I have been invoking my completion of 10 years in the UK quite a bit in the last few blogs. The date is September 30 to be precise, when I complete it. This 10-year anniversary is perhaps even more significant to me because it coincides with when I became 'officially' settled in a sense. Though I was settled in many senses of the word even before this, I have to say there was still a psychologically unsettled feeling. Maybe a bit like living on rent vs. owning your house? The experience of the house is pretty much the same but if your landlord decides that you cannot stay any longer, that's it. It also makes a difference to the relationship you have with the house. Even if your landlord did not mind you making changes or renovations, chances are you wouldn't do it with the same enthusiasm or interest as you would if it were your own. It won't "feel" yours no matter how long you stayed because every year you could wonder if you were going to be around the next year or something might happen to push you out. This could go on for years but the temporary feeling might not go away.  I know some people prefer to live on rent as opposed to owning a house because they find it a freer way of being. You can move out quickly. But that's not me... I like to put down roots more than I like to fly, more an oak tree than butterfly ;)

I guess the point of all this is to say that I am happy to feel more settled in my skin finally. 

I have written many odes to the power of the logical argument and my love for it... in the last few blogs and over the last many years. Yet of late consciously and unconsciously I want to keep this love aside when I engage with older people whom I care about. They have one trump card that is the mother of all arguments. In Hindi we have a saying, "Sau sunar ki, ek luhar ki'. It roughly translates to, "A hundred blows from the goldsmith equal one blow from the blacksmith". My hundred arguments they can answer with just one: silence. Deathly, lethal, and the impact is nowhere anywhere near anything my arguments could make... I have become very afraid of the possibility of this response. What if this turns out to be the last time I ever speak to them? What if this turns out to be the last words that we ever exchanged...? What if they are at that stage in life where they'd rather have peace and not a lively argument? What if they choose to never talk to me again...? What if I never get the chance to say that I'd rather have them than arguments...? What if I never get to say...? Where would that leave me then...? What good would be my arguments then...?

Amid a hundred things I am trying to get done around this time, I decided I needed to get a new suitcase. It must be apparent to the newest reader of this blog, assuming there is one, that I like to hold onto my stuff for yea....rrs. I have one blue Samsonite fabric suitcase that's about roughly 21 years old, is huge, has two back old-style wheels, and despite being in immaculate condition, cannot be used. I used to store extra bedsheets, pillows and stuff like that in it until last year when I didn't have storage space. But now I do and I am still putting off disposing this suitcase. Another dark green Samsonite fabric is about 16 years old, has four old-style wheels which are a bit worn, and otherwise in good condition. A third hard case is a general brand of grey/brown colour, about 8ish years old, four old-style (by that I mean non-spinner) wheels which are pretty worn off, otherwise in good condition. I have been using my dark green Samsonite and grey/brown suitcase on my Big Travel (going to use BT as shorthand for upcoming travel across China/UAE/India). The trouble is that though they are in pristine condition inside, the wheels are starting to give me a hard time.

Seeing as the Samsonites have served long and well, I decided to get a new Samsonite. It's turned out to be one of those experiences where you actually want to stick with a brand and they do their darndest best to make sure you don't. I went for an online delivery after spending ages figuring out which one I wanted—if it was going to last me another 20 years, it made sense to? The delivery was to be made to my flat in 2-3 days but imagine my surprise when I get a text message saying it had arrived at some place in the town centre and could I come collect it? I don't know what anybody else would have done. This is where my logic works very differently I think. The way I see it, if I am paying way more for this brand and they have agreed to send the item to my home, that's where they should send it. I am not going to another place and dragging the suitcase to my home when that wasn't the deal. I called the Samsonite folks. They said they'll arrange to send it. They didn't seem to see a problem with the fact that it wasn't just delivered outright. No delivery for about another two weeks. I followed up again. And again was told it will be sent but no exact date. One random day they tried to deliver (so they said) but I wasn't there. Obviously, because the fact that they'll deliver that day was not communicated to me directly nor did the tracking system say this clearly. So the item got shipped back to the sender. To add to this, Samsonite initiated credit of the amount another week or so later after they actually received it. Though they knew it never came to me!

This was such a humungous waste of time for me. And I don't even have a new suitcase now. I have wondered if I should have just gone and got it from this town centre storage. I would at least have it. But then I feel wouldn't that just mean letting a brand profit even though they did not deliver their promise? I am now not keen to get a Samsonite... but that forces me to potentially buy something that might have to be replaced much sooner. I guess I'll probably just continue using the old ones instead of making a decision.

