Life & Other Accidents

I could hear the sirens over our heavy breathing. The rumbling air conditioner and our bodies against the sheets seemed like distant sounds. My mind wandered away from our rhythm. Pancakes – tampons – graphs of the analytics I had gone over during the day. How often do women wander when they’re having sex? Is it always necessary to be consumed in the moment? I often wonder when I look back at this night. I zoned back into the room we were in – my room. “Oh man, that felt good”, Hriday rolled on to his back, half passed out. I lay quiet. It is common knowledge that a woman will not orgasm every time, and even commoner knowledge that a man’s head takes longer than his hands to wrap itself around a woman’s body.

“Goodnight Kyrah.” Hriday hugged me as he fell asleep. We had met on campus – at Washington Square Park. I was eating a sandwich and engrossed in a book. He was out of tissue paper. After that followed the usual protocol of the first few awkward dates. This is where I confess that I am horrible with small talk, so one can imagine how miserably slow it must have been. But Hriday probably has a good eye (or is really sympathetic), because one date turned into ten, and a few months later, I found myself in a happy and comfortable relationship. It’s been a year since we graduated. On the outside, we look like a couple of ambitious twenty-somethings navigating through life in the big, bad but beautiful city of New York. Being a social media analytics professional, I spent most of my time looking at the who, what and how of Facebook likes, Twitter feeds and Instagram followers. He was a finance data analyst. I thought I had everything figured out until a few weeks ago. At some point I had started questioning my job, this relationship, and my life. It wasn’t a dramatic “I need to quit and flee” kind of situation; just a growing thought of whether I was truly content. I shut out the day and slept.

The next day, I dragged myself to work as usual. As I sat staring at graphs and numbers (and figuring out how I could get more people to like a Facebook page), my phone buzzed. “Yes Hriday” I answered, still concentrating on the numbers in front of me. “Babe, let's do something fun tonight? Movie at the park?” “Can’t. A pile of work has just flooded my inbox.” There was a moment of silence. “Kyrah, I’ve said this before, and I’m saying it again – just quit. Find something you love doing and then it won’t feel like work anymore.” Hriday and I had spoken about this on numerous occasions, but I was too scared, too skeptical. “Anyway, I’ll probably go with Mona. See you later.” I cringed a little. Every woman who has been in a relationship will understand the mayhem a Mona can cause. With her love for big data analytics, an MBA and Anglo-Indian genes, she was the woman every other woman wanted to be and one they had stalked on the Internet relentlessly. I was no better. I had fought with Hriday over Mona on various occasions. Each time, it ended the same way. Sometimes I wondered if he was reassuring me or himself.

I came home much after dinnertime. The good thing about living with a chef for a flat-mate was coming home to good food, especially when you didn’t know the c of cooking. Diya was in the middle of her television routine when she heard me come in. “Caramel pudding in the fridge” she mumbled as she stared at the screen in front of her.

She noticed my long face. “Spill it sister.” “Monster Mona” I grumbled. Diya waited for some kind of rage or sadness. Not finding any, she continued. “As bitchy as I may sound for saying this, but I don’t think he’s right for you Kyrah. There shouldn’t be a suppressed trust issue in any healthy relationship.” She made perfect sense, but I was too scared to let go. I was too used to Hriday to start over. “I have more important things to deal with right now. I don’t need to add a failed relationship to that list.” “Like what? Your job? Kyrah, you’re twenty-three. You’re allowed to explore opportunities! Nobody knows what they want to do at twenty-three. Hell, nobody knows where they are going to end up even one year from now!” “You knew what you wanted. And you’re doing exactly that.” She looked at me like I had said Russia was above the United States on the world map. My attention was elsewhere. "What the hell happened to your fingers?" I said as I examined the bandaging. "It's not easy being a clumsy chef. Cut myself - again." I loved Diya for many reasons, but mostly because she never let defeat get the better of her. "See! I could get fired for burning down a kitchen. Who knows?” An exaggerated and hilarious narration later, we retired for the night.

As I lay in bed, I wondered about the social mandate society sets for Indian women. Whether we were living in India, America or the North Pole, I never understood why we were supposed to have the perfect career, an ideal home and raise a family by twenty-eight. What about all the women who were having some kind of pre-life crisis? What about women like me? Were we not considered while this norm was being made? I thought about my WASP friends from college. As I navigated through their Facebook pages, I saw engagement announcements; wedding preparations or just PDA photos that could make even a romantic feel queasy. I sat at my desk and got on to my blog. Writing was always a good stress buster. As a teenager, I remember being determined to become a bestselling author. Then, college and confusion happened. Somewhere between being safe and having the ability to sustain a certain lifestyle, I lost the courage to follow my dreams. A while later, I called Hriday; no answer. I put out the lights and tried to sleep.

Days passed and the monotony continued. Work left me with little time to think of anything else. The silence between us was growing and Monster Mona seemed to be thriving on it. I knew this was the calm before the storm. But just because someone tells you they’re going to punch you, it doesn’t mean it’ll hurt any less. I was walking back from work that evening, when my phone rang. “Hi. Meet me at the Starbucks at Washington Square? It's kind of urgent.” I knew what was coming next. My stomach sank a bit. “Sure. See you in fifteen.”

