Brand new life = Brand new insecurities

So, it's been about two and a half months since I moved, bag and baggage, to the United Arab Emirates. Now, when most people move to this country, they say "We are moving to Dubai." If you're wondering why I'm not saying the same thing, well, it's because we have *not* moved to Dubai. We have moved to a northern emirate called Ajman. Yeah, I had to look it up when my husband first got the offer, too.

Many pros and cons were discussed and debated, friends were consulted and goals were shared... after which we finally made the decision: if not now, then when. There's no better time to move to a new country than when you're a DINK (double income, no kids). So husband moved and I started wrapping up our lives in Bombay--a joint life very carefully and lovingly built, one I wanted to get away from for a while now, and yet when it became a reality, everything was going dark. Anyway, maybe I should save the perils of packing for another post.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, two months after husband moved, I followed him--no job in hand, just dreams of chilling for a while, becoming a domestic goddess and finding a fancy-pants job within two months. I imagined myself cooking fancy meals, working out like a beast and soon, within two months tops, landing an awesome job to which I would be wearing sexy pencil skirts, sky-high heels and, soon, driving confidently in a cool new ride. I mean, I'm qualified, good at what I do and even came bearing recommendations, meetings already scheduled. What could possibly come in my way? Life, apparently. How soon all my dreams came crashing down.

Don't get me wrong, so far, it's been a great ride--we're lucky we (read: I) have a bunch of friends here, so every weekend has been a party. If you're moving to a new country, I highly recommend choosing one where you know people... but that's pretty obvious.

While I did initially enjoy the chilling, the cooking, the setting up of the new home, the not having to be responsible etc., after about all of two weeks, I slowly but surely started losing my mind. Yes, patience is indeed my middle name. Baishali Patience Chatterjee.

I remember when I went to say goodbye to my editor at Femina, Tanya, and joked about wanting to become a housewife... sorry, homemaker... she rapped me on the knuckles and told me I was made for bigger things. I just threw my head back and laughed, telling her, "But I love to cook!" Little did I know that she clearly knew me better than I knew myself.

It has, as mentioned earlier, been over two months since I started job hunting in this foreign country, and it has been frustratingly slow, to put it mildly. Yes, I've met a bunch of people, sent out more emails that I have in my entire life, collectively, and generally lost my mind. No biggie.

(Above: What I wore to two meetings/interviews)
Pic one:
Top: H&M; Skirt: MOA collection; Shoes: Charles & Keith
Pic two:
Top: H&M; Skirt: Hong Kong; Shoes: Charles & Keith

If anyone ever tells you that moving to a new country is all fun, games and glamour, do not buy it. It *is* great, don't get me wrong. But there is a legit struggle that comes with it. A daily one.

After spending days hiding in bed, wallowing in self-pity, watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S. over and over and over (yeah. I'm one of those) again, I finally decided to do something with my time. So, at the insistence of many friends, I've restarted this blog, decided to up my social media game (whatever that means), work on that ever-elusive book I've been trying to write for like a gajillion years and *dum dum dum* signed up at a health club here and started swimming lessons!

It's the last thing that I'm most excited about. I've always loved and feared the water in equal parts, and have always wanted to learn how to swim. One class down, I can already float and glide across the width of the pool *pat pat*. I also attended one of the aerobics classes hosted by the club and basically died. Smoker's stamina and all.

Anyhoo, like I promised, I will continue to share experience from this life-altering move, as well as other things I observe and discover. Expect to see food posts, fashion posts, fitness maybe, weekend scenes, more job-hunt frustration and, hopefully, a lot more.

To see how I'm upping my social media game, follow me on Instagram (baishalic) and Twitter (Chat_Boi) *insert self-promotion*

Till next time, toodles! *air kisses*

Back from a hiatus?

Two years and eight months. Yeeshk! Been that long since I last posted. Well, at least I lived up to my blog's name *hyuk hyuk*

Most of you know (cos, let's face it, all my readers are my friends and family), my life has changed drastically since I last posted. Isn't ironic that my last post here was titled "My break from people"? Anyway, I am now married, yes to the man I used to whine most about on the blog, have moved out of the country and am currently (*dum dum dum*) unemployed. So many things I wasn't back then.

