Hindustan Times ST (Mumbai) - Brunch
Five hacks for a hard summer
Lockdown consolations from questionable music to existential comics
The New York Times has given us a beautiful word to name the vague, unsettling pandemic-stirred feeling that lies between being depressed and thriving: “languishing”. A sort of living in limbo, which might morph into a more serious mental health condition somewhere in the future. Fun. If you’re one of the lucky ones that’s just languishing and nothing worse, here’s a compilation of summer hacks to tide us over another testing May.
Music
In the wildly entertaining Netflix docu Pretend It’s a City, the famously cantankerous humourist, Fran Lebowitz, tells the helplessly laughing Martin Scorsese – her interlocuter in the seven-episode series – that people feel happy listening to the music that was popular when they were young. I discovered this as I spent a gin-soaked afternoon (espresso quarantini for the win) dancing to such classics from my ’90s youth ranging from The Cranberries’ Dreams and Alanis Morissette’s You Oughtta Know to Aqua’s I’m a Barbie Girl and Alisha Chinai’s Sexy, sexy, sexy mujhe log bolein. Whether it’s Kishore Kumar or Taylor Swift – it makes no difference. The unsubtle comfort of the overfamiliar; that’s just what the DJ ordered.
Greenery
I have more chlorophyll on my hands than the average brown thumb, killing pretty leaves and flowers with a potent blend of violent love and sudden neglect. But it’s undeniable that nature heals; even if it’s just that single stem valiantly holding its own, perched hopefully on the bathroom ledge: the one spot in your vampiric flat that admits a sliver of sunshine. Neurologist and author Oliver Sacks says in his beautiful essay, Why We Need Gardens: “In forty years of medical practice, I have found only two types of non-pharmaceutical “therapy” to be vitally important for patients with chronic neurological diseases: music and gardens.” Bookmarking it for if/when this languishing state gives way to something more sinister.
Comfort food
Anxiety is a strange appetiser. One moment I’m reaching for a twee glass of overnight oats, layered with flakes and fruit, seeds and semolina, another I’m munching on bread pakora that, to plagiarise a Gordon Ramsay quote, has so much oil in it, the US will attack it any minute now. Stress eating is now simply called eating. Watermelon lunches segue into kebab suppers, which segue into ice-cream dinners. And one can conscionably rationalise it all with the brahmastra: pandemic. While the days make sudden and gruelling demands of the most unimaginable kinds, the consolations of beloved meals cannot be exaggerated. A shout-out
WHILE THE DAYS MAKE SUDDEN AND GRUELLING DEMANDS OF THE MOST UNIMAGINABLE KINDS, THE CONSOLATIONS OF BELOVED MEALS CANNOT BE EXAGGERATED
to the thousands of meal services across the country delivering hot and healthy meals to afflicted households. To everyone involved in organising this incredibly important effort: may your roti never want for ghee nor your kadi for pakora.
Conversation
Have you, too, been transformed from a coherent conversationalist to a chat-oholic, peppering emotional monologues with giddy-headed emojis? I find myself to be inadequate when it comes to audio or video calls, unwittingly hitting the flight mode on my touchscreen phone with embarrassing frequency. For a writer forever restricted by the dreaded word count, the freedom of a chat window – inviting one to speak uninterruptedly in words and images – is intoxicating. The tendons in my poor hand complain, but the heart is eased by friendly banter, mindless memes and regular forays into deeper territory. The voice note is a frontier I haven’t yet explored, and I’m sure everyone tired of my feverish chatter wishes that’s how it remains.
Comics
I’ve tried matching my books with the dominant lockdown mood – dark, brooding, philosophical – but it hasn’t worked. Just like us humans, our books have been languishing too, looking at us imploringly from bedside tables and work desks, using everything from shiny jackets to musty smells to seduce us. Meanwhile, I’m reaching for the comforts of comics, with their neat panels and abbreviated thoughts. I came to Peanuts late in life, but it’s the perfect companion to these inexplicable times, with its vast range of distinctive characters, all trying to make sense of the day to day absurdities of life. Just like Charles M. Schulz’ cast of young kids – and the indomitable Snoopy – we too are groping for sense, albeit in extreme circumstances. The bossy Lucy would’ve made a killing dispensing her famously dodgy psychiatric advice.
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