Shrink Tales: Grief

What she and i had, the safety i used to feel when around her, that's gone. That's what is dead. And i need to mourn it. It died when she betrayed me. I am finally saying the words. She betrayed me. Like how when my sister betrayed me. When friends hurt me. Every time that happened, i swore i would be more guarded. I wouldn't divulge or open up. I would shut people off, scared of being betrayed. And with her, i never even had to guard myself or think of it because i was sure that day would never come. It did.

I get hurt the most when people use the things i said to them against me. Things they agreed with at the time. Or pretended was normal. The most number of heartbreaks i have had is when my mother did it with me. A sentence i said would be quoted at a later occasion to illustrate how i always had a problem. 'When you said 'can you do it faster?' that showed me what your true nature really is', she would yell at me, mimicking my voice in an ugly manner. Making an ugly expression with her face. To show my ugliness when i said it, probably. I would make a mental note that 'can you do it faster' is never to be said again. The sentences, gestures etc. varied. The list increased. Pretty soon, i was able to tell before it happened that certain things would piss my mother and would later be used against me. It was not just me. Mother did that with everyone. And that's what i hated the most.

In every single person i met, i searched for signs of this disease. If they had it, i could guard myself. For a long time, i was like that with K. I had even told her i had this problem. That my paranoia - as she called it - that everyone would use things i said against me, was based on repeated experiences from many people and that Mother was one of them. She had advised me that i should still try to be open minded. In the end, K herself did that to me. Used my own words against me.

But with her, from the time i started talking till the point she betrayed me, there was not a moment when i had to even think of such a possibility. I could always worry that she would hate me, she would stop talking to me, bitch about me to people i didn't like. But never that she would use my words against me. Use anything against me. That's what makes it a blow.

I was hit where i wasn't looking.

During the week, the hate campaign against her on Facebook gained momentum. I was worried. I sent her a mail. Asked her to stay strong. She always told me that i was the strongest. I felt it was time i said that back to her. Gan messaged me. He asked me if i could write something in support of her under the post where she was being attacked. I told him i could intervene through a collective i formed because what was happening online was a clear case of harassment of a woman at workplace. He said he would pass on the message to her. That night, she called me. 

She said her side of things. She asked me to do certain things. I agreed to do all of that but for as long as she talked, i couldn't forget how she had betrayed me so recently and how she could talk to me as if nothing had happened.  I gathered up the courage and finally asked her. Why had she sided with K and A when they were harassing me over a false claim. She then told me the following. 

1. A was right. 
2. I have always been a 'casual plagiarist'
3. I have done it with her in the past, presented her ideas as mine.
4. I copy frames and ideas in my films
5. I have said so myself in many of my Facebook posts. 
6. She unblocked me and talked to me because my family has done her enough harm that she has the right to ask that of me. 
7. I am a toxic person and that's why she blocked me. 
8. A and K were doing me a favour by 'taking me in'. No one would have me and they still 'took me in' and i messed it up like i always do. 
9. Repeated that i mess up at workplaces. 

I was shocked that she agreed with A. She, who could always see clearly. I was shocked that she used my jokes, my casual conversations against me. My blog description reads, 'Godard famously said 'Every edit is a lie'. I totally agree. Every cut is a lie. Every shot is stolen. All stories are told. I am a nasty thief. This is a film student's diary.' Now, she was telling me that because i have always written things like that, it meant that A's claim that i had plagiarised his story in one of my Facebook posts was true. 

But at the same time, it was a relief that she actually thought she was right. It just meant that she wasn't siding with A and K against me because she wanted to destroy me out of hatred. At least she was justifying herself. 

I feel numb. I know that i have not done what i am being accused of. I know that my writings do not, in any manner support plagiarism. Even then, the words that she said hurt. The fact that she is capable of thinking such things about me hurts. 

She repeated A's words. They sounded like pilot and dubbed tracks. 'You cannot always plan on being the victim' she told me, just like A had. 

Sometimes i feel angry. Because it is not fair. She kept saying i should be grateful to her that she wasn't taking any action against my family for speaking ill about her to a lot of people. But i have never done that. I have only ever confronted my family on this and earned their hatred for it. I feel broken. Like a part of me has been irreparably battered. Deformed. I feel dirty. Like all these people, including her dumped a lot of their trash on me. Now they feel empty and relieved. Their places are spic and span and i stink. It infuriates me sometimes. But there is nothing i can do. Except move ahead with my life and not die. Yes. Suicidal thoughts came twice after she spoke to me. 

Someone who thinks so about me cannot love me. She cannot love me. Contrary to what i believed all these years, she can never understand me. 

I am scared. That i won't be able to make films ever. Everything they said about me rings in my ears all the time. Constantly dreaming about it. I am scared they will define me into failure and i will end up being that. I feel everyone is ganging up against me. There is nowhere to go. No one will understand me.  

I felt like a street dog. At everyone's mercy. The way she said it, i was at her mercy, A's and K's mercy. They were the only ones who would 'take me in'. Which meant that if no one took mercy on me, i wouldn't survive. 

I felt ashamed that that's how she saw me. Now, i feel angry that she thinks that way about me. Because i am not a street dog. It's not because anyone took mercy on me that i survived. No one was doing me a favour by 'taking me in'. Everyone had something or the other to gain from it. It was either my right, or i had earned it, was fully deserving. In fact, no one was 'taking me in'. They were partnerships. I am enraged that i put myself in a position where she dared say such things to me. Not just me. I am angry that she is someone who doesn't hesitate before saying such things to a human being. In a way, that's good. When i am outraged at some behaviour, it is easier for me to handle it. Oh. She said that all people like me felt was 'rage' and that we wreaked havoc everywhere because of it without thinking of consequences. That was all my activism was, she remarked.  

Growing Old | Shrink Tales

We only spoke about her and i myself was amazed at how much i love her. But the fear of losing her always hangs over my head. That hangs over my relationship with everyone i love. Is it because i keep losing people i love? Appachan, Amma, sibling, so many lovers...