Many, many people have been telling me to get back to my blog, so this is my attempt at just that... at 1am. Very productive.

I hereby vow to (try to) share my new experiences, deets about the new people I meet, the places I go, the new insecurities that encompass me now, and find new things to whine about :D I've also simplified the template cos I feel more grown-up now, I think.

Till I write again, here's a photo of the sun rising in the desert... apt, no?

My break from people

I noticed that my previous post did not garner nearly as many views or comments as my otherwise personal, venting, bare-it-all, vulnerable ones do. So does that mean that those are the only kinds people like reading about? Because they relate to them or because it’s a voyeuristic universe? I can’t tell. All I know is that I avoided the blog for a while for precisely this reason—I didn’t want to write vulnerable, whiny posts. I don’t like whiny people, so why would people tolerate my whiny-ness? Clearly, I was wrong.

I’ve been on a break from people lately. Well, to be fair, I’m slowly slipping back into the game, but for at least for two weeks back there, I stayed away from most people. Apart from of course my colleagues, who I see at work. Can’t give up my job—would never do it; it’s what keeps me going. For those 10-12 hours a day, I forget it all.

The reason I decided to take a break from people is simply because all of a sudden, for the last few months, my life had become shrouded with negativity. Nothing in my personal life was going right. I know I sound dramatic. But when you’re as tiny as I am, all of it can be overwhelming. My biggest strengths, my friends, were falling apart all around me. We call each other family, and suddenly all I could see was that this family was disintegrating before my eyes. The matters of the heart were not getting better. I was losing people closest to me—either temporarily or permanently, I couldn’t tell. After a point, I stopped blaming the universe and world for all that was going wrong, and decided to look inward. It had to be something to do with me, right? I mean, I could no longer connect with people I had known for 20 years, some for eight years, and some I had been intimately connected with for four years. What the hell was going on? My solution—work till I drop, go straight home and numb my senses (insert what you like here).

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, this seemed to work. For those two weeks that I decided not to see people, not only did I feel lighter, as I had no expectations, and hence could not feel disappointed, but certain people who had dropped out of my life, miraculously reappeared—some for a moment, some maybe for good. Although I said I didn’t want to see people, I ended up spending time with those I really cared about, and some time spent on my own in introspection or with my favourite—a ton of books.

During this time, the only kind of articles that kept popping up on my newsfeed, etc., were on love, friendship, the importance of forgiveness, etc. Very unsettling. Of course, I read them all. They didn’t help much because the oscillation only continued stronger—one of those giant pirate ship rides that give you butterflies in your tummy.

I am slowly getting back ‘into it’ so as to speak, but I’m not there yet. And I don’t know whether and when I want to be ‘there’. Doesn’t it just sound cooler that I have no time from my hectic job to socialise or to think about my broken heart, etc? I think so.

Medicine - a money making machine

I’m literally sick of doctors. Not just in that I hate visiting doctors, hospitals, clinics and popping pills. But I am truly sick and tired of the kind of doctors I’ve met lately—and all of them seem to be the same. Unfortunately, I’ve had a host of problems lately which has led me into the cabins of a gynaecologist, an ENT specialist, a dentist and an orthopaedic. And every single experience has been horrific and blood-boiling, to put it mildly.

Gynaecologists are supposed to be gentle, understanding and patient. The one I met, supposedly a famous one, was anything but these. On first glance, she is a sweet old lady who treats you like a grandchild. But during the course of my two very short visits I discovered that she was impatient, snappy and rough—too busy to spend time on one patient; she had money to make! This woman was so terrible that she literally drove me to tears and I vowed never to return to her.

