For years I have struggled to explain to her how she hurts me. How I get hurt even when she has no clue that I am getting hurt. She has sometimes asked me too, how it is that she has hurt me. I have tried to explain and have failed. I have told the world that my appachan is the only person on this planet who has not hurt me and it is true till this point. Yesterday is when I read the letter she had written me and Maya. I don’t know why Facebook does not show me all her posts even when I have put her on ‘See First’. What the fuck is ‘See First’ for, dumb Facebook. Your fucking thing does not work. So I read the letter late because of Facebook. I have been wallowing in self pity and cold (the disease) since that. Usual crying was done then and there and even now it hurts so much. With time, like last time, I might get over it. I would like you to understand how my pathetic brain works and what it reads in what you write. It goes this way.
I think now is the right time to tell you both. To tell you both why I left abruptly and hit the road on my journey alone.
[Oh my god. This has to be about me. You have the same answer for both me and Maya? How dare you! Do you not think that I am a separate individual! How dare you!]
I am a fiercely independent woman. Fiercely, Yes. In mind body and soul, I need freedom. I do not like these "earthly" emotional ties that will make me stick to the ground. I have to fly.
[I, on the other hand am a dumb bitch who doesn’t know what freedom is. I used to think that getting a job is what makes an independent woman and now that I have one, I definitely am one, but looks like I am not. I will never be able to be an independent woman even though it sounds like something that I really want to be. Fuck me.]
But there are certain times when one cannot do that, when you have responsibilities to fulfill. That is child birth, kids in school, kids doing PhD, kids not yet finishing film school.
[Oh! So I was a liability throughout. It is very frustrating when a course doesn’t get over in the time it is supposed to. Till film school I have never lost any year doing anything stupid, except of course the times when I was getting abused, but that I managed while studying and passing exams, mostly with good marks. Of course I am competitive unlike you and that is again something which makes me a lesser human being than you. But I am very proud that even though I went through hell in that goddamn film school I took only four years unlike some of my seniors who had to face no problem like I did because they were okay with ragging and sexual harassment and still took 7 years. Yes, six months of delay was from my part probably. But what I achieved in four years is, I am damn sure, something nobody ever has, in that fucking place. [Swearing at SRFTI. Not you. I am not pissed. This, like I said, is just to tell you how sick my brain is and how lowly a creature I am. Wallowing in self pity. Remember.]
Kids are demanding and needy. Very much so. Extremely jealous and expect you every second when they are home. But when they are out with their friends they do not need you. They need you only when they are hurt out playing. Sometimes they even pretend hurt for things they can fix themselves, just to be home and warm.
[Yes. I agree completely. I have been so with my mother. With you too. If I have pretended to be hurt for things I could have fixed myself, I was unaware of it and am sorry. That I don’t remember having done it does not mean that I haven’t. The bitch that I am, it is quite possible but I would like to remain indignant and say that it was an unconscious move if at all.]
Kids are tricksters. They trick you to believe their side of the story always. Out of love, You are there to believe in anything they say or dream or even lie.
[Thanks, I thought that I would never have to lie to you, and used to be quite happy that I didn’t have to lie to you. By saying that I tricked you into believing my side of the story I have just deduced that you never believed that I was abused. That fucking hurts. I mean it is good, great if I was never abused. But then that is saying that I have no idea what abuse is. Even after all my efforts to understand it. It is saying that every time you pointed out abuse to me it was because I tricked you and you now regret all of that because it was my telling which made you say that. So I feel like shit. It is as if I tricked you into something false. Why? Why would I do that! To get your attention? That is what people at SRFTI told me for god’s sake! How can you tell me that!]
What happens then? The kids turn out emotionally highly dependant. They never mature. There is a big difference in emotional maturity between kids of stay at home moms and working moms.
I am a working woman, I mean I work like hell. Like every second of mine other than sleeping is consumed in work, sometimes paying and most times volunteer work. It is not easy.
[I am shit. I don’t work. Even when I have a job, which I thought will make me like you, I am shit because I will never be as busy as you.]
Most of the time I have guests. They might stay a little longer. I might have to take care of them too. You kids will have to share room, and sharing rooms is yet another emotional conversation, teaching to share and care. But it never ends well. It is always a big fight.
