For the Love of Books

There’s something really magical about finding books that touch your soul. Sure, there are about a million books out there under the category of classics, some surprisingly confusing when you start reading them, but what was it that made people decide they were the gems we humans couldn’t afford to lose?

It’s not often I think about this, but when I do I could spend hours trying and failing to come up with an answer that makes complete sense...except this one: that all of these books, in one way or another, touch people’s heart in a way they cannot put into words, so they decide to urge other people to find out on their own.

I don’t remember the first time I read a book all on my own, or demanded my first book, or sneaked a book to my room so I could read with my tiny bookmark lamp under the covers for the first time. I do remember, though, that I was the first from my class to pick any book I wanted to issue or read from my school library and that made me feel like I had a superpower. I’ve had multiple reading spots in that library over the years, most of them in a corner by one of the windows. It was a beautiful experience, the way the noises around me faded when I started reading, even if the person right next to me called me. Ever so often there would be a book which would require that I take a break, breathe in, look out the window and take in the view, because there was no way in the world I could’ve absorbed more of its intensity without letting the parts I had just read sink in. That still happens to me today. Honestly, if that is not how you decide your favourites, I don’t know how you do it.

So here I am, sitting in my room lit with fairy lights on my bookshelves, typing up a little something about my love for books, hoping I end up encouraging someone to discover the perfect genre for them, hoping to push them to start at their own pace, while the book I’m currently reading sits on my windowsill hoping I wouldn’t mess with it anymore because it is so very old. Well, little does the book know...

To Slam Books and Old Friends

Today I found my old slam book. Yes, one of those things which you pass around to your friends for them to fill up and you swear never to show other people. Some of its pages were full to the brim, some were left empty except the names of people whose deepest, darkest secrets at twelve years of age were supposed to be right there on those pages. A few of these very special people from back then are still in regular contact with me, some are connected only on Instagram and in my contact list. Others have been long lost, even from my memory. Funny how time works on friendships.

One of these friends used to be one of whom I categorised as my best friends back in the day. She is one of the handful of people I have cried in front of, and I remember her quite well. I even remember why I cried that day, and now that I think of it, it seems laughable yet so terribly serious for a twelve-year-old. Anyway, as I said, I remember her quite well. Her father had a transferable government job back then, probably still does now, and because of that she was only physically present in my life for two or three years, not exactly sure. After that her father got transferred again so we exchanged phone numbers on chits of paper, the old-fashioned way. Neither of us had a mobile phone to store those numbers, so when her father got transferred again she lost mine and I never got her new one. I sometimes wonder where she is these days, and whether she misses me. The good thing is I smile every time I think of her. Very few friends are such that stay in your memory like this: if you ever meet them again, you’ll probably end up becoming the closest of friends once more.

Now that I’ve finished that paragraph, I’ve written and deleted another one a few times. All I can think about is nothing. Nothing at all. I am trying to bring up memories of friends, from the slam book and otherwise, all from back in school before we got separated by our choices and their consequences. It seems my brain will only let those out when I get away from the screen, away from any means which breaks the surety that my thoughts and memories will stay with me, unseen by others, unheard by others, and I don’t yet understand why. Maybe a few years down the line when my further study in Psychology will help me unravel the secrets of my mind I’ll get it, maybe I’ll get it someday when I’m doing nothing but staring at the night sky from my window. This is not the first time I’m struggling to consciously remember things about my past friends and it probably isn’t the last time...but I guess what really matters is that even though I can’t pull them out right now, when the time comes, I always have the most detailed, strongest, sweetest memories of all.

So my dear friends who haven’t been in contact since long, if you’re reading this, I think of you. Not all the time, not in detail, but very, very fondly. I hope to see you and catch up with you sometime in the future when we have lots and lots of stories to share and listen, or if possible, even in the near future so we can reach that faraway time in each others’ company.

Love,

Me.

Negative Emotions? Also a Sign of Life.

Recently I and my mum were featured in an interview with Dr Darshana Thakkar and Dr Parthiv Mehta. Among other things we talked about life after my accident and how I managed to stay mentally strong. The one thing that touched me and made me smile was a little sentence Dr Thakkar said near the end. It might even have gone unnoticed by everyone else, I'm not sure, but for me? Definitely not so.

What she said was quite simple - that I must be trying really hard all the time not to break down internally, for I enjoy a lot of things when I can, during some of the most energetic years of my life, despite being on a wheelchair...and she's right. It is the time of my life where I would definitely have wished to move around freely, bunk some lectures, go on unplanned trips and parties with my friends, maybe even date. It becomes difficult in a wheelchair and I sometimes feel angry, frustrated, restricted, sad - all of it, even jealous of other people because they can do things that I can't. I am only human, and it is probably a good thing that I feel these things.

I feel. The fact that I can and do feel emotionally vulnerable simply points to one thing, that I am alive, I am thriving and I haven't given up on life yet. Have you ever seen or heard about a corpse being able to feel any emotions at all? No, right? It is biologically not possible. This is why I think it is important to feel vulnerable sometimes - it reminds us of our life or death status.

On the other hand, however, It is not a good experience when I'm actually going through my down times. It can be tough to exercise, study or even read a good book or enjoy some music. It can be difficult to understand someone else's point of view, to understand and remember how blessed I am to have an understanding and loving family, dedicated friends, my unharmed intellect and physical strength. It is difficult, but it is these difficult things that help me get up after an emotional breakdown. Luckily I am quite resilient so I don't have such phases often, even though unconsciously I may be battling them all the time, and when I do have such phases they last hardly for a few hours. But they are intense.

