How I lost two years of my life
Every year, on the 20th of Jan, I pen a blog documenting and appraising my writer’s journey since leaving the corporate world in 2017. Putting the stories from my head in black and white and letting the world react to them has been one of the greatest joys of my life. The clickety-clack of the keyboard, the scribbling in my notebook, is more soothing than hours of meditation. And so, the last year as far as appraisals go was a year lost. Hopelessly and completely lost. It reminded me of another year that I had lost a long time ago.
2001 was the year when I was supposed to graduate. I had been admitted to the four-year Civil Engineering program at the Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda in 1997, had done well in the first semester to change to Mechanical Engineering and it was almost time to graduate. I hadn’t been a very focussed student after changing the branch, had failed in a few subjects, but had managed to make it to the end. I knew what I wanted to do after graduation and was already selected for a Masters program at RMIT, Melbourne. The results of the final semester were put up on the notice boards and I went to have a look.
I had failed in one subject by a couple of marks.
Up until then, I had always managed to make things work. Maybe things had always managed to make themselves work without too much interference from my end. My school grades were always in the eighties and nineties. Yes, there were academic setbacks during college but this was different. This was missing out on graduation by two lousy marks. Missing out on post-graduation by two lousy marks and seeing all my friends begin their next stage while I contemplated my next move for two lousy marks. My family and friends were sympathetic as well as concerned, but it was my problem and no one else could do anything about it. There were two ways to get out of the mess, none of them without some permanent wounds.
The first one was to just reappear for the subject I had failed in and move on. This was an easier and faster method but would mean getting an ordinary degree without any other classification. Most employment and further studies require at least a second class degree. The second option was to reappear for the complete semester. This would mean spending more effort but gave me an option to get a proper degree classification. What it all meant was that there was only one option, the hard one.
I reappeared for all the papers, passed in them and got a first-class degree. By then I was admitted to the Renewable Energy programs at Reading University and Loughborough University. I moved to Loughborough and never looked back at that lost year. Till 2021.
Last year, I lost another year. It was the second year of my life that was lost.
In December of 2020, because of financial concerns, I took up a full-time day job again, kept the traditional Dhoti-Kurtas that I had worn day in and day out during the past few years back in the wardrobe, bought a few formal dresses again and went back to the 9–6 life, albeit as an English teacher. The long, cold, unwelcome kiss of COVID had taken away the part-time jobs that had kept me going as a writer.
The results of that decision were spectacular in some sense. My bank balances grew back from ‘mostly empty’ to ‘partly full’, I got to teach hundreds of bright students, and I met some wonderful colleagues; things that few were fortunate enough to have in the times. And yet, I think of the year as a lost year.
As I got into the routine of going back to the office, my left brain took over. Earlier, words would flow into my mind as I progressed with my daily routine, they would tell me a story or ask me a question and I would in turn sit down and let them flow onto the paper with my pen. These discussions with myself carried me through the mundane part-time jobs.
However, in the last year with a full-time load, the words stopped talking to me. I was like a child who grows up and stops believing in fairy tales and as a result, the fairy tales stop believing in him. A lot of dust gathered on my creative side which was a painful experience.
This last year was more painful than 2001 because with the age and the pandemic I am more aware of my mortality than I was earlier. Youth has the power to overlook the mortality angle because it believes it has more time to deal with it. At 43, I do not have the same luxury as the 21-year-old me. Time has, therefore, become more important, more pressing than before, and to give that more important time to a full-time day job, worthy though it was, felt painful. So, I spoke to my employer and joined the tide of great resignation currently going on everywhere else too.
Beginning mid-March 22, I will for the most part retire my formal clothes again, slip back into my comfortable traditionals, get back to my desk and the keyboard will start clicking again. No doubt the long-term financial stability angle looms large. Sometimes I wish that I had patrons like the kings of the yesteryears who would pay me for just continuing to write whether or not anyone read my works!
However, back to the question of long-term finances. I love teaching and will continue with it in some form or other, but there are some things on the plate much closer to my love of writing and I’ll let Ishvara guide me on that.
It is a tough decision for me as well as my family, but it had to be made. Why? Ironically, even though I consider myself adequate in the art of writing, I am slightly at a loss of words trying to explain the reason behind this decision as well as these wonderful lines from the latest Nicholas Cage flick, Pig.
“We don’t have a lot of things to really care about. Find what you care about, and stick with it till the bitter end.”
So, here’s to and till the bitter end.