My ENT doctor has been one I’ve been going to for the last three years or so. He’s told me the same thing every time—I have a recurring infection. But I was never thinking clearly; to me, he eased my excruciating pain and that made me want to go back to him every time. He also instructed me to visit only one particular pharmacy for the medicines he prescribed, every single time. I never quite saw through this till my friends pointed it out. The last time I went to him, I was adamant not to go to the particular chemist so that he doesn’t get his cut. Thereafter, I visited at least 8-10 chemists across the city and none of them had all the medicines. Apart from this, he has always been full of personal questions (he remarkably remembers every single detail of my personal life, that I foolishly shared before) and does not get the hint when I don’t want to discuss it with him. I’m simply going to find a new ENT the next time my problem resurfaces.

Finally, I went to an orthopaedic a few days ago. He checked me out (after which my pain was only exacerbated) and after making some small talk, I exited his cabin to pay the OPD fee. It’s only then that I discovered that the fee for his moving around my wrist for less than 10 minutes was a whopping 1,000 bucks. I sighed but relented. Since I wasn’t carrying that much cash I asked whether I could either go to an ATM to withdraw the money or could pay by card. The lady at the desk said I would have to pay by card but would have to pay 200 bucks extra (this was after she had a quick conversation with the blessed doctor). Again, I sighed and relented. It was my fault that I hadn’t asked how much the fee was before I came and that I didn’t carry enough cash. I specifically asked her for a bill, which she said she would furnish once the payment was done. I was taken downstairs where I made the card payment and then returned to the very polite lady’s desk to ask for my bill. I was then rudely told that the doctor had left and I would have to come back for the receipt. I was fuming, especially since I had already made it clear that I need the bill—1200 bucks isn’t a small amount. She put her hands up and asked me to speak directly to the doctor.

I did send the good doctor a message who categorically told me that he cannot give me a receipt till he receives the cash in hand, which could take up to seven to ten days. In the interim, he told me, the hospital would give me a bill. Utter bullshit, either way.

What has happened to the honour associated with the medical profession? Yes, money is important for all of us, I don’t deny that. But for a doctor, is that all it’s about? Wasn’t the profession supposed to be about helping and healing people? When did it become about fastest money first, at the expense (literally) of their poor suffering patients?

I have truly had it with these miserable creatures. I’m so tempted to name each one of these doctors, but I’m using every last ounce of willpower to refrain from doing so. Henceforth, I’d prefer to either let my problems solve themselves, or take bloody good care of myself so that I don’t have to keep going back to them—alone, that too.

Feminaaaaa :)

Read my stories on femina.in! And read my friends stories on femina.in. They're all fun!

Here's my latest one:

http://femina.in/editors-blog/in-search-of-home-1553.html

I'm a serial mover, so this is something about them. And please, tell me what you think about the stuff I write too; and what you would like us to write about. Talk to me, peeps! Lots of love xx

Memoirs at a vineyard

The word ‘lush’ is truly justified by the green terrain offered by Maharashtra and its countryside. Drive to anywhere in the state, outside the main cities, and the colour you will encounter will blow you away. Luckily for me, I’ve enjoyed this lush greenery, time and time again, in the last eight years.

For me, the Sula vineyard in Nashik is steeped in memories. Memories of a long drive through the countryside; of endless vines inviting love and lust into the horizon; of twirling delicious wine in glasses, gingerly sipping it at leisure; of fingers entwined with a light, loving caress here and there; of a head on a shoulder, staring out into the vision that is the vineyard, together; of that look when that song is played for the first time; of endless photos taken, capturing moments never to return…

For the first time since I first visited Sula in 2009/10, I was given an opportunity to make new memories, while reliving the old ones through the mist of rain. I just spent three days at the Sula vineyard with the entire team of Femina, and what an experience was had! Do you blame me for being a blissfully happy workaholic who is head over heels in love with her job?

I think beauty and nature inspire every artist—be it a painter, writer or a poet. So why should I be left behind? Since I arrived late on a Monday morning, this blog post has been cooking in my mind. I’m sure the one in my mind read better, but this had to be put down.

The thing with memories is that it can make you happy and sad in equal proportion. Reliving good times will bring a smile to your face, yet the knowledge that those times will never return make your heart sink to your feet. And then you realise that you’re lonely.

Loneliness is a damned thing. It’s extremely difficult for most of us to admit that we’re lonely, even to ourselves; and yet, it’s one of the most common things felt among people of all ages, especially ones living away from home in big, bad cities.

