhelming sense of helplessness grabbed my life by its throat last week. I am still reeling from the abrasions.
Over the years, I have learnt that some feelings are temporary, while some run through the course of one’s life like sinews under the skin. Scores of short videos try to convince me that with neuro plasticity I can change my brain’s core belief system. I wonder how long will it be, until, as an old woman I will call it hogwash. Living has seemed like a Sisyphean quest. I have been feeling unheard.
Once upon a time, a friend who used to read my blog told me that no matter how bleak the situation, I always find a sliver of hope towards the end of most posts. I am tempted to do just the opposite today, but honestly, I am filled with the fullness of sustenance. I have a fan overhead running at full speed. I have been able to buy vegetables at the market. My green umbrella hangs in the window to be used on these ferociously sunny days. There are small pink flowers growing on my bougainvillea.
Make no mistake, I am dog-tired and out of hope, but my life is not insufficient.
Small Mercies.
Recent Publications:
- My essay on Wobbly Tables was published by The Bombay Literary Magazine. | Why Tables Wobble
- My first essay on Small Heresies is about the removal of public spaces and ecological degradation of Mumbai. | Do not Sit on Swings
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