With her it's even more complicated. Thinking Ish and my partner will only hate her and will try to stop me from loving her. Just like how mother and sister are. Whenever Mother places sister's and her love over that of whom she calls 'others,' i cringe. She is really not 'other' for me. Isn't there a saying that blood is thicker than water? It's supposed to mean that blood relations are unique and the strongest. 

I did not love Mother and Sister because i thought they are family and that it was a custom. I remember once asking Mother if it was okay to hate one's mother and if it was because mothers are mothers that they have to be loved by children. I know that even though i have received pain and hurt from Mother and Sister, i am always thinking of them with love. I don't know why Mother and Sister compare my love for her with that. I wish Mother had someone like Ish, who could tell her that you always love with all your love. 

The tummy problem (blood in stool) scared me a bit. Suspected cancer as usual and hid the matter from partner and mother. Went to psychiatrist and she confirmed that it was some kind of infection and that i would have to go to a doctor only if it continued for two more days. It stopped. 

Psychiatrist also told me that i should be telling my partner these things. I told her that it was i was scared that he and Mother will put me in some place and try to get rid of my smoking. That i will be asked to eat properly and that will result in me being 'fat'. 

Jokingly, we decided that i would tell my partner that i would go to a doctor if he agreed for us to go to a doctor regarding our sex life. He got really pissed and i felt bad. I felt that we would never go to a doctor regarding that. This made me think that he didn't care for me. It made me feel bad but immediately i understood it was not the way to think because it was very difficult for him to be ready for such a thing. 

I got really upset about the amount of money i am spending on medical needs. I had to fix a few teeth and it had cost me an arm and a leg. Naturally got angry with the system that was making medical care so expensive.

Realized that i also fear that she will never value my love for her as much as i value hers for me. 

Yesterday, at the medical shop, there was an old couple. There was some misunderstanding regarding the prescription. I had already walked out of a medical shop in anger because they were taking too much time to get my pills. When i was at the second shop, a young boy came to me and informed that i had forgotten my purse at the shop i had walked out of, in an attempt to make a statement. Crossing the road again, i felt so stupid. I got angry with my forgetfulness and absent mindedness. Why was i made this way, i asked myself. It was at the third medical shop that i went to that i saw the old couple.

The woman was arguing vociferously in her old woman's quivering voice. The bewildered husband was trying to calm her down. I thought of my partner and me at that age, in such a situation. Felt bad that when i die early, he will be alone. Thought of Appachan and Amma. Thought of old people's eyes that turn marble like with age. Why does that happen to our eyes when we grow old? It used to make one of Appachan's eyes look blue. I would sometimes think how beautiful it was and then feel bad, thinking how he was half blind. I don't know what is with me and old age. Starting from the smell of oldness, my eyes moisten whenever i think of aging people. 

The week was okay with the fear of colon cancer ruled off. It would be good if i can understand what is wrong with me and her.

A still from short film 'Gi' that i directed

No One Can Stop Me From Blogging Not Even Inji Pennu | Shrink Tales

I couldn't write Reflections [Ish renamed 'aftermath' to reflections. It still is what one felt before, during and after the therapy session.] for the session. It was the second time in a row that i was going to therapy without Reflections. I did wonder if it was Inji's words that were doing it to me. Subconsciously, perhaps?

From long time ago, during a period of pain. I miss film school now. [can edit and reuse with credit]

Inji had told me something about my blog when i was in Delhi that broke my heart. She told me that i was too open, i exposed my vulnerabilities as it was and people could take advantage of me anytime they wanted for the same reason. As if it was something i didn't know. She told me that she knew why i did it, how therapeutic the experience of spilling everything into a paper as words was. She said that i didn't have the talent she and Kamala Das had, to hide oneself from others even when they wrote about one's own experiences.

I felt let down. Felt she looked down upon me. Felt like a fool. I cried a lot. Of course i know how i am exposing myself to strangers. There are just 15 or so people who regularly read my blog posts. Some of it is family who are snooping around to know what i am up to. But i know that there is at least one person in there who feels a sense of relief that i exist and that i write the way i write. Nobody is holding a gun to my head, asking me to blog. That too to be honest when i blog. But i try to do it as much as i can and even feel guilty if i can't just because i think i owe it to a certain stranger someone. I think i like strangers.

It was the first time we were having a session at the new address. It looked really good. I somehow got reminded of Calcutta. I miss Calcutta. I was also late for the session. Only the previous day, my editor had reprimanded me for being late.

Ish reminded me of the previous session. I knew that there was a door that she had opened for me, last time. She said that it was about me always being a seeker in relationships. Yes! I was sick of being that. In every friendship or love affair that i ever had, i would always be this person who is seeking the other person's love, naturally putting me in a vulnerable position. Will they take offence, will they stop talking to me, will they consider me stupid so went my list of insecurities in every single relationship. Even in student-teacher relationships. I got nightmares that the teacher found out some habit of mine that they didn't like and stopped liking me. Always seeking love and always scared that the love that's once given will be taken away at any moment. The epitome of this is my relationship with her. There was perhaps just one relationship where i didn't fear that. The one with Chechi (elder sister). I have no idea why. In fact, it appeared to me that she was always scared i would stop loving her. And now, at this age, i feel she needs my help. So i feel protective. Chechi however, has no feelings towards me other than a passionate hatred.

I also always try to be like her and never succeed, making me feel inferior all the time. This makes me a perpetual seeker of success, the kind of success that she has. Now let me make clear what this success i am talking about is. Because strangely, people around me and i have very different ideas about success.

For example, a lot of people are jealous of Inji Pennu because she works and lives in US. But to tell you the truth, i have never understood why they thought that was a good thing. I always feel bad that she is in US. I feel bad whenever i go to mallu land and see all the green and Kochi and rain and everything thinking she can't see all that. I feel sad when she says that Florida is like Kerala. But what about the dampness, i think. How can Florida have the same dampness of those stairs where one gets kissed like when in love, the dark patches, the greens that glimmer in the night. I feel bad for Inji. I remember making a video called 'rain for you' for Inji, when she first left me.

