“The time is gone, the song is over…
…thought I’d something more to say” (Pink Floyd, Time, 1973)
On Sunday, I stood in my new kitchen for the first time, although it didn’t feel new or like the first time. Perhaps the lived-in-ness of a space makes it more familiar and inviting: sticky knobs; labelled condiment dabbas; and, most importantly, a place for everything. I rummaged through the contents of the cupboards and made myself at home in the kitchen, slowly inspecting the items in the fridge. I pulled out the packets of curd to check the expiry date. My newly acquainted flatmate walked by, and I said, “Hey, these say June 14th; we should throw them out.” He looked perplexed, and before he reacted, it dawned on me that it was only the 15th of June that day. While he laughed, I was unable to explain how I assumed that the time had passed, while simultaneously failing to realise that we were already here.
We’re halfway through June. The weight of the entire year now rests on the nimble shoulders of a month that is otherwise so gentle. So much time has already passed since I promised myself I would write, read, learn, exercise, rest, engage, and be more, and agonise, scroll, spend, avoid, delay, and explain lesser. I’ve watched myself do the contrary with every passing day, but I haven’t actively resisted these other activities. As I’ve gone with the flow, I’ve made more friends, found more reasons to laugh, flirted with chance, and have ended a few nights soaked head to toe in Delhi’s intermittent monsoon. The little squares look back at me expectantly, wondering what more I would expect from their limited capacity of twenty-four hours each. It feels cruel expecting so much from a day, a month (and, dare I say it, a year). It also feels cruel (perhaps even vain) to expect so much of myself. What the last six months (if not the last few years) have taught me is that it is not worth disrupting the order of the day and all the potential it holds— whether it’s reconnecting with an old friend and picking up from where you left off, reading an essay that moves you to tears, or even spending an entire evening listening to two versions of a song composed by a friend.
Time flies, and it certainly flies when I make writing commitments. The drafts pile up on top of one another and trip over themselves in folders, documents, notebooks, and other scraps of paper. I’ve read numerous essays and books on overcoming the fear of the blank page. I can swear by how much I’m trying so hard t—
Let me stop. I can wax poetic on how difficult it has been for me to juggle writing with everything else. I can offer lofty lessons on what it’s taking me to put this out there, but that feels a bit like watching myself undergo a surgery. Instead, I’ll leave this for another time—perhaps when I have the vantage point of distance from this moment in my life where everything is still blurry. For now, I’ll allow myself to lean into the anaesthetic and drift a while. I will, instead, do what I do best, viz. make a list. Here are some bitter-sweet pills I’ve had to swallow lately, that I share from personal experience—some to do with writing and others to do with everything I learned while I couldn’t do avoided it.
If you can afford it, go to therapy. Regularly.
Nothing is free in life. Those that are come at a different cost.
Adulthood (so far) is more about managing egos rather than situations.
Invest your money. Pester those better acquainted with this to guide you.
Ask for help.
Get used to hearing people say no.
Learn how to drive, or learn to accept that you will constantly be told that you need to learn how to drive.
Not everybody respects personal space; let them know.
Say ‘no’, instead of saying everything but that.
Cold-email people.
Sitting with good posture is so important.1 Plant both feet on the ground, both wrists on the table (with no space in between), and elevate the book or screen to eye level as best you can.
Try and learn the language of the city you’re living in— it opens up spaces, opportunities, and perspectives you couldn’t have fathomed.
If I continued to spend 4 to 6 hours on my phone or on social media cumulatively every day, I would lose nearly 2.5 to 3 months of the entire year just like that.
Too much stretching does not a flexible person make. You need to strengthen the muscles around the parts that are weak, without stretching too much and making them weaker.
Too much stressing does not a prepared person make.
If you say you’re never going to do something, chances are that you (are subconsciously/ unconsciously ruminating over it, so you eventually) will.
Never, ever, ever compromise on what you wear on your feet.
and since we’re on the topic…
People—complete strangers or even the dearest of friends—can walk all over you because you’re "nice”. Remain nice! Step out of their way, and walk far away from them.
People—strangers, friends, or even family—can say hurtful things. Don’t take it.
You will be offered several free shots at parties. Don’t take it. (recall pill #2)
You will be presented opportunities with only some information and huge amounts of risk. Take it.
Never miss warming up and cooling down pre and post workout. Yes, there is always time for it. No, it is not okay to skip it “just this time”.
The idea that you can “make up for” something by setting aside more time for it later is the adult version of the tooth fairytale that we tell ourselves.
Lists will save you.
Writing is the only cure for writer’s block.
welcome to extra ordinary
If you’ve stayed this far, I am incredibly flattered (and quite embarrassed). Welcome to Extra Ordinary, where I will post essays about the exceptionally unexceptional, the menacingly mundane, or the obstinately ordinary rigours of day-to-day existence. I told myself I would never start a Substack (pill #16). I don’t know where this is heading, but I think I’ll stick around and find out (pill #21).
Why do I feel like the word “posture” has such an incredible impact? Chances are that you straightened out your back while reading it.
I really did straighten out my back. Then got to the footnote and laughed. Humans are oh so predictable.