End of a year and yet...more of the same

इस रात की सुबह नहीं/Is raat ki subah nahi (or, the endless night)

Hi, hi!

Hope you bought tons of books from your favorite indie bookstores as holiday gifts post-Thanksgiving. Mine is in La Jolla and is the country’s oldest family owned one. Which one’s yours? Here’s an image, circa 1910.

I also hope you gave thanks to those who bring you food even in a pandemic—who’s your local farmer? What do they grow for you? Mine is a community group, an urban initiative, run by a dear friend who has scolded me endlessly for watering the leaves instead of the roots because while Baba was an amazing gardener, I am also known as Queen Black Thumb. But then, this is what I grew—not bad, huh?

Back to you. Who’s your local farmer? And your butcher? And your mail person? I know, I know, asking you obnoxious questions as always. But you know, sometimes, that’s where we land after 21 months of this self-imposed exile—we land where we should. We get more aware, we make more amends, and we build community. Isn’t that what life is supposed to be?

We get more aware, we make more amends, and we build community.

But do we? Do we? No—we fight unjust wars, we let guns be available to young men who then (and again) shoot schoolchildren, we knowingly convict Black men of rape on the basis of would-be bestselling white authors’ words, we actively work to transform Handmaid’s Tale into reality, we throw tantrums about vaccines, and more hissy fits on mask mandates while we violently assault flight attendants because we didn’t get what we wanted.

If you’re wanting a sweet joyous newsletter, this one today isn’t it. We are all exhausted, and we are also very exhausted of each other. Were we always like this? Did the pandemic do a पर्दा फाश/lift the lid on our inherent selfishness in the most powerful country (or so they say) in the world? It sure feels like it.

This December, I’m asking you as much as I am asking myself, is to take a step back and reflect on what we do and why. Perhaps buy books, because who doesn’t like books—but maybe buy from an indie store? Perhaps make it a habit that’s lifelong? Or something else from a Black-owned business? Perhaps make it also a habit that’s lifelong? Perhaps donate to your local food bank? If you’re in San Diego, here’s a link. If you’re elsewhere, google ‘food banks near me’—please. We live in the world’s most powerful country, or so they say—we shouldn’t have people dying of hunger.

This December too, we have another variant with over 50 mutations in the spike protein. Which makes it even more infectious. It’s in California already, so likely, it’s everywhere in the country, or soon will be. Folks like me who are vaccinated and boosted still wear masks, still socially distance, still stay home mostly. This is how we have lived for nearly two years and we continue to do so. So I get it. It’s exhausting. Children are growing up and these two years are like two decades for them. Zoom squares are like boxes of doom. We long for sitting in cafes, sitting in noisy bars, watching movies and eating popcorn in darkened theaters. We want to attend big, loud desi weddings. We yearn to go back home, home as in India, and eat greasy bread pakora with spicy coriander chutney and Maggi ketchup. By we, I mean I. But we, I, cannot. Not yet.

Everything changes eventually. What comes up, goes down. Will this change? Will this too pass? Yes. It will because it’s literally—to quote cheesy things—the circle of life. But till then, we wait. We have no choice. The only choice we have is how we treat each other.

So, this December, let’s just try to be kind. While it may feel like the night is endless, or is raat ki subah nahi or इस रात की सुबह नहीं—it will. May be not according to the timeline we want. But it will.

Till then, let’s just try to be kind to each other. At first, we may not succeed. But we can try.

We can only try.

Stay safe, my peeps.

Hugs,
M