So what is this 'success' i am talking about? I just want to be like her in that, i want to be a person who

blogs
loves
works (not having a domestic help, having a full time job, children to feed)
manages time like her

I want to be as clear as her in my politics, my understanding of issues.

Anyway, before going to therapy, i had realised that i would never be able to be exactly like her because i didn't have children. Nothing was going to happen if i didn't get up on time and didn't cook food. But if i had children, they would starve and it would be horrible. I can afford it. She can't and she still does it. On top of that, she deals with burdens like me.

I told Ish how, when she scolds me, i feel like Rahel in the God of Small Things. As if she loved me a little less. A giant moth settling on my heart saying she loves you a little less. Then Ish said something that made me go 'oh!'

She said that during the time she was going to have a second child, she was not sure about it. She was scared if she would love one more than the other. Then her supervisor had told her that there was nothing called loving less or more. It came as a whole. When you love someone or decide to love someone, you always love with all the love you have.

I then realized why my lovers always got pissed seeing me behave with other people i loved. They saw how i loved them others and sensed it was the same. They didn't like it that the love went as a whole and not as a lesser package custom made for friends. This was why siblings always got pissed seeing Mother love the other one. They don't like it that the other one is getting the same love they are getting.

Surprisingly, in my case it was completely different, i recalled. I always felt that Mother loved me more than she loved Chechi. And i felt guilty and sad for it. I wanted Mother to love Chechi as much as she loved me. I would think about methods to do it and even implemented some of them.

My editor scolded me again that week. I felt

abandoned
useless
angry
incompetent
it wasn't fair

and soon after that felt defeated because in the end, my editor was always right. But when i got hurt i felt like it was like asking a fish to climb a tree and then saying that it wasn't good at it. I feel that my fear of travelling, my forgetfulness and much more that come with it are all part of my depression. And whenever i get a blow like the time my editor scolded me, i go to Appachan - the safe place where i can never be hurt.

How can i find him? How can you find people who are dead? I am sad.

Oh yes, i will be continuing this exercise of exposing my vulnerabilities before strangers. Writing is not therapeutic for me, it is not to write away my sadness that i come here. The truth is that i just think of the time i will die and someone going through my vulnerabilities over here. Just to see how one lived and died, i guess.

She Leaves Me. Again

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.

[Okay]

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.

[Okay]

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.

[Rolls eyes]

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.]

Kerala Rich Fruit Cake: Baking Debut, Christmas, Battles etc.

I like christmassy things. I erect a christmas tree in front of my room during the season and eat out on christmas eve to make myself feel good. This time christmas time also became battle time. I was battling against sexual harassment on campus. It took a lot of effort from my side as well as the institute's. I shall write about it in detail later. It needs to be recorded. How a group of women fought people holding power positions and (i am predicting here while writing,) succeeded.

Since it was giving me tremendous amount of stress i as usual decided to turn to cooking. I thought of making biriyani and then thought it wouldn't be a challenge big enough to ease out my stress because i have done it several times in the past. That is when i remembered her and her forgetting to soak fruits one season. When she wrote about that i had felt sad, for some reason. So i reminded her to 'soak fruits'. Then i thought what exactly was it that she meant by soaking fruits. So i dug up her recipe of rich kerala fruit cake and voila! i had my stress buster there, in that blog post.

I checked another recipe too, mishmash's.
She had specifically said that while baking you had to have all your measurements right. Comparing both the recipes my head started fuming. I couldn't make head or tail of the measurements mentioned in either. In the end i decided that i would follow her recipe but use mishmash's measurements. Also decided to add the spice mix which was present in mishmash's recipe.

The first step was to get all the ingredients. Baking in Kolkata? Off you go to New Market. So i did. I bought two baking pans and butter paper. I asked Nahoum's, the most famous bakery in New Market (even their fruit cake is not as good as kerala rich fruit cake, forgive me, bengalis, but it's the sweet truth) where i could get these. They directed me to Yakoob Mullick for baking goods and Crazy Nuts for dry fruits. I couldn't find Yakoob Mullick's so i bought my cans from M Rahman and Bros., B-74, New Market. Yakoob Mullick's is where you will get parchment paper I didn't get it the second time i went there too because the shop was too crowded and i had a film to catch back in the institute.

Back in the hostel i chopped the dry fruits and put it all in brandy. I did not chop the dates. Did later, before making the batter. That was the first time i was buying alcohol for anything other than drinking. I didn't like the look of the soaked fruits but i am telling you, it's okay. Mine didn't look all that good but what it made after going into the oven was just perfect. So no worries that way.

I didn't buy unsalted butter that day because she had called for all ingredients to be bought fresh. I thought i would get it from a nearby Spencer's store. I didn't. So i went to New Market again the week after that and looked for a butter shop and i was directed to J Johnson, New Market. You will get your vanilla essence also there. The vanilla essence that was sold in shops near my location smelled different and not very pleasant. This one smelled just like the ones my Amma used to store in her refrigerator. I went to M Rahman and Bros. again and bought all the measuring spoons and a sieve too. I was happy and good to go.

I think i messed up all the measurements or at least some of it. She had said that she never dared touch the recipe she got because she didn't know the complex science of baking. Well, i don't too. Not a bit. So for the same reason i mixed everything up and made a mess out of all the recipes i checked. So just alerting that for me 1 cup = 200mL, if it's really not so in the baking world.

But for all that, my first cake turned out really good and i myself was surprised. It was just like the ones we used to buy from Cochin Bakery (one of the best in Calicut, my hometown). I am not saying that it went smooth as butter. I witnessed the butter paper catch fire inside the oven twice. Once Sethuvamma also witnessed it, panicked and started shrieking. I threw a little tantrum of throwing the whole batter out and she saved it. Vai Vow was witness to this whole commotion. I fed my cat, Pinchu, the chicken chowmeen Sethuvamma had got for me and after the tantrum mode was over had to share Vai Vow's vegetable chowmeen while Pinchu licked her chops. I am guessing that what happened was that i set the oven on the wrong mode. Mine is a very basic model and doesn't have temperature marked on it. So when i put it in the first few times it baked the top of the cake alone and later burnt it also without cooking anything inside. I inverted the whole can and put it in again on another mode which i am assuming baked slower. Then it happened. And what came out was totally yummy.

