Shaming the library worker

As an Instructor and Research Specialist at the library I work for, I have been shushed by customer before. I have a loud laugh and I was laughing loudly with some fellow loud laughers on the floor of the library. A man came up to us and reminded us that this was a library. Shh……We were duly chastised and left the area giggling like teenagers. I am not talking about that kind of shame in this blog.

I opened my email one day at work to find an email from a colleague saying a certain customer was enquiring after me since he has not seen me at the gym for a while. I fell off the wagon for a long while leading a sedentary life on my couch with a book in my hand. I did go for walks but not regularly. Life just seemed bleak and I lacked motivation to do much. When I read that email, I felt a twinge of annoyance and also laughed a little. I didn’t think much of it. I did see this customer at the gym when I frequented the place regularly. We always said hello. I introduced him to my husband and he introduced us to his wife. Then I stopped going and looks like he noticed my absence.

At the beginning of December, I went to the gym. The first step toward going is hard. I didn’t want to but the customer’s enquiry shamed me into it (kind of). I knew exercising is good for me and it was sheer laziness that was preventing me from doing more for my health. On the first day I did not see the customer. I was a little disappointed as I wanted him to know I came to the gym because he nudged me. On the second day, I saw him and waved from the elliptical machine. He came over with a big smile. “You came?” he said.

“Did you sign up for 12 days of fitness? You get a free t-shirt. You should sign up.”

Groan. What is that?

“Errrr, maybe.” I huffed and puffed.

Before leaving, I asked the trainer about it. He said we can work out for 12 days in the month of December and after 12 days we get a free t-shirt. The days of workout do not have to be consecutive. So I signed up. Not because of my health but I love free t-shirts. Once I signed up, I was committed. I am very goal oriented. Once I had a goal I knew I had to fulfill it. So I kept going back and I started seeing a difference in my energy and a tad difference in my body as well as mental health.

I got my free t-shirt.

Later in the month, I saw the customer at the library. I went to him and thanked him for shaming me into going to the gym. I have been going regularly and also got my t-shirt. He laughed and said that they missed us at the gym. Nobody knows me at the gym, so no one missed me. He is just a sweet person.

I have now made it my goal to go to the gym at least 12 days in a month. I have even printed out a calendar to put up on my refrigerator to check mark the days I go. A visual reminder, for me, is important for accountability and satisfaction.

Lastly, I will say this again – public libraries change lives. The catalyst for those changes may be librarians, library workers, or customers.

Solitary vs lonely

While chopping vegetables, profound thoughts come to me. Like whether I am a lover of solitude or am I lonely? I am alone this weekend, but more about that later. I am also at an interesting transitional point in life. My two children are adults now. I am in a comfortable relationship with my partner where the throes of passion (both in love and anger) are on the simmer. We spend our evenings in relative quiet, he doing his thing and me reading. We give each other space to pursue happiness in our own ways. It took me a while to realize that my happiness is not dependent on anyone but me. Gone are the days of hectic activities of school, work, dinner, homework, swim practice, baseball practice. I have a lot of time in my hands and no one to dictate me how to spend my free time. I choose solitude and books. I like this new phase in my life and in our relationship.

As I said, I am alone this weekend. Since I came from work last evening, I have not spoken to anyone except for a friend who called me to talk about book donation. I want to see if I can go through the weekend without actually interacting with another human being. I have some errands to run so that may be difficult. But I will not engage in any meaningful conversation with anyone. A social experiment, I call it. I read somewhere that urban loneliness is affecting not only the elderly population but also the young. I am not elderly yet. Middle aged and a recluse. I remember an interview of a young woman who had moved to a city for work. She never spoke to anyone over the weekends when she didn’t have work. I thought of her today. Did she miss human interaction? Why don’t I? Interestingly, when I am with my friends at work, I love our engagement. I love them. I love that we can laugh together. But once I come home, I am satisfied to just be home.