When you have to go from enjoying someone’s company to suddenly not having that company every single day, you will get lonely. You may have friends and colleagues around; your job will distract you; and substances like alcohol and drugs will blur your memory into oblivion. But try as you might, admit it or not, that loneliness creeps in. It’s sad, depressing, heartwrenching and frustrating—more so because you’re feeling sorry for the one person who matters the most to you; you.

I suppose realising that you’re not alone in your loneliness, and that different people have different manifestations of it, helps somewhat. Once you realise and admit that you’re lonely, the process to get over the self-pity and self-deprecating stance can begin. Sula refreshed me this time, especially since I had a particularly lonely weekend in a house I don’t like. So I intend to change that. If I’m going to stay here for a while (and I must!) and I’m going to spend plenty of time there, I might as well get over my “I don’t give a shit about this place” attitude and get down to start prettying the place up. So that’s the agenda of this weekend.

If you read this blog regularly enough, you’ll know how often I oscillate between positivity and mindnumbing pessimism and depression. So I don’t promise that this streak will continue, but fingers crossed. I hope my next post can be of how I made my new apartment and room into home.

Till then, visit Sula vineyard, and have a glass of the Sula Late Harvest Dessert Wine on me. Cheers!

Learning it all the hard way

So I’ve been chastised lately by several peeps for my lack of regularity in updating this blog. Truth is, I’ve been avoiding it. There, I said it. For the first time since I started writing here, I don’t want a bare-it-all kinda post, and yet I fear, that as soon as I start typing, my mind will automatically go into vulnerable and open-to-all mode. And right now, for a reason I can’t quite fathom, I don’t want to do that. But let’s see how this goes.

There’s been an overhaul of sorts in my life in the last month or so. An overhaul I’ve been through a few times in the past, so I guess it makes me stronger every time, yet something that gnaws and chews at me every time, nonetheless. This overhaul has led to a new abode which I’m still trying to get used to, with very little luck. People have been giving me all sorts of ideas to spruce things up in my home but I just don’t feel like it. Maybe in time…

I’ve learnt some hard lessons lately, questioned a number of decisions I’ve made, and wondered where my life is taking me. Wondered about the things that I’ve been so clear and confident about till now. I’ve learnt that no matter what and who, everyone has their own lives and priorities and the sooner you accept this, the easier things will get—so don’t expect others to pick you up. I’ve now realised why people stay in bad marriages and relationships, or forgive their partners for cheating and murder, or search high and low for a new partner, or settle for much less than they want or deserve—for the companionship and security they otherwise provide. I’m not condoning it, nor am I dismissing it. I just understand it now.

I’ve learnt that you feel differently about different people, and the degrees vary as well—how you feel for someone and how they feel for you. I’ve learnt that sometimes your strongest convictions are shattered, but having them shattered just once usually isn’t enough. You’re not going to learn to give up or let go unless you’ve been trampled on several times over. Yet, somehow, you emerge strong—out of no choice.

But I suppose the toughest lesson I’ve learnt is that planning and giving your all to anything at all usually goes unrewarded. Because at the end of the day, it’s all about your destiny, which you can’t fight—try. I’ve learnt that you can get your heart broken by the same person over and over again, and it hurts the same, every time. I’ve learnt that expectations are worth nothing.

Today’s an especially emo day for me cos it’s the happy buddays of two very special men in my life. Two people who I’ve turned to, leant on and given my all to, in varying degrees, over the years. Two people I love deeply, in different ways, but who matter to me greatly, whether they are in my life or not. Sadly, I saw neither today, for completely different reasons. And I guess that just makes me sadder.

The big fat silver lining to this phase though, is that I’m completely and totally in love with my job. I’m being branded a whacko workaholic, but I don’t mind. This job distracts me, lets me do what I love doing, what I’m passionate about, pays me and gives me credit for it, and lets me be me. Femina, the magazine, the website, the people—all of it makes me inexplicably happy. I hope I never lose this spark, because after almost two years, I feel ambitious and focused again; and I suppose I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.