Smita Jha's Blog

Papa’s birthday without him, still with him

I lost papa last December. And since that dark day, I have lived feeling two conflicting emotions all the time: empty and whole. Every morning as I open my eyes slowly transitioning from the land of dreams to the land of realities, I miss papa. And yet, I feel like he responds to my “Good morning, papa. I love you.” every day. It looks far from just an imagination. It looks as real as this laptop feels in my lap right now. I can touch it, feel it, and confirm its presence. And while my inability to see and touch him makes me feel empty, his strong presence and force make me feel whole. A strong kind of whole.

August 21 marks papa’s birthday. And yesterday, he would have been 63. Oh! The day would have looked starkly different: so many gifts of love, birthday cakes, balloons, new clothes, an outing or a family get together with a lavish spread on the dinner table.

Yesterday, when I woke up, I wished him a happy birthday. I strongly feel that he responded from heaven. I shed a few tears, felt terrible about his absence and straight went to the kitchen to hug mom. Expectedly, we were feeling the same emotions. We both cried a little.

Things took a different turn from here. Both ma and I were so vehemently involved in preparing our visit to the old-age home that it truly felt as if we were preparing for his birthday party at home while he sits with his tablet, writing something or watching some cricket. Yes, we planned to celebrate his birthday by spending some time at an old-age home and preparing a feast for them. Tears fell occasionally. But strangely, we felt at peace. We felt as if he is here, right beside us, all the time, with his statement blush on the face.

I know you are here. I just know you are here.

I love you, papa.

I write, therefore I am

Things have been oddly off lately. There has a been a unresolved chaos trespassing my heart and forcing me to wander in search of an answer.

I think I figured it out this morning and decided to unravel the mystery here, in form of words. Yes, words have solved the most existential problems in my life. Even when I was not a writer, I was a writer. I used to write to feel every emotion in life since I was a child.

In the last one month, I have changed my life. Big decisions, bigger risks, grand dreams. The beginning of giant transformations look messy. Suddenly from sipping chai in my most comfortable pyjamas to hustling 24X7, learning daunting things, embracing discomfort and passing out with shockingly tired mind and body, it surely has been challenging.

There was a strange sort of emptiness that I felt all along. The chaos presented a question all the time. I couldn’t decipher, abashedly. Now, I know. I have missed writing, I have missed reshaping my emotions, from simply being feelings in my heart to presenting them into words.

As I write today, I feel at peace. A feeling I have missed dearly in the last one month. Come hell or high water, I cannot leave writing, no matter where life takes me tomorrow.

That makes me think, our chaos, the emptiness inside, the odd silences that scream in our head, they speak to us. They are trying to show us the path to light and peace. They are our saviors, not enemies. Chaos comes to help us find peace, Emptiness hit us to help us find the whole. Darkness walks in our lives paving way for the light.

Here’s me promising myself to write more, to write every day.

Cheers!
Thoughtstreets

A dream that feels good but will not come true #DailyBlog, June 28

When I woke up today, everything around me felt comforting. I felt at peace, I shed a few happy tears. You would be surprised when I tell you why.

After my father’s demise, I have had some of the most dreadful middle-of-the-night sob sessions. I was often awakened by dreams where my father returned from the hospital on the morning of 4th December but in a condition where his end was near and certain. My dreams always showed him in unbearable pain and how though he returned, he had merely a few days left. This dream took the freedom to reoccur and crush me mentally, emotionally and physically. I remember so vividly, of nights I woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. They left me with no peace, no energy.

This dream was different. I think it was in the wee hours when I saw papa taking rounds of our society, in his characteristic walking style and speed, rushing to complete 10k steps, a target he took seriously. He had returned from the hospital, he was alive, he was healthy. He had energy. As funny as it sounds, he had a tray in his hand carrying a cup of tea and a few Marie biscuits. He paused every now and then and took a sip and resumed walking again. He was a lover of chai. I saw him happy, healthy, in his natural element and I rushed to ma, telling her papa is back and how! I said, “Ma, let’s talk to the doctor. His next session of chemotherapy is now possible. Look at him, ma, I think he can be cured, one hundred percent now.” Ma was happy, very happy. He asked me to call my brother and book an appointment with the doctor.

I woke up from the dream. It was six in the morning. Very unusual as my body clock wakes me up at 5:17 am, every day, without a chance of failure. Papa wasn’t there, of course. Miracle was taking place in my dream but in reality, there was no place for such a thing.

After both my dreams, when I woke up, papa wasn’t there. He was still gone. But this dream gave me all the comfort and warmth that have been missing in my life since December 04, 2020.

Strangely, according to the Hindi calendar that we follow, today marks seven months to us losing him.

Thanks for listening. You are kind.

Thoughtstreets

A dream that feels good but will not come true. #DailyBlog, June 28

When I woke up today, everything around me felt comforting. I felt at peace, I shed a few happy tears. You would be surprised when I tell you why.