The recipe called for storing the cake in air tight container for five days before cutting it. Well, neither me nor Vai Vow had the patience and cut it the very next day. It got over the very same day. It's only natural, i would say. It was totally yummy.

As i am writing i am pre heating the oven for the next one. I will write what i did with the two recipes i got from her blog and mishmash's. Dear baking patrons, please forgive this sacrilegious sinner.

I soaked:

Raisins (not black, brown.) 150g,
Orange peals 3-4 chopped,
Tutti frutti- a handful (i didn't know that this was chopped orange and lemon peels or else i wouldn't have bought that separately :D)
Dates (these were dried grapes and i couldn't chop them before putting it in. I think i should have used normal dates)
Cherries 100 g
Apricots
Kiwis
I put all of this in 750 ml (what is called a pint in Kerala, a half in Kolkata) of brandy, the cheapest i could buy. The brandy was a little too much for the fruits so i think 500 ml would be just right. I soaked them for more than a week before starting on the cake.

Before baking i took out my butter from the fridge and kept it out to bring it to room temperature. I made the caramel by first heating half a cup of water (100 ml) and bringing it to boil. Set it aside to cool. Then took half a cup of sugar and started heating it with 1 tablespoon water. Waited till it turned dark brown. I darkened the shade of my brown every time i started on a new cake till i got the brown i wanted. Added the cooled water and brought it to boil and again and set it aside to cool. Caramel had to be cooled completely before adding it, i was told. I followed that. It looked like this.

Took 1 cup of unsalted butter (room temperature). First i used the butter from new market. Later i got Amul from Spencer's. I tried it first with the eggless cake i made for Sethuvamma. What i realized the difference was that was Amul had more butter in its butter if that makes any sense. Which means you need use only 3/4th of a cup. So take the butter and beat it. Now i don't have a beater so all the beating there was was done with my hands. Then added 1 1/2 cup of sugar to the butter and mixed it well. Added three egg yolks and mixed it well. Added the cooled caramel.

The flour, 1 1/2 cups of maida (all purpose flour). 1 teaspoon of baking powder. Sieved together. Thrice. Took 1 1/2 cups of dried fruits from the soaked bunch. Tossed it all in flour so that they wouldn't sink to the bottom of the batter. (All this was new to me and was pretty excited to see that it in fact didn't sink). If you have nuts, and i didn't, for the cakes i made for myself because i don't like nuts in my cake, but if you have them add chopped nuts 1/2 a cup after tossing that too in flour. Now add the sieved flour to the butter mix and mix well. It's hard. My arms ached the next day the first time i did it. Add the white of three eggs whisked with 1 teaspoon vanilla essence. Now add the fruits and nuts. Mix well. Set the batter aside for 6 hours.

Oven, like i said was different. It had three modes. I preheated the oven at its maximum temperature mode for half an hour. During that time i buttered the baking pan on all sides and lined it with butter paper. I didn't have parchment paper for the sides. Used butter paper there too. Transferred the batter to the baking pan. Put it in to the preheated oven. Turned the temperature mode down to the medium one. It took me one and a half hours to bake. My oven requires that its timer is set every fifteen minutes.
One advice. One night i was dead tired and fell asleep on one cake that i was baking without even knowing that i was sleeping. In the middle of the night when i got up and shouted cake! my partner told me that he had done it all right. I went back to sleep with an 'oh no!' sigh. The next morning found that he had burnt the cake and it was hard as a rock. We had it for breakfast that day. The insides, i mean.

The cake is baked if when you insert a toothpick in the middle of it and pull it out it comes with moist crumbs.

The cake was done. It looked and tasted heavenly.

I made five cakes with the first batch of fruits i soaked. When i soaked them i didn't know that i would be successful or i would have soaked more. So for the next batch i added kiwi and apricots as well. This batch would be for friends and family. So i added fruits and nuts too. The eggless cake recipe was again an improvised one. I got that from Maria's Menu but she had said that caramel was not required too. I didn't alter my earlier recipe one bit except for the egg yolks and white. Instead of that i added 1/2 a cup of whisked curd and 1/4 cup of hot milk. It turned out good too. Crumbled a bit but Sethuvamma was happy. Her christmas was made too.

Shrink Tales #7: When it was Time for Cal-Calcutta Kiss

Appachan used to tell me that the best way to inculcate the habit of reading in somebody was to introduce them to detective fiction. Whodunnits. That worked with me and failed with everyone else i tried that on. I shifted to giving children's books. I have a definite list of them which includes Totochan, the Little Prince, Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. At home since both Kunju Thalona and Appachan were always talking about this book or that and because they seemed to be having great fun doing that there was no choice left for me but to start reading. I started with children's literature in my mother tongue, Malayalam. Pretty soon from Appan Thampuran library in Ayyanthole, Appachan lent me Enyd Blytons. I loved them. But by then Kunju Thalona and he were talking about more serious stuff. I was always lagging behind. May be that was why i decided i would start reading Perry Mason in class 8, the same time when Kunju Thalona started reading it. Sibling rivalry worked in strange ways at our home. I loved Perry Mason. Even now when my reading hits a hiatus i turn to the good old Erle Stanley Gardener to revive it.

When Kunju and i were engaged in talking about the beauty and thrill of Perry Masons, one day Sethuvamma timidly entered our conversation to talk about Byomkesh. I read my first Feluda after reaching the institute and Byomkesh was out of the question. On one birthday when Kunju gifted me a Feluda, writing 'so that you remember we had our own mysteries', i had only kept the book in the shelf and thought it would be boring. In the institute i finished the Complete Feluda in less than a week. I got a Feluda tee shirt fron Anand bookstall, Gariahat. It got stolen. Byomkesh was Sethuvamma's favourite sleuth on TV. That was why i took her along when i went to watch Dibakar Banerjee's Detective Byomkesh Bakshi!