We both fiddled with our cups as Hriday tried to think of what to say. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I heard his voice. “This doesn’t have to be painful. I don’t want it to be.” “Sure you don’t. Which is why you’re stretching it to infinity” I thought to myself. Instead, all I said was “Me too.” Why did break ups have to be so slow? Why couldn’t people stop beating around the bush? Hriday kept rattling. Finally, I cut him, “Its Mona, isn’t it?” Awkward silence. “I feel like you have a lot you need to figure out. Mona already has.” And with that, we went our separate ways. As any emotionally driven stereotypical woman would do - I went for the calories and walked into Blue Bell. The bartender asked me my choice of poison. I asked for an Apple Galette. (Because who needs alcohol when you have sugar to pick you up without the hangover?) I had expected myself to feel more helpless, like the women in the movies who have a sad song marking the end of life as they know it. I felt sad, but it was the kind of sadness you feel when you outgrow a pair of lovely shoes – you know you will find another.

Weeks passed and the heartbreak drama seemed to move backstage. But on the work front, I was still battling my inhibitions. After a frantic call in the middle of the afternoon, I rushed to meet Diya. “What the hell happened?!” I asked as I looked at her heavily bandaged hand. “Chopped a chunk of my finger off. Don’t know if I’ll be able to move as swiftly in a kitchen again. Had to keep the knife though, it’s a unique souvenir from today. ” After a detailed discussion, I left for another interview. I watched her on my way out. She sat in the Starbucks café, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf. She still looked hopeful. That’s when I realized – it will always work out as long as we want it to.

The air hostess asked me to fasten my seatbelt. I felt a sense of nervousness. I didn’t know what I was going to find, but I was ready. As we hovered over Mumbai, I began to realize how much I had missed home. It felt good to be back. My parents were pleasantly surprised. “What brought you home beta?” After a long hug, all I said was “I’m exhausted.”

The next couple of weeks passed by in me getting a lot of unwanted attention, not-so-subtle marriage proposals and my mother’s inability to understand why I was having a pre-life crisis. She had always liked Hriday, because he scored a perfect ten on her groom radar. I think she was more heartbroken than I was.

After all the fuss over me had settled, I got back to thinking over what I was going to do next. I sat at the community table at Starbucks, peering over my kindle. The girls next to me were having an animated discussion about a guy. “Oh my god, what a jerk! I saw him hitting on someone just the other night.” The other girl seemed disgusted. “Seriously yaar, should we tell her about this?” I giggled a little. “Have you been eavesdropping too?” said a man over his laptop screen. “I couldn’t help myself.” I said. “I’m Shanay, by the way.” “Oh, sorry. I’m Kyrah.”

Over the next hour, we got talking about our lives and ourselves. I learnt that Shanay was a generation older than me, had worked with his dad in his machine manufacturing business and finally quit to become a lifestyle magazine editor. “I love to travel. And every time I do, I make sure I live like a local. It's one thing to be a tourist, but the real experience is in understanding the everyday life.” “Interesting” I said. “So what is it that you do?” “Social media analytics professional. But I’m rethinking my life right now.” He looked at me curiously. “What is it that you really like doing? Something that brings you pure joy?” “Well…. I love to write.” “So why are you looking at numbers instead of creating something?” I was stumped. In all the months that I had been chasing goals, not once had I thought about this. “Can I read some of your stuff? If you don’t mind sharing?” I opened up my blog. He sifted through my stuff. “Looks like human relationships are your forte. And you keep it light. Nice!” He finally looked away from the screen and said, “Would you like to be a guest writer for our teen supplement? We have loads of girls writing in who could use this advice!” I didn’t need to think it through. “Sure!” I blurted. And it felt great.

Over the next couple of weeks, I read through dozens of emails that came from girls who were crying over boys, friends, bodies and everything else teenage angst brings with it. I had been asked to pick the most relevant problems and dole out some fun advice. Even though I had a lot of reading and writing to do, for the first time I didn’t feel burdened. As I sat going over the emails, I found something interesting – “I like this boy, and he likes me too. But he thinks I’m too nerdy, so he never talks to me around his friends. He doesn’t take me seriously enough. I’m lanky and I don’t look like the other 'pretty' sixteen year old girls. I feel left out among my friends. I want to pursue a career in physics but I don’t want to tell anyone because I’m scared I’ll be made fun of. What should I do? – Little Miss Lost.”

Something about her pulled a string in me. She was the voice of countless other girls. My response was instinctive. “Hello Little Miss Lost. Let me start by saying ‘welcome to the world of women!’ I know things seem to be out of control right now, but it gets better. (Take it from someone who’s been a gawky tomboy.) Unfortunately, science still hasn’t figured out how to drill sense into sixteen-year-old boys, so I’m sorry but you’re going to have to wait this one out. (Unless you find a solution once you’re a fancy physicist). As you grow older, you will realize the value of your intelligence, because that is what men will crave. When you flash your fancy physics PhD, that’s what they’ll dig. You dig? Soon you will have other things to worry about, like college, wanting to live alone and saving money. But you won’t have to worry about being smart, because hey! You’ve already managed that! It's okay to be gawky and lanky, because who ever heard of the swan turning into an ugly duckling? As for your ‘ignorant’ boy crush, let him be. But please, do not dumb yourself down for him. What you have on your shoulders is something a lot of girls will crave for a few years down the line. Enjoy your intelligence, hone it and show it off! I’ve had a few of your problems and I turned out just fine, (considering I’ve been hired to advise girls like you). It’s only a matter of time. – K.”

My response to Little Miss Lost made me realize I had the answers all along. I didn’t need a plan; I just needed to follow my passion. Two weeks later, I flew back to New York. We will never swim unless we dive in.