It is true that life can be emotionally mixed up, difficult, unnerving, but in the end what matters is that we take home the right lessons and not let things pile up. Everyone has negative emotions they are trying to get over, but how is that ever possible if we don't be true to ourselves and face them? If we're determined enough, willing enough, is it really that hard?

The Quarantine Effect

Recently we were all instructed to stay in our homes in order to protect ourselves from the Coronavirus outbreak. A lot of people are pretty upset about this huge change in their routines. They have no idea what to do all day, and even if they work from home there’s this something that feels missing. Honestly such reactions seem both funny and pitiful to me, considering the fact that my routine has been the exact same ever since I started physiotherapy to help me recover from my injury.

However, I cannot say I don’t relate to the confusion people are facing these days, the way they’re feeling trapped and helpless after a point of time when being home seems like there’s nothing much left to do. I have always been someone who has a high need for stimulation all the time and must do something or the other all day in order to feel sane. The first few days after surgery were tough for me that way. All I had to do was to lie in bed and “do whatever I wanted to” which mostly included reading or watching TV and meeting people for a three-hour-window of the visiting hours in the hospital. Eventually visitors lessened, my eyes started hurting with all the reading and TV and I felt blank. What was I supposed to do now? I don’t even remember anymore what I did then, probably just went back to sleep.

Some more days later I went back home and then there really was nothing I would do. No doctors to examine me, no nurses coming to chat with me, no visitors in my room because the stitches in my spine had only recently been opened up and we didn’t want them to be infected, obviously. I had nothing to do except physiotherapy (that was a different method than what I’m currently following). So then I dived right in when my physiotherapist came and I showed so much improvement (only visible to those who observed me daily) that she had to look for new exercises for me almost every fourth day. As a side effect of this enthusiasm I could now comfortably go back to binge-reading and occasionally studying again.

Then some months later I and my family decided to go ahead with the current physiotherapy routine which goes on for literally all day except when I’m eating. This was perfect for me – I was doing something all day long with hardly any time left to do anything else. I realised the importance of time because I only had so many hours in a day left to study after all the exertion. Even today I’m almost struggling to find time to do anything but exercise and study, but I manage and don’t regret any of it. In fact in that time I try to fit at least one of my hobbies per day, and thankfully I have many. Pretty sure that’s one of the reasons why I have never, despite following the exact same routine for these past few years, felt too bored with it.

You ask me how’s quarantine for me? It is a way of life that lets me focus on my recovery and is helping me think of how I can fit all I want to do in that little amount of time I have left during the day because I know once college starts again I won’t have much chance. It is helping me see how far I’ve come from the girl who became restless when confined to her home, where she now feels like that’s her own little world. It means I and mum get to spend all day with papa – his laughter and his jokes and stories feel like therapy. It is letting me help my friends to go through this sudden change in their lives and routines where they run out of things to do and I see myself a little more than three years ago, in need of someone who has gone through this and can help me fight through. And finally, being able to hear the birds chirping in the calm silence all around me, I can see how much this period of quarantine has healed our environment from the harm humankind had brought to it.

(Not so) dear Coronavirus, I may not love you, but I’m grateful for the way you made the environment clean again. Thank you and may we never see you again J

Infrastructure, Mental Health and Society

1st July, 2019. My first day at college - the MS University of Vadodara. I wasn't exactly excited to go - I wanted to leave Vadodara, study elsewhere. Well, the education here is good, so I decided to go with the flow.

We approached the building to attend the orientation program. Right in front of me stood three big stairs - just to enter the building. At the time I had not yet learnt to climb up or down staircases as I can now, but even today that's a dangerous method to follow. Anyway, that day it took three people to lift me sitting on my wheelchair into the building. It was in that moment that I realised how dependent I was, and was going to be for the rest of my course here, upon people other than just me for something as basic as entering my college. Literally.

I was devastated, frustrated, angry. I hated the place. Luckily for the college, though, I wouldn't be able to attend classes for about 4 months after the first three days, during which I had multiple health issues and a surgery. Also during the same period onwards my family, like many others before us, requested the authorities of the University to make infrastructural changes so as to support me and others like me to attend classes regularly. Their excuse? The University campus is a heritage site. I mean, of course, why would I want to go to any heritage site at all, especially my own college campus, right? And even if I did want to go, wouldn't I rather risk breaking my spine again by climbing entire staircases like I already am than actually having an easy passage method to use?

We have been told since a long time that we should practise what we preach. We talk about equality yet some of us refuse to believe changes are necessary to bring about equality. We talk about mental health yet some of us refuse to even consider the ill effects of having to be dependent just because it is "troublesome" to change the present facilities. This section of our society needs some serious change in their perspective, especially those who have the power to not only affect change but also to actually administer it. I really want to know how, when they have the need for such facilities, they just magically appear, but even after years of appeals and sometimes court cases the general public isn't provided with them.

Contrary to this my school - the Bright Day School CBSE Vasna unit - was very supportive. As soon as we realised we would need a ramp and requested them to build one, they fulfilled that request along with a number of subtle changes that helped me glide through my last two years there as best as possible.

Recently I have been working on a video about the infrastructural problems any wheelchair enabled person might face at the University as part of the Accessible Vadodara campaign, with the hope that at least someone will listen and act, so that the students coming after me may not face as much of these issues as I and others before me have had to. It is a legal requirement for public institutions to have accessibility supports, complete with guidelines on the dimensions of such supports. This requirement is often neglected. To say the truth, many of my classes have been shifted to the ground floor, and I am thankful for that. However that is hardly enough looking at the state of the building.

This isn't just a question of physical support. Mental health is a real thing and it is affected immensely by a person's sense of independence. I may make peace with a majority of my own problems but I refuse to stay quiet when the sense of independence, of equality, of such a large part of the society is in question. Because, after all, staying quiet isn't much better than actually causing harm.