I didn't like the film much. Sethuvamma herself said that the TV series she used to watch was much better. There was, however one concept that i loved from the film in addition to the lead actor. It was that of Calcutta Kiss. I liked how the paan made from the secret recipe was called Calcutta Kiss and also liked the part of the song which said that it was time for 'Cal Calcutta Kiss'. Could be because my female intuition (i believe women's intuition is better than males'. Yes, i am a sexist bitch) told me that i was going to have one soon. A kiss. In Calcutta, of Calcutta and therefore my Cal-Calcutta Kiss.

We kissed in a dark alleyway where we thought no one was looking. I am sure someone saw us. We kissed and kissed and kissed till we ran out of breath. I kissed my sadness into him and he kissed his fear into me. We moved to the bathroom where the exhaust fan and the light were connected to the same switch. I hated the sound of the fan and so we kissed in the dark and dampness of it all during the summer in Kolkata, 2015. Both of us broken souls and one kiss broken into pieces like shards of glass. It hurt.

I hid it from her for two days. When i told her after i realized it was impossible for me to hide things from her she said it was okay. Later she asked me how he was kissing me with all my cigarette taste. I felt like banging my head on the wall. She was good at that. Making me feel like an idiot.

Well, i was being one. I was jumping into something which i knew would ruin me. The same old pain. Pain over pain to get rid of other pain. Both of us kissers knew it was our end. We kissed still.

That was why i had to tell Ms Mullick about it in that session. This was before i told her so i was surprised when Ms. Mullick told me that it was okay. She noted that i was 'doing better' and asked me to take things as they came. Which meant i didn't have to be worried about what was going to happen because i kissed someone. I only had to kiss.
The previous week she had set the agenda of the session as forgiveness. She told me that i was to grant myself permission to make mistakes.This was going to be difficult for me because i considered pain as part of my identity and forgiveness would mean that i couldn't be hurt by my own mistakes. I said i would try.

The whole week i thought only of my Cal-Calcutta kiss. I thought of the other kisses i had had here and why they weren't Calcutta Kisses. That was when i realized that all kisses had to be documented. It's like history. It doesn't exist unless it's inscribed somewhere other than people's minds. In other words i am scared i would forget them myself.

My first kiss here was in the verandah of D11, the staff quarters where six of us girls were staying for a semester. NN and i both had the habit of sitting on the parapet. People would get scared seeing us that way on the second floor but we knew we were safe. He and i were having tea and he put his cup away saying 'I am no longer interested in the tea' before kissing me. I loved drama. So i liked how we kissd on second floor of D11, me on the parapet, him leaning on to me. Why, i even loved him for some time, i think. It's hard to tell now.

The second one also, following some strange tradition was on second floor. It was morning, neither of us had slept the whole night. We were talking holding hands and then i felt like kissing him. I did. It went on to create problems for both of us and we ended up breaking hearts of some people we loved so that was our first and last.

The next one happened under a Wim Wender poster i had stolen. He forced himself on me and i felt humiliated and bad. Our friendship itself was broken off because i was kissed when i didn't like it. Wim Wenders stayed.

Once in a party when both of us were drunk like everyone and when she was gazing the stars lying on the terrace, i placed a small kiss on her lips. She smiled. I smiled too and we went our ways.


But my Cal-Calcutta kiss was nothing like any of that. It was different because it was Calcutta. It was different because it was desperate and sad and all things the city was to me and all things a kiss was to him. I hope we never stop kissing. But i know we will and when that happens i hope Calcutta weeps.

Shrink Tales #6: In Which we Spoke of Punishment

'How are you?' is the question i hate the most. Unless it is my psychologist who is asking.
When Dr. Mullick asked me that that day i started speaking of how bad and defeated i was feeling about Sethuvamma staying back in Kolkata. She had made some arrangement by which she could work in Kolkata. The same central government job.

I was possessive about Kolkata. I just didn't want anybody around me. I felt cheated, miserable and violated when i got to know of her transfer. She told me how Sethuvamma needed help too. I shared my view that i considered Sethuvamma's belief as a revenge against my atheism. I was very apprehensive about it especially when i started noticing how she was even believing in 'healing' and other such 'miracles' that belief offered.
I felt everyone was punishing me for having attempted suicide. I often thought what it was that made me deserve all that and quickly settled on the tiny pills that i had taken as an answer. It felt horrible.  Ms Mullick said how people acted without giving any importance to logic when they were in pain. Sethuvamma was doing the same. Ms Mullick herself was going to a shrink every week, she said. That made me happy. I felt everyone was on the same sinking boat. Misery makes me happy.

In the flurry of emails which followed after i got to know of Sethuvamma's decision i spoke to her, Calico and Kunju Thalona. Nobody had anything promising to tell me. I would have to live with it. It being a constant presence in Kolkata which worried over every move of mine.

She asked me to learn how to forgive Sethuvamma. For all that she had done and was doing. I thought of it and felt bad. When someone asked me to be at the other end of forgiveness it was hard. I had to be forgiven for all the fuck ups in my life. Not the other way round.

At Ms Mullick's Sethuvamma was her crying best. I hated it when she cried. I always felt she had no reason to cry when i was around. I was to cry. Not her. Yes, i am a cruel bitch. Sethuvamma spoke of how she always thought that i would be there for her even when she lost all hopes with Kunju Thalona. That made me cringe. When was she going to learn that i would never be there for her. Not even for her, i would never be there.

Ms Mullick concluded that she needed help. I clung on to my hatred of feeling defeated and betrayed when i was asked to do things. When i felt i was being forced. 

I left the room after Ms Mullick fixed the next session's topic as forgiveness. I still haven't forgiven myself for having been born. I wonder how this is going to turn out. Fingers crossed. 
She  must be giving her knowing smile and nod and mouthing the words 'i told you so'. Damn her, my personal brand of psychology.

