In Search Of Warmth

In all ways: physical, emotional, social...

Outside, it is grey, gloomy, drizzly. Sudden gusts of wind play hide-and-seek. People hurry past me in their colourful raincoats and puffer jackets. I, too, walk back as fast as I can from the bus stop, taking care not to step into puddles. Head down, quick steps. I want to reach home.

I’m typing this while propped up in bed with my double duvet wrapped around me. My mug of hot chocolate and my journal are on the bedside table, within arm’s reach. The electric radiator is keeping my little apartment nice and cosy. Toasty; just right. Goldilocks would like this. But… I yearn for warmth in different ways.

Lately, I’ve found myself turning a lot to

Substack

to seek words of comfort. I have found it - in

Tarun Varma

’s profound note; in

Sanskriti Bhatia

’s contemplative and reflective essays; in

Karthik

’s masterful manner of infusing deep emotion into everyday incidents; in

Rituparna Ghosh

’s introspective thoughts; in

Charulatha Banerjee

’s steady equanimity;

Minaz Ansari

’s kindness;

Sanobar Sabah

’s cheerleader-positive energy;

Raju Tai

’s profound and playful musings;

Natasha Badhwar

’s love and vulnerability - to name a few. There are many more.

Truth be told, when I started my Substack in February this year, I did not know what to expect and how quickly I would come to look forward to reading long-form personal essays. I’m realising that this is my favourite genre in the online-content-creation-and-consumption space. In an epoch of instant gratification and unrelentingly constant screen exposure/addiction, where the focus is primarily on the image (I’m looking at you, Instagram), it feels refreshingly different to be here. Here, where one shares snippets, slices, or whole chunks of one’s life. Where the craft of a prose narrative comes together in a symphony of vibrant voices. I find myself in others’ words.

Online, it is this space that matters the most to me. I may not have an essay to type out every week, or even every month (I don’t like putting that kind of pressure on myself – the words come when they come, not when I want them to), but it is often the reassurance of others’ words that impels me to share notes and show up for myself here.

Words offer a different perspective. They hold out a certain indefinable warmth - which I long for, since I’m away on the other side of the world. There is the distance, of course; but also a certain coldness. I don’t know how best to articulate that. There is the sensation of the lashing winds outside; I zip up my puffer jacket as high as it will go. It is not enough. I need a hand to squeeze. A prolonged cuddle, where I exhale into another being, not letting go. Like this. Not in the least bit limited to the romantic realm.

To combat – or distract myself from – the feeling, I open my journal and wait for the stillness that a blank page evokes. When my head feels like a scrambled mess, my only goal is to get the words on the page – even if they don’t make any sense whatsoever. I write for myself and wait for the slow warmth to creep in…like my electric stove which takes ages to heat.

I’m looking for new ways to keep myself fundamentally warm. Here are some ideas:

• Video-calling someone whom I love

• Wrapping my fingers around the mug of hot chocolate

• Opening my journal and allowing my eyes to skim over ink on paper

• Writing stream-of-consciousness, censoring nothing

• Switching off the too-bright white tubelight and turning on the small yellow bulb (which happens to be the kitchenette cooking light) instead

• Getting my blood flowing by doing a gentle yoga sequence (I’ve finally found my favourite one here, after several experiments – sequences with Surya Namaskar tire me out easily; this one is simultaneously slow and strengthening)

• Reading on my Kindle

• Sipping a hot drink slowly (hot chocolate first; green/black tea second)

• Reading personal essays on

  Substack

• Choosing slow, intentional, off-screen pursuits

• Listening to instrumental (preferably Indian classical) music

• Writing down something positive that happened during the day

Of course, there are days (weeks) when I feel weighed down and sad. As someone with a tendency towards seasonal depression, I know the warning signs very well indeed. I’m almost too reluctant to do even the bare minimum. It takes an enormous amount of will power to heave myself out of bed, from that exact spot where it’s been literally warmed by being curled up there for a long time. I want to do nothing but sleep. I miss my close friends and family so much that it feels physically uncomfortable. Thus begins the tug-of-war between my rational mind and my emotional mind…

I’ve been looking for home. In this small apartment, I try to evoke at least some feeling and semblance of it. It is there in the collage that I have of my nearest and dearest. In the new 8mm yoga mat that I just ordered (because the one that I brought from Delhi is too thin, not gentle enough on my knees). I’ve realised that it is not enough for me to feel at home in my mind and heart – I need to feel at home in my body, too. I still wonder, though: is home a place, a person, an idea, a set of associated feelings…? It seems difficult to pin down and arrive at a concrete definition. Most often, one’s sense of home is where one grew up, or where(ver) one can remember being loved and cared for unconditionally. Could we perhaps widen the interpretation or association to include activities that bring us joy – a community, however tight and/or close-knit – certain objects that soothe us – specific aromas/fragrances that hold memory in their notes…?

One final thought before I sign off: how can one hold on to the concept of home on the days that stretch one’s emotional limits? When one’s arms cannot possibly reach across the miles for a long and tight hug?

Sending love to everyone as the year draws to a close…