This is not a new thing. My very extroverted mother did not understand my need to be away from people. If I made a plan to meet up with friends, I dreaded the meet-up and complained constantly that I did not want to go. “But these are your dear friends!” Ma would say. And when I actually dragged myself to meet them, I had the best time. But when I came back, I was also relieved to be home and happy that I had a good time.

Along with age, I have grown to love this solitude even more. I have wondered if I am lonely. Rarely do I have miss being with people. Strangely though, all my jobs have been people oriented. I work at a public library and I interact with people all day and I do it well.

Here I am, sitting in complete silence in my house, typing my thoughts. I was in the middle of making bed and folding laundry but there is no one in the house to expect me to finish that. That is a luxury – to be on my own timeline, with my own thoughts.

Lastly, there is a great fiction depicting this transitional phase in women by Catherine Newman called Sandwich. Some books speak to you and some books talk about you. Sandwich does both.

What is the difference between solitude and loneliness?

Observations from the elliptical… and beyond

I chose the worst possible playlist from Spotify before getting on the elliptical machine today. I generally listen to 90’s Bollywood hits or a mix of Bengali songs about social change but today I chose the Bollywood Workout Beats (or something like that). Big mistake! The first song was almost ten minutes long Sanskrit prayer to Lord Shiva. Now, I have nothing against Shiva. I always thought he is a pretty cool deity although I find his wife (Durga) much cooler, but I don’t need to listen to someone singing paean to him for 10 minutes when my thighs are burning. I need songs that will make me forget the thigh burn. I don’t keep the phone available near me to discourage my inclination to check messages while I exercise, so changing playlist was out of question without interrupting the work out. Anyway, the songs that followed after that interminably long prayer song were not up to snuff either. So instead of focusing on the music in my head, I looked around and surveyed my fellow gym users.

First, I love to see diversity in race, age, body types doing something for themselves. Older men, in their seventies, walking slowly or running, on the treadmill. Older women, doing the same and also stretching, practicing their balance.
Young men and women focused on their phones, grim expression on faces doing feats, either freehand or on the machines, that I can only dream of and never achieve. I saw a young woman pull herself up a pull up bar and hold it for, what it seemed like, eternity. I marveled at her ability and strength. You go girl!
Another young man held a plank forever. The core strength was incredible. My muscles quiver like jelly after 30 seconds.
After a weight round, young men surreptitiously checked themselves out in the mirror, gently touching their biceps and strutting a little. It made me smile.
One woman, a regular, gets on a elliptical, and has so much inner joy as she goes hard on the pedals. She raises her hand sometimes, moves her head, her hair flips all around, smiles. It seems her whole body is in tune with the work out. I would like to know what music she is listening to. She seems so very joyful. She was flipping her hair around today, moving to a tune that she could only hear.
A very friendly trainer went around high fiving regulars, primarily older men and women. It is lovely to watch the camaraderie. Some regulars, after work out, meet at the lobby and chat over cups of free coffee.
I observe the forms of some serious gym rats and make a mental note to emulate their form when I use that particular machine.

After my hour on the elliptical ended, I got off the machine, drank some water and changed playlist. With Arijit Singh crooning in my ears, I stretched and continued observing humanity around me. After a good hour and a half at the gym, I went into the locker room and got the shock of my life as I happened to glance at the mirror. Pagla Dashu stared back at me. A female version of him, of course. The top of my hair was completely frizzy thanks to the head phones, my face drenched in sweat, eyes puffy from lack of sleep and basic age related wrinkles. Pagla Dashu, my beloved fictional character is young, crazy and charming, if a little insane, but his name popped up in my head as I looked at myself in the mirror. If you are not familiar with him, click on the link – I already wikied him for you. I am considerate like that.

Before heading out, I put an online order for chicken biriyani from a local Indian restaurant. I justified eating biriyani right after a good workout by thinking, I am exercising for mental health and today, biriyani is essential for my mental health. I went to the Indian grocery store, right next to the restaurant, and picked up boring things like cilantro and spices. I also picked up a big bar of Cadbury Fruit and Nut chocolate but I put it back on the shelf again. I did work hard to burn some calories, I was about to put all those back in my body in the form of biriyani. Chocolate bar had to wait for another day. I did pick up a bar of Mysore Sandal soap. I have been missing ma and baba terribly these past days. That soap was their favorite. I wanted the smell of that soap. It is incredible how deep associations that mere smell can bring up.