After my father’s demise, I have had some of the most dreadful middle-of-the-night sob sessions. I was often awakened by dreams where my father returned from the hospital on the morning of 4th December but in a condition where his end was near and certain. My dreams always showed him in unbearable pain and how though he returned, he had merely a few days left. This dream took the freedom to reoccur and crush me mentally, emotionally and physically. I remember so vividly, of nights I woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. They left me with no peace, no energy.

This dream was different. I think it was in the wee hours when I saw papa taking rounds of our society, in his characteristic walking style and speed, rushing to complete 10k steps, a target he took seriously. He had returned from the hospital, he was alive, he was healthy. He had energy. As funny as it sounds, he had a tray in his hand carrying a cup of tea and a few Marie biscuits. He paused every now and then and took a sip and resumed walking again. He was a lover of chai. I saw him happy, healthy, in his natural element and I rushed to ma, telling her papa is back and how! I said, “Ma, let’s talk to the doctor. His next session of chemotherapy is now possible. Look at him, ma, I think he can be cured, one hundred percent now.” Ma was happy, very happy. He asked me to call my brother and book an appointment with the doctor.

I woke up from the dream. It was six in the morning. Very unusual as my body clock wakes me up at 5:17 am, every day, without a chance of failure. Papa wasn’t there, of course. Miracle was taking place in my dream but in reality, there was no place for such a thing.

After both my dreams, when I woke up, papa wasn’t there. He was still gone. But this dream gave me all the comfort and warmth that have been missing in my life since December 04, 2020.

Strangely, according to the Hindi calendar that we follow, today marks seven months to us losing him.

Thanks for listening. You are kind.

Thoughtstreets

Some mornings should be cancelled. #DailyBlog June 24, 2021

You will never see me wake up with a jaded mood. I wake up and smile, and kiss my dog and my mom. I dance and sing around and enjoy every damn sip of my strong Indian chai. Yes, I am a morning person.

But on some mornings, my mood is out of my control. It’s not that I don’t want to smile. I still wake up with loaded affection for my dog, feel grateful for my heart that is still beating and wish to seize the day. But with a brain fogged with fitful sleep and a variety of thoughts that you have been avoiding for long, it is really difficult to see the beauty in sunrise.

Today, I woke up with an impossible wish. I know irrespective of all the hard work, money and wisdom I put in, I can never fulfill it. I woke up with a wish to live one more day of my life with both my parents alive. It aches to open my parents’ room and only find my mom there. I wish for a day where I feel loved by both my parents. It’s been long that my father gave me a pat on the back. It’s been long that my father gave me a call and asked me to come back home asap. It’s been really long that him and I held a conversation. Yes, it was one conversation that I craved the most when I lost him on December 04, 2020. And it is just one conversation that I wish to have with him now.

Why do people talk about miracles, the power of prayers and manifestation? They didn’t work for me.

I don’t know what to write anymore.

Thank you for listening. I appreciate it.

Thoughtstreets

My hands smell of rotten eggs. #DailyBlog June 21, 2021

I am sitting here, right in the middle of a Monday afternoon, feeling giddy after my medicines and despising the odor that rotten eggs left in my hands. How do you deal with days that start with determination but pass with unexpected surprises that life throws at us? I personally suck at accepting such days and being easy on myself.

Like I want a cat nap as my eyes barely can keep themselves open and everything in my room seems to be revolving (blame the medicines) but I will keep myself awake and get boiling mad at non-living things, too, that barely have the audacity to wrong me in any way. My father used to say I am a kid, so I don’t know how to react to most things in life. But I am 27 now!

Half of my Monday has been spent staring at two things: at my ceiling and out of my window. Thank God I have a cute dog who helps me distract from the gardeners that are working outside. I should not be staring at them while they get to wind down for twenty minutes and eat their lunch, anyway.

There are messages awaiting me on Microsoft Teams and I think a cup of typical Indian chai can help me read them without me wishing to skin a few innocent people alive. Damn! I have quite a few violent streaks in me. I wonder where I got them from? Both my parents are simple, sweet and non-violent people.

Anyway, time to face the music and get my shit together.

Thanks for listening to my rant. You are sweet.

Thoughtstreets

Yesterday was a burn. My dog and nephew saved me. @DailyBlog June 19, 2021

Happy Saturday, dear reader.

I slept with burning eyes and an exhausted body yesterday. This week has been a test — workload wasn’t normal and a PMS sneaked in. I enjoy stress-free Fridays where I wind up all my work by 3:30 and dial down my pace.
This Friday chose to be different.

A stung Friday mood was transformed by the positive energy that my dog, Google, and my nephew, Satvik, kindly offered to lend me. So I picked up the camera and went downstairs to set them free in the garden while I I shoot them candid. It was a whole gamechanger. I loved their spontaneity, quirkiness and playfulness. To both of them, the day of the week does not matter. Every day is a fun day.

I woke up feeling better this morning and went for short and sweet walk with my mother and Google. It’s time to make my to-do for this weekend, there are boxes to be ticked. I miss having agenda-free weekends but I cannot afford it at this point of my life. There is a lot to be learnt and there is a lot to be done. Wish me luck.