And that friends, is how I make my life harder than it needs to be :(

This says in a paragraph what I couldn’t have expressed adequately in a whole book… might return to more thoughts around this later…

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A number of porcupines huddled together for warmth on a cold day in winter; but, as they began to prick one another with their quills, they were obliged to disperse. However the cold drove them together again, when just the same thing happened. At last, after many turns of huddling and dispersing, they discovered that they would be best off by remaining at a little distance from one another. In the same way the need of society drives the human porcupines together, only to be mutually repelled by the many prickly and disagreeable qualities of their nature. The moderate distance which they at last discover to be the only tolerable condition of intercourse, is the code of politeness and fine manners; and those who transgress it are roughly told—in the English phrase—to keep their distance. By this arrangement the mutual need of warmth is only very moderately satisfied; but then people do not get pricked. A man who has some heat in himself prefers to remain outside, where he will neither prick other people nor get pricked himself.

~Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena

I have a confession to make. I am crazy about cutlery. I am not joking at all. Fancy looking cups and mugs, nicely curved spoons and forks, delicate and cute jars, all shapes and sizes of vessels... I have a hankering that just is. There is no rational explanation. Is there ever for something/someone you love? It's a bit like a malady... if you have got it, you have got it. Just that in this case, there's no cure. I have specific spoons and forks for specific rituals. A spoon that must be, I don't even know how old—perhaps around since when I was a child?—has this rather sharp contour. I got it with me from India 10 years ago. That spoon came free with some condiment or something at that time I think. The handle part of it is quite short and has some pretty etchings too. It's my dessert/pudding spoon. I am pretty sure no other spoon will give me the same experience. There was another special spoon I got from India that got misplaced in one of the shared houses I lived in over here. My second-best dessert spoon. To this day I feel sad thinking about it. Someone will say, 'it's just a spoon'. Of course it is. But it's more than that to me :(

A friend of mine smuggled a solo fork for me from somewhere. Apparently when he looked at that fork, he knew instantly I would love it. Until then if somebody had asked me how well he knows me, I would have said maybe 60%. After looking at that fork, I am inclined to say 70%. It's the most marvellous fork! Has this brassy gold colour. I already have a few golden forks and spoons with dark green handles from China... but they are in-your-face goldy gold. This fork is something else. Its golden is subtle. The edges are sharp, clean, square-ish. Not rounded. The prongs of the fork too—I don't know how to explain it? I am not good at this kind of description... They are not as wide and rounded as regular forks. The whole fork has a rather slimmed down shape, though it's nearly as long as the usual ones (not too long like some nor too heavy). Full marks to this friend... hehe! I am looking forward to my pasta this weekend... what with this gorgeous fork and all ;)  

A question that came to me after my last post and that I felt anyone reading that post might ask is: what makes me think I am not the blind person in that story? The answer is, I do not know. I could very well be, from someone else's perspective. I can only think or write or reflect from my own perspective which is necessarily a perspective from somewhere. If I am the blind man catching hold of the elephant's tusk and making sense of the elephant a certain way, that's the only way available to me. I like to think that before I judge the elephant to be a certain type of way, I am trying to hold it from different angles and not just one. But there is no way for me to tell that I actually covered all angles. What if I did not get to touch the trunk? All I can do is to try as many angles as possible and when a new angle presents itself, add it to my evaluation. What I cannot do is to step out of this box entirely and watch the blind man and elephant from a different plane. I am in that box and the only position available to me is inside the box, however much I move around. 

It must be rather obvious even if I didn't say so that everything I write on this blog is from my own point of view, not an objective one. The main reason I write this blog is to sort of sift through my thoughts, clarify my own thinking, get to know my own self better, process my emotions, etc etc. I guess none of that would be possible if I wasn't honest/authentic and one risk of being that is that one becomes vulnerable to a lot of charges. On the other hand, I do not believe one can write anything worth writing without some amount of vulnerability. So I must accept what comes with the territory. 

One of the reasons I feel this caveat that this is 'my' point of view might be worth making once in a while is because I am aware my writing voice has a certain absoluteness or confidence in it. It does not perform false humility or contrived uncertainty. A person very dear to me once said to me that I need to learn to 'tone down' my voice for my academic writing. I took that advice seriously (as I did all their advice though they probably never thought so ;)) because in my academic writing I am trying to persuade an audience. It matters if my persuasion techniques work or not. Here, that's not the case. I am just being myself. A big part of my honesty/authenticity here comes from not trying to modulate my voice to suit some audience. I'd rather have no audience than to have to cater to even one. What would be the point of gaining them at the cost of losing myself?  If somebody sticks around, great. If not, that's just as well...