Skip to main content

The end of the year post

I have this queer habit to clean up my files and wardrobes on the onset of every  new  year. As I flip through some old letters and my own handwritten notes, I am forced to recall old times which I would so love to forget but never will have the resolve too. So here I am writing the year end post while tearing old papers and drinking hot soup (Of course the music is also on at full volume and Atif Aslam is singing Doorie).

Mankind has passed through yet another year. Its time to get new calendars and to form a new habit of writing 13 in the date column instead of 12. Seriously, I almost confuse the years while writing dates at least the first two months of any new year.

Sitting atop dead bodies of my own over realistic ambitions and dreams, I look back at this year as a really eventful year. 2012 marked new lows and downfalls in career, relations and life. How I wish time could be like a whiteboard where we can write with all our colors and erase everything ugly spick and span.

The biggest high point was extension of family and forming of my own library. That is something huge. Financially the year was disappointing. And when finances nose dive so does friendships and relations. Another disappointment was not publishing my own book. But if I learned something from this year, it was to let go. It has never been very difficult for me to let go but this year the resolve only got stronger.

Any new year resolutions? No thank you. New Year resolutions are meant for fifth grade kids. But lets say publishing that book is still a priority. Nothing much. Just hoping for a smooth comfortable year without the ferocious bumps and bruises.

Wishing you all a very Happy new Year

Comments

shaista dhanda said…
Hey Tushar,I love reading your blog and I take this opportunity to thank you for being my motivational friend who made me start my own blog. Thank you and a happy new year. Love-shaista

Also read

Cutting people off isn’t strength—It is a trauma response

Your ability to cut people off and self-isolate is not a skill you should be proud of—It is a trauma response Cutting people off and self-isolating may feel like a protective shield, but it is often rooted in unresolved or unhealed trauma and an inability to depend on others. While these behaviors seem like self-preservation, they end up reinforcing isolation and blocking meaningful connections. Confronting these patterns, seeking therapy, and nurturing supportive relationships can help break this unhealthy cycle. Plus, a simple act like planting a jasmine plant can symbolise the start of your journey towards emotional healing. Why do we cut people off and isolate? If you’re someone who prides themselves on “cutting people off” or keeping a tight circle, you might believe it’s a skill—a way to protect yourself from betrayal, hurt, or unnecessary drama. I get it. I’ve been there, too. But here’s the thing: this ability to isolate yourself is not as empowering as it may seem. In fact, i...

Not Quite Dead Yet- Holly Jackson- A review

Is Not Quite Dead Yet all hype and no heart? A review of Holly Jackson’s thriller You pick up Not Quite Dead Yet expecting a clever, grown up thriller, but you are handed melodrama dressed as urgency. This long form review questions the hype, critiques its shallow characterisation, and asks whether a ticking clock can replace emotional depth, moral consequence, and believable storytelling. Why do you pick up a book that promises a woman will die in seven days? You know this feeling. You walk into a bookshop or scroll online, tired after a long day, and you want certainty. You want a hook that grabs you by the collar and says, “This will matter.” A countdown does exactly that. Seven days to live. A woman solving her own murder. The premise feels urgent, cinematic, and engineered to keep you turning pages even when your better judgement whispers otherwise. Publishing statistics support this instinct. According to data shared by The New York Times and NPR , thrillers with ...

Spill the Tea: Ira and the quiet exhaustion of being watched

Ira comes for tea and slowly reveals a life shaped by emotional surveillance. Loved, watched, and quietly evaluated by her parents, she lives under constant explanation. Through food, posture, and confession, she names the exhaustion of being known too well and finds nourishment not just in eating, but in finally being heard. Ira arrived  five minutes early and apologized for it. The way people do when they are used to taking responsibility for time itself. She said it lightly, as if time itself had offended her. She wore a white A-line shirtdress, clean and careful, the kind that looks chosen for comfort but ends up signaling restraint. When she sat down, she folded herself into the chair unconsciously. One leg rested on the floor, the other tucked underneath her, knees visible. It was not a pose meant to be seen. It slipped out before her body remembered how to protect itself. I noticed the brief softness of it, the quiet vulnerability, before she settled and forgot. I was still...