I see no change in my weight so far. However, random folks have not come up to me and asked me if I was pregnant. So there’s that. And I feel a change in my mental health. I am more peaceful for longer stretches of time than before.

Fourth time’s a charm

The first 3 times my response was, “No, I am just fat.” The questions, as you may have guessed, were different variations of “Are you pregnant?” And these questions were asked by customers at the library. I laughed and shrugged them off. When someone who sees me regularly asked me this question, it irked me. First, it is none of anyone’s business. Don’t ask me such personal questions unless I have offered the information myself. Second, can’t you see the lovely gray streaks in my hair? I am almost past the childbearing age. Menopause is real, meno belly is real. Read about it, know about it and leave us, menopausal women alone! Third, this is body shaming, so stop.

After my parents died last year, I gave up on life. For a while, I did not want to be alive because I couldn’t see the point. There was enormous amount of guilt, grief, depression. I went to work, put my sparkles on so nobody knew I was hurting, came home and sat on my chair staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t aware of ‘smiling depression’ till a friend shared an article after tWitch’s death. As I read the article, I checked all the boxes. I was not brave enough to ask for professional help. I am still not ready. This blog was my coping mechanism. Writing down my feelings helped. As I was crawling out of the quagmire of grief, as I was starting to learn to live around the loss, my baby cousin sister died. She was terminally ill so the end was not completely surprising but it shook me nonetheless. However, the way she lived till the end inspired me to live too. Despite cancer, despite chemo, despite horrendous sickness, she went out there and danced. She was a dancer. Her zest for life despite knowing her days were numbered and perhaps, because of that knowledge, inspired me to get off my couch. Before all these losses, I lived with a false sense of invincibility. These two years have taught me a hard lesson – life is short, unpredictable and we only have one shot.

That realization and my vanity, the double whammy made me reluctantly get up, lace up my sneakers and tentatively enter the gym. Moreover, my dexascan shows I have started losing bone density. The doc said I can’t fight genetics (yes, osteoporosis is my heirloom) but I can certainly delay it. Gravity is my friend, she said.

When I first went to the gym a few weeks ago, my desire was to work towards a flat belly so people will stop asking me if I am pregnant. However, my goal changed as I sweated on the elliptical. I don’t care about my belly any more. I care about how I feel after spending an hour or more at the gym. I feet better mentally. Even when my body tires, my mind rises above the usual stupor. The release of dopamine and serotonin during aerobic exercise is real. I have been aware of it. And then there is the music. I slap my head phones on, connect it to my phone’s bluetooth and get lost in the music that rains down like a salve for my soul – Rabindrasangeet, Suman, Nachiketa, Lopamudra, Chandrabindu, Hemanta, Manna De, Kishore Kumar, Rafi, 90’s Bollywood hits, I listen to them all. That one and a half hour is completely dedicated to my body and soul.

So yes, these days I look forward to the gym. Not to flatten my belly but if that happens in the process, I won’t complain, but to do something for myself, release the happy hormones to help with my mental health and surrender to the music of my soul.

The fourth time was the charm. It dragged me out of my house to take care of myself. I am grateful to the fourth person, after being angry with them. 🙂

One year….part 2

I went to sleep on the night of May 18th of 2021 with a lighter heart. After more than 2 weeks of struggle, baba seemed to have turned the corner. His numbers looked good, he finished his meal and even had a little appetite. Although he had oxygen mask on, he wanted to say a lot to Sahana when she came on the video screen to talk to him. He died the next day, May 19th, 2021. Like my mother, his death was peaceful. He slowly fell asleep and in his sleep he stopped breathing. Everytime I think that they are dead, even after a year, I get a jolt. How is it possible?