Good Friday Gone Bad

When i went to bed on Maundy Thursday i asked Sethuvamma to soak some rice in water. I had made up my mind to make Pesaha appam the next day. The only time Pesaha appam was made in our family was when we were with Amma, my grandmother. She called it Inderi ഇണ്ടേറി (some call it INRI appam or indri appam) appam. I liked the name but had no memory of its taste. I decided to try it out even though i was late by a day.

So on Good Friday gone bad because all days are bad when you are not working, i made the bread and milk porridge which was to be made on Maundy Thursday. I had two recipes with me. One was from Ria's Collection and the other was from her. I knew that she liked making food from scratch. If she liked it that way i liked it that way too. Sometimes i think i need no evolution. My likes and dislikes which were formed in the course of years matched hers so much so that i felt it was better to ask her what she liked and didn't and just copy it blindly. So many years saved. But you know what they say, that the process is important. So i rebel against her likes and in two years end up exactly there. Dare anyone question me about undergoing the goddamn process.

Speaking of rebellion i am reminded of the first year after losing belief that all atheists have. They feel liberated all of a sudden and want to rebel against everything they gave up. They would oppose everything religious around them in that first year. I was there once. It was the long break of uncertainty after SSLC (Secondary School Leaving Certificate) exams. Till then every year i would observe lent before easter. No chicken, no meat, no eggs no fish and all boring veggies. It was hell for a person like me who loved meat and fish. The whole of that year i went vegetarian. Food was where i wanted a rebellion first, i must have thought. By the time i was in +1 (higher secondary school) my folks had stopped being surprised at my vegetarian phase. They had other things to worry about anyway with the principal calling Sethuvamma to say that i had 'killer instinct'. That wasn't true, i was only throwing calculators at my Chemistry teachers not stabbing them with a knife... What my folks didn't know was that on the very first day of Lent i bought a very bad chicken biriyani from the nearest restaurant and ate it while no one was at home. I buried the plantain leaf and bones in our backyard. I placed a stone over it so that dogs wouldn't dig it up. My folks would be devastated if they knew that i had not observed lent i thought.

The only thing in my life that i am absolutely happy about is my atheism. I am glad that it happened during my teenage and therefore i got more time to be in it. I am not hard on believers now. I don't rebel against them. My rebellions happen without noise and without chicken bones being buried. No energy expenditure. You could even think up revolts. You were a revolt by yourself. [Nothing of the sort. Just a plain girl, alive]

The reason why i decided to make Inderi appam was so that i had her year in food. Steal her memories and make it mine. Her mother was fidgety in kitchen and used only new cookware to make it. The children were asked not to waste any of the paal because it was all holy. I would imagine myself as a child and being told all this by Amma. Replace her with me and her mother with Amma. There! I had my childhood memories of Maundy Thursday albeit stolen. I could steal from her like how i could steal from Appachan. I felt good stealing.

To steam the appam i had to use a pressure cooker and a vessel with holes.

Pesaha Paal/ Milk Porridge

The appam didn't turn out to be perfect. I didn't lay the cross made of palm leaves either. May be next year when i think of Maundy Thursday on a Christmas day or something. Seasons came for no reason other than food.

Shrink Tales #4: In Which We Spoke of Faith

Back in first semester when all students had common classes in all disciplines there were several professors whose classes i looked forward to attending. One of it was that of Prof. Ghoshal of the department of audiography. He was the one among the people who asked us all to read Bresson's Notes on the Cinematographer. I read it because he suggested it and it changed my life like it did everyone's who ever read it. 

It was in one of those classes that we were introduced to the concept of compressors, dynamic range etc. Compressors worked to reduce the dynamic range. That is, it would cut the limit to which the highest high and the lowest low could go. When i was prescribed lithium by my psychiatrist and i knocked at google's door with it i thought of compressors. The pills were supposed to do exactly that. Cut my highs and lows.

Now there are things which you don't like for no reason. I don't like curd. Don't like crocs (footwear). Don't like multi coloured buses. I didn't like lithium from the day i started taking it. Everything was fine. I was getting ample hours of sleep. A little too much of it perhaps. As for my highs and lows i didn't find any difference.

When i said this to Ms Mullick, my psychologist, she said it could be that the medicines were working and i was unaware of it.

I spoke of the time when i had a gut feeling about shooting a funeral and D Jeet refused to do it. She asked me if i was impulsive. I was. She asked me to draw a pattern of it. Figure out when it was happening. If i felt that i was being taken for granted. I didn't know.

I would like to believe that the pills are working. I would like to figure out my own pattern in being impulsive. Like the time i rode my cycle to D Jeet's place in the middle of the night. I have no answers to what prompted it. No answer to what usually sets my adrenaline pumping. May be i will find out.

She spoke of finding faith. I disagreed immediately. Said that i was an atheist and could in no way lay my trust upon any 'larger force'. She said it need not be a larger force. It could be someone whom i looked up to. Someone to emulate. That was easy. I had her.
I said that i had a person like that whom i wanted to copy in all ways possible. Also said that i sunk deeper into my pit of sadness when i realized i could never ever be like her.
She said it was enough that i lay my trust in myself. Every time i did something i had to tell myself that i would outshine myself. Sounded easy. During work, however, it never happened. I was always unhappy with what i had. Improvement made me happy but only temporarily.  

From then my sessions with Ms Mullick would be fortnightly.

Journal entries of two weeks are below.

19th March 2015
Twisted ankle. Hate it. Why am i injured all the time.
Sri and NN drank in the room yesterday. Sri said she was attracted to me sexually. I confessed i had a crush on her. She asked if she could kiss me. I said no. Said we would when we were sober.

Restless. Mind wanders like a loose kite. Will she back off again on 30th? Hope D Jeet doesn't back off.

Tried masturbating yesterday. Couldn't.
Could be the pills.

20th March 2015
Deeply upset with D Jeet. Why can't men be a little honest. Blame myself for all this crap. Cycled till Lake Market in the middle of the night to give D Jeet 'The Little Prince'. It is so cool to act like you are in love. The sad part is that deep inside you know there is nothing even close to love, And to top it all men are dishonest creatures. If i find somebody, some man who is as honest as i am, i will simply get married to him. Moral of the story is that you are not going to get married ever.