I hope you enjoy your weekend and take out some time to rejuvenate.

Thanks for listening.
Thoughtstreets

It almost didn’t happen…but! #DailyBlog June 17, 2021

I almost gave up on the idea of coming here tonight. And my #DailyBlog was almost becoming a #BiWeekly blog. It was a taxing day, both for my mind and my body. Dealing with toxic people and a PMS together is whole difficult game and I so wanted to go lights out as soon as I was done with my dinner.

Something happened and here I am. Making it a certain #DailyBlog again. Discipline. Yeah! Discipline is a mindset for me and I am working hard to build it. I have never lived my life with a routine and hence, I always gave myself less than I deserved. Discipline keeps me in check. My nutrition, my workouts, my daily walks, my every day writing practice, my reading and now wrapping up the day with a blog here. Discipline makes me feel good. It makes me better.

But today hasn’t been a good day. This PMS made me go off my nutrition plan and gifted me lethargy when I least needed it. Phew!

Tomorrow is a brand new day. And I will make brand new efforts to get back on track. To crush my goals and most importantly, to not be harsh on myself.

I hope you had a more sorted day than mine.

Thanks for listening.

Good night

Thoughtstreets

Welcome back, self! Daily Blog (June 16)

I had to muster some courage to come back to this. Hello Thoughtstreets! I have dearly missed you.

In the short duration of not writing on my blog here, a lot took place in my life. That’s a story for another day. So what’s in it for today? Many things.

My life has been changed in some ways and in other ways, I have changed it. My mornings, day times, evenings and nights, weekdays and weekends, everything has a new face. While some changes cause me death every day, the latter ones (that I chose) give me a new life. I feel proud of myself, for the efforts that I put in, for the intentions that I set, for the kindness I choose, and the person I am becoming. The old Smita may have deleted these last three lines considering them boastful but the new Smita that I am today, she doesn’t shy away from crediting herself for the sweat she sheds every day.

I am shooting for the moon, in every single thing in my life and I am not afraid to admit that. I must love myself. You know why? Because I had no wish to live after last December. I wanted to quit my job, run away, and the worst of all was, I was not ready to feel okay. I wanted to be stuck in that zone and I am not ashamed to confess, it was comforting. The pain was more comforting than the thought that one day, maybe it will be slightly better. I never wanted to feel better. For those who do not know, no, I am not clinically depressed (luckily). I lost my dearest father on December 4, 2020 and something as heavy as the heaviest mountain on earth had been bearing down my chest, every second, for the longest time that I remember.

It wasn’t easy. But I am doing it. I understand the value of life and I know I am here to crush all my goals. I am here to achieve all that my father and I ever dreamt for me. I am just starting but this fire in my belly will never extinguish and I am going to live a high life. That’s a promise I make to myself, every day.

For now, I think it’s time to sleep. Tomorrow is another day full of kindness, love, opportunities, learnings, and laughter. I wish these for you, too.

Thank you for reading. This means a lot to me.

Thoughtstreets

It was a blind date of sorts (a short story)

It was a blind date of sorts. Maya and John were set up by their college friends. Maya had a crush on John in her sophomore year just when he graduated from college and left for higher studies in the UK. She never got a chance to meet him then, but his personality, popularity and charisma were the talk of the college and just by listening to his constant praise, she knew she liked him. 

She was now in the final year, enjoying some popularity among men. John had returned to India and had begun as a senior associate at a data firm with a handsome salary.

They both decided to meet at a popular coffee shop in the city while chatting. When they reached, they both realised it’s a “nothing much” place. Nevertheless, the talking began, first at a surface level, but soon a good conversation was unfolding between the prospective romantic couple.

Maya had ensured that she donned her best look, looking somewhere between “trying not too hard” and “excited to meet one of her past crushes”. Two cups of cappuccino were followed by two cups of Americano, some garlic bread, a plate of sun-dried tomato spaghetti, and some extra sides.

The conversations were see-sawing from exes to career plans, first kisses to passion projects. After an hour and a half, John casually asked Maya out of candidness and slight curiosity, “Hey! Are these acne scars? These are pretty common, my ex-girlfriend suffered with this shitty problem, too. Are you seeing a doctor? I know someone really good if you need my recommendation.” The question came as a personal attack to Maya. In shock, she couldn’t speak a word at first. She suddenly felt that the caffeine had hit her brutally and she had suddenly lost her senses. 

Bringing herself back to the moment, in a state of passive aggression, Maya replied, “It’s just acne, I do not care. I don’t want to see a doctor and I’m very very confident in my skin.”

Though these words made her beam with pride in that moment, at the back of her mind, a scene from last night was replaying without pause. And with all her will, she was just trying to forget how she sat with her selfies the previous day and removed the tiniest of visible scars with the help of three editing apps before posting them on Instagram. What was even more haunting was when people complimented her for her flawless skin, she had replied, “Let me know if you guys want to see my skincare routine, I can make a video on it.”