See I couldnt even write the names, because I will be blamed for writing someone's name first and I will be emotionally punished later.
[You got it wrong. It is not about whose name first. The punishment is for writing the same letter to both of us. You equated me with someone else. Unpardonable. But why is that so wrong? And no, I didn’t know I was punishing you whenever I came to you and whined things similar to ‘why did you write the same letter to us both?’ I could be punishment only because it is an extra conversation with me. Which must be a horrible thing since you call it punishment. Which means again, I am a piece of shit not worthy of your conversations.]
I had to put an end to all this. Have to let it go. So you can fly. One completed her PhD and the other one got a job. When I locked the door, I made sure there is enough coffee in the flasks, you have warm blankets, and tickets and a spare key in a place anytime you can return to. But I will be home only when I can be and want to be.
[Actually I felt really good reading this line. A week ago, when I was again crying thinking of you, suddenly something struck me and I realized, there has, after all, been some change in me. When I was thinking of how you went away from me, I also thought of paappu and baby and immediately it struck me that time away from me meant more time with them. That made me so happy. Actually. I don’t know how that happened because usually I only feel jealousy. From what you wrote earlier, you might think I am lying, but I am not. In fact, that is the only good thing about you leaving me, I realized.]
I have a lot of things pending and a lot of stuff to complete. I have been planning this Brexit for a long time.
[Yes, I know.]
Then I found the right opportunity. It was getting politically messy. For my strong stances, you were questioned ridiculed forced to answer. Your political friends, or your close family all were questioning the ties with me.
[Family is true, I never got questioned about your political stances though]
I had to put an end to this whole whining thing and I had to put an end to it in public so it’s sincere and straight and it’s political. So that your political friends and close family take notice.
[How is that political? I have been trying to figure this out for a long time but I really don’t understand. If it is saying that my political stance is not the same as yours because I love you, it is I who should state that, right? And it’s kind of weird. People bond over politics too, we too bonded like that, didn’t we? Even if we hadn’t why is it so surprising that two people might have the same stance. To be honest, I do think that my stances regarding a lot of things are really very different from yours.]
Like fools, both of you walked into their hands. I was waiting because I know and confident of my love. Always. If they ever hurt you again, they will hear from me! I will rip them apart, as you know me! So stay alive and stay clear!
[What on earth are you talking about? Whose hands did I walk into? I probably am not able to make sense because I am inferior to you. You can add this sentence in my reply to everything you wrote that I didn’t understand]
I am the bad mean one and I like to stay like that. Not an inch will I move. It’s not for nothing the name is Inji.
You both have to be emotionally mature first which both of you are not.
[Of course I am not. I don’t think I ever will be too. If that was why you were with me, why were you with me? What kind of a reason is that. But wait. Why were you with me anyway!]
You have to make right choices in friends and family without me hand holding at every turn.
[Yeah. I know. I am trying. Will try not to come to you when I fail and fuck it all up.]
You both have to stop this crying thingie for every single thing. Not kids anymore.
[Yeah, I do think I have a crying problem. It just comes. Don’t know from where. I get a headache out of it and it’s horrible but still it happens and I can never do anything to stop it.]
Take a deep breath and sit straight and stop being sissy.
[That’s very sexist]
Go around the World, Make mistakes, Get hurt and take it in like a bitch. But dont give in. Never.
[I thought that was what I was doing and this feels like mansplaining to me. But it probably isn’t because I am always wrong about everything. So when I thought I was going around the world I probably must have been sleeping or something.]
But let me tell you one thing, when you return mature and free -- which I have to feel, the spare key to home will work, there will be dosa maavu or appam maavu on the bottom shelf of the fridge. Coffee pots as usual on the counter. The iron griddle will be on the left shelf on the bottom. Use only nallenna and be careful with the iron griddle, I will be patient with anything but if you spoil my seasoned iron griddle which I take care like a baby, you will hear from me!
[Who makes dosa with nallenna and no, I don’t know how to make velleppam. Since you once wrote you like making food from the scratch and I have been repeating that line quite proudly to the poor uninitiated [to cooking and to my ahangaaram] people around me. What I want is to learn how to make the batter first. So no, thanks. I won’t be coming.]