Baba liked to get things done. If there was a problem, he had to solve it. He would not rest till he solved it. He loved to talk about astronomy, watch martial art movies and when his eyes were good, read trashy paperbacks. He was no connoisseur of good literature. He loved Bollywood music and loved to watch ‘keora nritya’ during Durga puja’s bhashan. And he loved animals. He was the protector of all the strays in our neighborhood. If any of them got hurt, he arranged their transportation to vet hospitals, made sure all of them got fed. We were wary of our clothes if we got dressed up to go somewhere and baba was with us. His animals crowded around us and jumped on us too to show affection. Ma, of course, screamed at him – “joto adikhyeta!” Ryan loved it.

There is so much to write about him, about my memories of him. But today my heart is heavy and I will keep the words within me for now. When the words come spontaneously, I will write a bigger blog then. Today, on his one year death anniversary, this disjointed blog will have to do.

All these months, I have coped with my grief by giving them a release in my blogs. It really helped. But words did not flow when I started writing this blog. I wondered why. I think the desperate fight to keep him alive, the brief hope followed by brutal, merciless, unbearable pain is something my brain does not want to revisit. If I think back on those days, I start going back down a deep, dark chasm and my brain is perhaps protecting me from revisiting that dark place. Baba was mostly a happy person who liked to live life at large. My homage to him would be smiles, positive thoughts, hope and food – always food.

The “goods” in the week of September 13th.

I have to dig deep for the “goods” this week because mentally, this week was pretty bad.

I am starting to make myself comfortable with the idea that I may need grief counseling. Perhaps that is what “stay strong” means – seek help.

Sahana and I had some good conversations about her future. It gives me immense pleasure to hear, and sometimes counsel about what she wants to do in life. She is seeing more people her age after a hiatus of close to 2 years. That makes me happy.

Ryan was sick at the beginning of the week. He got a Covid test. The result was negative and he is on the mend.

I have started reading The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. These are a compilation of short essays by the poet to mark all that which brings him delight. This is the exercise I am doing as well but I do not possess the poet’s eye for detail or his lyrical prose. The essays do inspire me to “look” more actively. They are wonderful.

After a year and a half, one of my book clubs at work will be meeting in person. Strangely, I am looking forward to it and also not. It will be odd to have an hour long discussion in person but it will be lovely to see everyone.

At work, we ordered Indian food for lunch on Friday.

We went out as a family for dinner on Saturday after many weeks. And also on Sunday before we dropped off Ryan at his dorm. We do not go out as a family any more due to schedules and commitments. It was especially nice to be together and laugh.

Sean and I went for a hike on Sunday morning. The day was perfect and being in nature brought me peace of mind.

I have been consciously meeting my step goals each day.

After many, many months I attempted to write a book review for my work blog.

Hope your list of “goods” is long. Have a great week.

Living through Covid 19

Our isolation is not over yet. I write this blog while we are in our 10th week of isolation. As I went to bed, woke up to a world that lost more people than the day before, perused the news about more information about the pandemic, logged in to work, ate lunch, went for walk, dinner, books and then bed again, life fell into a new monotonous rhythm yet the mind experienced myriad of emotions.

When our work closed, I remember, the first week was full of uncertainty, yes, but also some excitement. Due to school, work and travel, our little family did not have much of a chance to be together for the last few years. The oldest was away in college and then Spain, the youngest was boarding in school. Sean traveled at least 40% of the year. We thought we will be off work for a couple of weeks, we will practice physical distancing from the world, flatten the curve and life will be back to semi normal. In retrospect that idea seems so naive.