21st March 2015
Told D Jeet what he had done. The man is crazy. Bengali version of a mallu man. Dishonest. Egotistic. So what about my ego. Why do i always sacrifice my ego in front of people who don't even love me. We decided to continue like we didn't know each other for a week. I hope both he and i snap out of it.

21st
First attempt at baking. Flop.

22nd
Missing D Jeet like crazy. Bad.

23rd Monday. March 2015
Anand Patwardhan interview
Something to look forward to.

Talk about your restlessness the next time you visit.
Mind is unable to be at one thing for even ten minutes at a stretch.
NN cleaned her portion of the room. Was a lovely sight. Did some tidying up myself. Now on the bed and trying to read. I am reminded of myself in high school. Those were good times, i suppose.
I was happy,
Like the small round bandage they put on your arm after blood is drawn. Dr. Mukherjee- tomorrow's mission.

24th March 2015
D Jeet refused to shoot on 30th as well. Very bad beginning of a day. When will all the world turn to being like me. Evident that this world is not my place. I am unfit to be here.

Hospitals suck.
Missed Sethuvamma in spite of myself.
Treatment shouldn't be this expensive.
How do people who don't have that sort of money get treatment.
Stupid people watching cricket again.

Palash: Have you seen fish in hospitals
I have never understood the logic behind it.
But gold fish in huge fish tanks are like moving palash flowers.
Your image should be that of those flowers dropping in and floating. floating. sinking. sinking.

25th march
Session with Dr Mukherjee yesterday was quick. May be i am recovering. Next appointment after a month Watched The Theory of Everything. Nothing spectacular. Need to start attending night screenings as well. Parajenov is not my man. Don't see the point.

27th march 2015
A man applying nail paint on his beloved's nails. The girl bites her nails. That is why the act is important.

Extremely glad that india lost whatever stupid match they were playing. No game as boring & pointless and cricket. I hope india loses every match it plays.

Spoke to dean. Asked him about the coffee offer he had made. Said he would give that on Monday. Monday was the day i was supposed to shoot Florence. Deeply upset with D Jeet. Why doesn't he shoot!

28th March
Wrong day to finish a book. Non working Saturday for the library. Basusree cinema today? London Paris thought it was a single screen theatre. Turned out to be a mall. Sethuvamma reaching tomorrow. Will make payasam.

Reflection of the scrolling writing on a phone of our girl who is in a metro. Going where? [Basusree cinema expedition]

How to go to Basusree cinema
Jatin Das Park Metro. Gate #6
Walk ahead. On the left.
Asked D Jeet if he wanted to come.
He didn't. Feel at home going to movies alone.

Last film watched here was The World Before Her.
Chart all this in the blog.
Life is good.

Nobody understands my illicit relationship with Kolkata
Not even her. 

30th March
Met D Jeet after the film yesterday. Spoke of his cinematographer's block online. Scared. I feel he is hiding something about his block.

I can't wait to be alone.
Alone is a six legged insect crawling up my back. I want to flick it away but i like the tickling sensation. It will eventually bore a hole behind my head and make a home there by eating its contents.

How can you tell the story teller from the tale?

Meaning is fascist: Yale School of deconstruction

Shrink Tales #3: In Which i Was Given a Task

She told me that it was a treasure hunt. It was a quest for happiness. It wasn't far away. Only hidden. Only clues away. When she said that i imagined myself in khaki shorts with a magnifying glass. I was on the lookout for crumbs of happiness which led me back home. Fairy tale stuff. Enticing.

On my third visit to Ms Mullick, my shrink, she asked me how my week had gone. It was okay except for one or two occasions. When i was upset i had tried scribbling in red on white paper. It hadn't helped. She said it would take time. Also asked me to try the other methods. Logistically i couldn't and cannot any time soon because i didn't have ice cubes or ice cold water around me.

We spoke of many things. She asked me what i expected out of therapy. [That was what she called those sessions]. I said what i expected was that i be normal. She said that even she felt she wasn't normal most of the time. 
I took the example of my pouring hot wax on my foot. It was normal for me. Deep, my junior from cinematography had his lighting practice. He had decided to do an adaptation of Nissim Ezekiel's Night of the Scorpion. In it was a shot in which hot wax was poured over the mother's foot where the scorpion had stung her. I agreed to do the mother's role. Also promised that i was willing for wax part to be done in reality. I wanted to know what the pain was like. He was going to cheat. When he got consent from me he was happy. Film students crave originality by tradition. Even as a child i used to drip wax from candles on my fist. This time there would be a lot of wax. I was thrilled.

This was not normal, to normal people. I realized that when i was in hospital. Nobody around me could understand why a person would do that. That was what i meant by being normal. Do things which make sense to normal people?

She said that i had high tolerance level of pain. It was okay, she said. She would intervene only when it was harmful to my self.

I also let her know that i wanted to stop having relationships with older men. This had happened thrice and with people twice or more than that my age. I knew that one of it was abusive even when i was in it and the other two in retrospect appeared to be no different. People were quick to spot my vulnerability and made use of it and my love. I wanted that to stop. Ms Mullick listened.

She asked me if i had had suicidal thoughts the past week. I confessed i had. I spoke of how i was talking to her and i blurted out about the hotel room in which i would die alone. She asked me if i had tried visualizing life instead. I said i was unable to do that. I revealed how scared i was about losing Sethuvamma and Kunju Thalona. How i thought of their death and would immediately make a mental note of dying before they did. She asked me if i tried distancing myself from them due to the same reason. I said yes.

She asked me to speak of my goals. Asked me what my short term goal was. It was my documentary project. My long term goal was to be financially independent. I had no goals about what she called 'family' and what i gathered was a life partner et al. I think life partner is an oxymoron.

She asked me to keep a journal of the times when i was upset about something or someone. Asked me to chart out my goals giving them target time periods.

