Wow, been 5 years since I wrote here. Or wrote anywhere except threads on Twitter. My writing is rusty, possibly cliched and full of tropes. I should learn to bear with myself, whether anyone who reads this (ha!) will or not.
I wanted to put my lockdown thoughts down somewhere. My privileged self will surely forget the joys this year brought in my life. My son started speaking and debating like never before. That has been a huge source of joy. I’m such a cliched mother when I talk about this :)
2020 was also the year I was supposed to be an effective founder. Like with everything else, this year changed that goal too. I moved out of my own startup and went back to therapy to figure out how not to be anxious all the time. To not be catching up every single minute. To feel and be enough. I’d tried to be someone else in 2020 and failed spectacularly at it. That failure didn’t affect me strangely. It just made me more mindful of my own choices, of my own personality. So, I am a lot more equanimous and conscious of how this year hasn’t been all that bad for me.
While I went through all this, I learned one valuable lesson through three different instances — two of them surprised a rebellious me.
March 2020 — when the pandemic fears and the lockdown started, we started a new ritual. My in-laws were here with us. My parents who lived in the same complex as us would come over for chai and snacks. Or vice-versa. The mothers competed on being perfect and organised during chai time. Worked great for the rest of us! Lockdown weight piled on, like the famous Google14 :) But all was good. Good-hearted ribbing, dreaded discussions on politics, watching and laughing and marvelling together at a toddler’s antics over continuous card games— suddenly 3 PM wasn’t about rushing to wrap up work before the day ended in a flash. There was a strange relaxation I felt. I wasn’t running after growth, I wasn’t arguing over strategy, I wasn’t making ppts., I wasn’t figuring yet another function in Excel… you get the drift. I let go. I let myself go. I ate everything. I took long mid-day naps. I read a lot. I watched one rom-com after another. Swell. But.
I didn’t talk to anyone outside of my immediate family. I was exhausted. I thought it was a waste of time. Text worked fine if I *had* to communicate.
My in-laws left. I was left bereft having to plan meals, take care of a toddler. Life no longer revolved around naps and books and staying away from people. I started a new routine. I needed someone to make me my chai after *everything* settled down. My mornings continued to be a rush. With a dog (oh yeah, we brought a dog home!) and a toddler jumping in the morning for food, walk and my own need for caffeine to be up at an unearthly hour and manage two overactive babies, my 11 AM chai with my mother was a god-send. Yup. After trying to run away from family all my life, I’d come full circle socialising with my in-laws *and* my parents. Phew!
By the time I turned 15, I thought I knew many things. Some things really worked to a plan. I knew I’d adopt a baby in the future, I knew I’d marry someone who was an equal, I knew I wanted to earn lots of money to live a life without being asked too many questions or have any conditions. Rich people don’t have any conditions. And they thrive irrespective of the govt. I digress, sorry. Anyway.
I also knew that I had to be away from home if I had to meet different kinds of people. I was fascinated at all the people I had never met in my closed circle growing up in a mid-path progressive family but in a very curated circle — like most of us have hopefully realised over the years. The schools we went to, the communities we lived in, the people we met - were all like us. I wanted to be away from home. At any cost. I moved out when I turned 20. And didn’t come home except for short spells until I turned 25, to get married. Moved out again, literally. Married life in the US, grad school, a brand new career back in India, miscarriages, baby brought home, regular Sunday family visits, weddings, family gatherings — nothing made me feel the way I did during my chai time with Amma. Chai with Amma at 11 AM meant gossip over multiple mugs of chai, her advice that I disregard in a kinder way now, listening to her thoughts on politics (divergent from my dad, and just for that, am proud). It was the much needed comfort I needed as I battled through anxiety, self-doubt and wondered if I’d ever be that person who took the 5 PM Kacheguda Express all alone, leaving everything I’d known in Bangalore and home.
At 37, I’m back home. It was a different home though— my parents now lived in a rented apartment so they could be close to me to help me with my kid, so I could, in a twisted way, be there for them as they got older. Not the sprawling independent home I grew up in and had memories of. I realised the big house didn’t matter, Amma (and maybe Appa if we get to speak beyond: “So Nandu..” “Yes, Appa”) and her conversations which I didn’t particularly always agree with, mattered.
Then I found a job. It required me to speak to people again. I threw myself into it talking to candidates to hire for my team. I wanted to hire someone smarter than me (I think I did!). I reached out to acquaintances and friends asking for references. I spent hours talking to folks I didn’t ultimately hire, but speak to, for hours now. Lunch and coffee dates, late night sharing of fantastic reading over Whatsapp texts (reserved for a special few only), debates over the govt. I’d missed this joy of sharing, joy of speaking to people without a reason.
Suddenly, it struck me. The serendipity of these conversations. I didn’t plan that these conversations with these folks would be of any major value to my mental health. I don’t know how to play cards. I just wanted some caffeine at 3 PM. I was hiring. I just wanted someone to join so I could be free-er to do my thing. I was looking for chai at 11 AM because I was lazy. I wanted to be effective and efficient. Long conversations didn’t bode well with my calendar and the long to-do list which included reading steamy romances.
People. I’d missed talking to people. I’d missed conversations over coffee, conversations with team members, the camaraderie over topics agreed and disagreed on. This wasn’t a 2020 thing alone for me. This traced back to 2019 and the stress over my startup. I realise now that I wasn’t building it the way I wanted to. I was being someone else all of 2019 until I couldn’t take it anymore.
You see, when you become a founder or start a company — there’s so much advice. So much advice on saying no, conserving your time and energy. So much on how to focus. If you are like me, you don’t listen to this advice mindfully. A former boss and a close friend now once told me that the best thing about me was how I was perseverant and I keep clawing back from any abyss-like situation I seem to get into. Even as I write this down, it makes me proud. However, it has its cons and those showed up when I started my own company.
I focussed on ‘can I get this done over email’ instead of speaking to people. This also meant I may have compromised on user conversations — the freestyle ones. I was being perseverant about getting things done. I wasn’t perseverant in being mindful about how that efficiency affected me and my style. This is a bulb going ting in my head, actually. For all my startup experience and the advice I dole out (Twitter’s meant to be for that + men with far less experience than me do it all the time, so not going to feel bad about this :P), I didn’t realise being mindful didn’t mean you couldn’t pause to see how far you’ve come, change course if required and continue to steam ahead taking along the people with you. Taking along the same joy you felt when you cracked the first day of your startup.
I’d missed on the camaraderie. I’d missed it in my family — I was too stressed to focus on my son and his little conversations, to focus on my burdened husband, to focus on my parents who’d moved across the town for me or my in-laws who had their intentions right and wanted to help me raise my kid. I gained all the mojo, all the joy back through people I’d never have thought would teach me this.
If my mum or mum in law read this piece, I will be forever reminded of how they made the bulb go ‘ting.’ I guess I deserve it for the person I was, in 2019 and parts of 2020. In 2021, I will work to experience and write more to remember these lessons. It’s a resolution and there I’ve started it!