Sahana and I love to cook so, right away, we occupied the kitchen and cooked different types of food. We even thought of a cooking competition while we were in isolation and we were confident us girls would beat the boys hands down. When all this is over, I will look back on that time with a smile. We shared so much as she cooked and I cleaned the dishes. Our innermost thoughts, hopes, fears, desires – all came out in the familiar comfort of the kitchen, doing a task we both loved to do. Ryan, Sean and I started watching one episode of a tv show, Rome, everyday while snuggling together in bed after the day was done. Sean and I took long walks exploring the neighborhood, often accompanied by Sahana, when we talked about her future, our years together going forward. We brought all our board games out and played raucous rounds of Risk, Ludo, Apples to Apples. We smack talked, strategized, teased and laughed. We even bought badminton rackets and I showed the family who is the boss in badminton. Soon Ryan’s athletic prowess deemed my brilliance but that is not the point here. Gradually, though, the enthusiasm and excitement of the isolation starting fading away. Board games were forgotten, badminton rackets were rarely picked up, hours went by in companionable silence. Fifteen year old Ryan retreated to his room attending school and stayed there after school was over. Sahana still went for walks with us, baked a lot, watched shows on her phone and she talked. I got more involved with trying to figure out how to work remotely and Sean conducted all his work from home. He probably was most seamless in transitioning to remote working.

There were days, though, when sleep would elude me as I lay tossing and turning in bed in grips of anxiety. My parents were far away and I have no ways of getting to India if they need me. There were unexpected tears at this new normal. And with that came guilt. Are these tears justified compared to what so many others are going through? I have a home, my family is with me, I have a paycheck coming, my husband is getting paid so why these tears? Why such profound sadness?

Like thousands others, I figured I would document the ‘goods’ and ‘bads’ of this pandemic so future students, while writing papers on this historic pandemic, have plenty of primary sources right at their finger tips 🙂 .

So what was bad for me?

Fear. Fear of not being able to go to Kolkata if something happened to my parents. I had to mindfully remove that thought from my head before I could go to sleep each night. Every morning when I woke up, I checked my phone to see their activity on social media. Most days, I called. Fear was the worst.

Despair at the news.

Irrational anger at the universe for Sage’s death at this time. Now that I was home all the time, his memory haunted me more. I had a physical yearning to pet him, to have him back. Why did he decide to die all of a sudden? That was very bad planning on his part. I felt cheated. Circumstances will not allow me to have another pet right now. But I did not want another pet. I just wanted Sage. I told you. It is irrational.

Uncertainty about the future of my rising senior in college. Will she be able to finish her school year in person? What will happen to the lease of the apartment she signed if she has to take her fall classes online? Will I feel comfortable at work? I work with public. How bad will it all be in fall? Will I feel comfortable giving my friends a hug ever again? Will Sahana get a job? What will happen to college funds?

What was still good?

I really like my family on top of loving them.

I will remember this pandemic via the smell of fresh ginger garlic paste. Why? Because Sahana started a sourdough starter. And each day, instead of throwing away the excess starter before feeding the ‘mother’, she mixed some milk, chili flakes, fresh ginger/ garlic paste, some chopped scallion and made a delicious pancake. We ate the ‘waste product’ topped with fresh sliced tomatoes, home grown basil leaves, fresh mozzarella. You should have seen and tasted the deliciousness! That smell will always remain as a memory of comfort during pandemic.

Food that Sahana cooked, delicious and various. As an Indian mother, my proud moment arrived when my daughter made perfect samosas filled with potatoes and peas. My job here was done.

Ryan’s excited face as he explained one of his esoteric thoughts on aliens, historical facts and his interpretation of it, de extinction of extinct species. His constant playful bantering with his dad when it came to number of push ups and sit ups. Flexing of muscles and more working outs. His face, when flushed with the excitement of a new idea, made me smile inwardly. He was always a thoughtful child and while he tried his best to maintain aloofness as a 15 year old, the thoughts that came in his head needed to come out. His family members, at dinner time, were the best recipients.

Seeing Sean at work, listening to his meetings all over the world trying to mitigate hunger, poverty. And sometimes glaring at him for speaking so loudly that I had to leave the space to listen to my zoom meeting. Then laughing with the kids about it.

Sitting outside and looking at bunny rabbits play with each other.

Birds. So many birds. They were perhaps always there, I did not notice them with such focus. Waking up to their chirping and ending the day with their twits.

While riding this roller coaster of emotions, I learn to be patient, a trait I lack. And I learn to stay hopeful despite moments of despair. This will end. We will emerge. World will heal. Amen.

In the meantime…..deep breaths.