I am doing it on my blog. These journals that i am copying here and plans i have were highly personal and private till now. Now i believe there is a person somewhere who is struggling just like i am and that they will feel that they are not alone when they read this. I feel that it is a different sort of a treasure hunt, where not just one person gets to the treasure but a lot of people do. That there is a maze like in triwizard tournament in Harry Potter. That there are death eaters who try to suck your soul. That even if i don't succeed someone else can, following the bread crumbs i left.
Or may be it will just lie here like this. Stale. That's okay too. 

It was two weeks since i had been to my psychiatrist. From Ms Mullick's room we went to Dr. Mukherjee's. I told him i had stopped taking the lithium. He prescribed me other medicines. Said that i had improved. When Sethuvamma mentioned her plan of taking a transfer to Kolkata i became irritable. I was impatient with her throughout the session with Mr. Mukherjee. He said that since i had improved there was no need for me to get admitted. That sounded like a threat to me. I had no clue that that was even possible. Hospitals scared me. They were places in which i had nothing to do. Not having anything to do would be suicidal for me. And i thought that was what they didn't want me to be.

He said he would see me again after two weeks. 

So the short term goal of the documentary project goes like this.
By 15th March 2015: Finish shoot

12th March sit with Aalayam (my editor) and sort out rushes
13th March Form a rough cut with available rushes.
14th March Sit on edit table with Aalayam
15th March Cut Cut Cut
16th March Take an output file and work on sound.
17th March Sound
18th Sound
19th You have your project.


Long term goals
2015: November: A feature film script to be shot in kolkata.
2016: March: A job which pays.
2016: March a place to stay in Kolkata
2016: August: A two wheeler of your own. (Not a bicycle)
2016 September: Start pre production work of the film
2017: March: Start shoot
2017 May: Post Production
2017 December Move to a better place
2018 March: Get a job in Kerala
2018 March: A place to stay in Fort Kochi

The following are entries from my journal [Yes, i too have unpublished secrets.] It is unedited, complete with grammatical errors and improper constructions. Only names have been changed.

3rd March 2015
2nd sitting with the psychologist.
The otherwise okay week crumbled before me at the mere thought of it. If the purpose of all this is to find happiness i think it is all futile for i am the worst hit when in here, well lit waiting room. Fish. Crying i sit with my green notebook Sivaram sent it to me. Neat and great looking. TV played cricket. World cup. Cricket was the most boring game for me. I hate cricket. She says my hate is passionate. I hate cricket and i feel like ripping cricket balls to pieces. Is that passion?

[This is an entry before the third visit of which i have written about here. She mentioned is the she in my posts and can be found under the label her]

9th March 2015
Obtained permission from S Karmakar that the cut be replaced by my version later. Wonder what to do about evaluation at my department. Fuck marks and scholarship and results. What about the film. My film is always forming in my head and stopping at Florence. Will she. Will she. What if she doesn't. What did i have today? What did i do today? Slept around 7 a.m. Got up at 11.30 a.m. Tea+paratha(1) at mess. Upma-Sethuvamma. Made Bombay toast. Had 3. Rest NN. Crossed the bridge. Went out? This is ridiculous. I want peace.

[Aalayam, my editor had submitted a version of the documentary project which was solely his. I had not even seen the cut. I approached S Karmakar saying that we needed more time to recover the footage we lost by doing a re-shoot. He agreed]

11th March 2015
Yesterday commented on Prakar's picture.
Said that it was offensive.
His comment in response which was bullshit.
Disturbed. Not only doesn't he understand what was wrong with what he said but a lot of people are empathetic to his racism. Sad. This place will never change.
Utterly disgusting.
Tight jeans. Must have gained again.
Hope the new pills don't make me gain weight. Feel that Dr Mukherjee is tricking me into taking lithium.

[Prakar, my senior from cinematography had uploaded a picture on facebook which had a chameleon and A Leo Pou in it. The chameleon was in the foreground and in focus. The title read 'what's for lunch'. I had commented saying that it was offensive. 'Indians' have enough stories of North East India being the land of people who eat anything and everything. His reply was something which most people often said about jokes. Something about friendship and that not being the forum to pick a fight.
I had googled the side effects of lithium when i saw that i was gaining weight even as i was hardly eating anything. My appetite was abysmal ever since i was back from the hospital. I stopped taking the tablets thinking it was causing the weight gain. Dr. Mukherjee, my psychiatrist told me that it was the other pill, the anti depressant that was doing it. He prescribed me other medicines in view of my Binge eating and bulimic tendencies.]

11th March 2015
Love this book. The green is so good.
Painted after a long time.
Spoke to D Jeet. Dates of shoot still problematic. Is everyone but me losing interest in the project? Is keeping your passion alive a task. Why is it not so for me.

12th March 2005
Met Partha today. What he said gave some hope. Will go to Florence alone one day with what we shoot. When is D Jeet going to shoot for me? Why has he lost his vigour. How can someone lose their vigour. Is my obsession normal. Why don't i see others here this way. I think everyone else is phoney? I think too much of myself. Get a grip. 

14th March 2015
Went to Florence. Spoke to her on phone after a long time. Scared.
Should i give the film tomorrow?
Or should i keep the film with me as a bait? Utterly confused.
Fought with D Jeet. He refused to shoot the funeral today. Said i was hyper. Asked me to 'go step by step'. I am hyper of course. Don't understand why he should care. What the hell is step by step. Oh fuck. Why is the lithium not working on me. Don't forget to check newspaper tomorrow. Hazra bitch (an ex professor at the institite) is who said that i don't trust people. If what i do is not trust i don't know what is. Shit scared about this now. What if she doesn't like what she sees. Will mark today as the day on which Florence Madeira alias Jogita Biswas called me on my phone.

Ides of March
Florence. Florence. Florence.
Saw Florence today.
Mother's House. A J C Bose Road. I love Kolkata. I will make this film.

16th March 2015
Scared and hopeless as hell.
Florence not responding again.
Florence Florence Florence Florence.
How the fuck do you do this.
It's going to break now. One of these days. All of it.