frombundelkhand - Tumblr blog

frombundelkhand · 7 years ago

Text

i’m at work. i like working in the Healthcare Field.

I’m not Prithvi Shaw aiming to play my real Test Match at Australia. NSM, you do make me smile :) :)

I’m not playing the Inception game my dear online folks (how many times must I say this before you get your closure? I got my closure! Because, clearly there is a lot of communication gap here). The reader of this blog must be too addicted to the game, if they truly imagine that my personal conversations with members of the family or random personal stuff which I do in my personal spaces is also part of the inception game! I too have a life like everyone else, and I must be allowed to live that I say!

I’m not Prithvi Shaw aiming to play my real Test Match at Australia. But I am indeed an autistic woman who daydreams of getting into Grad Program at Harvard Med School someday -- after childbirth by next year, after I’m healthy back to my regular self, after the baby is grown enough that I can leave in peace and stay near Fenway Park near Boston (where HMS is), as I won’t be able to travel to and fro by train from home every single day. It will be too tiring and I may feel sick all the time if I travel daily.

Since HMS is not owned by my family, I have to really slog hard.The good side? I truly love what I’m learning these days (and which I was learning before May, five months back). I do need to get back on track, because what I learn is not drudgeryscutwork like other previous things in life. My pursuit is meaningful to me, which I hope to keep pursuing even if I may probably get rejected from HMS a couple of times. But I will just go back to childcare then, and try again the next year because there’s a certain lab there that I am keen to work at. That’s the end-goal for now.

I was reading this tweet today.

I am a contented person as I write this, I came to make a friend in June/July (in my blog which I wrote at the time, that was what I aimed to do, make a friend and just that. I didn’t have any other plan. It’s important to regain perspective, and get back on track for sake of my autism, if nothing else. And to good luck, I now realize I indeed found the friend who truly meets *all* the criteria for friendship inside my stubborn little head, after way too many wrong turns, and that is huge for an autistic woman. I do not know if my unassuming friend knows I’m speaking about him, I can only hope he figures, after the propogandist apostles have all left, nor do I wish to spell out his name here, it’s inside head with no trigger-happy intruders into personal space around. This friendship is not where the friends involved have to mandatory sit and chat 24 x 7 to reaffirm the friendship, or play everyday online ping pong to get frequent dopamine fixes. Its a quiet, lovely friendship that will remain over time, over years, all life. The only kind an autistic woman (I mean me) is capable of. I’m not being arrogant in my own way as I say this. I’m just being autistic in my own way as I say this.

I would love to be around fellow spectrum women and none else now. And there’s nothing more than the experiences of fellow autistic women and people that I want to involve in.

Is it because “you miss me” that you normalize this constant intrusion into my personal life, something you probably won’t do to a fellow neurotypical person out of respect for them? If you are truly curious about autistic women in general and choose to respect them and their lives, there are many resources on the internet. It’d be great if every time some one imagines that “they miss me” -- all they need to do is do a quick google search, feel lucky, and learn odd trivia about the many women in many parts of the world who live with special needs.That would be great for disability acceptance. :-)

Thank you.

0 notes

frombundelkhand · 7 years ago

Text

Evlav chonnalum thalayile eraathaa, Ivaalukkellam?!

- Mom Quote

I apologize for referring to you as nigger the other day. That was plain contextual, a reaction to your provocation. I’m thankful to you for bringing out the creative ‘black’ side of me (we read the brilliant Zadie Smith). I can keep apologizing for many things if you and everyone prefer, without feeling that I’m a woman who is conditioned by patriarchy to apologize for-anything-that-offends-anyone’s-sensibilities and therefore upon realization of that, I-must-then-choose-to-feel-like-I-lose-something-if-I-apologize. But, I also cannot wish away the multi-racial in me just by shutting eyes. You may be able to do that on my behalf as you mentioned once, that I don’t have a proper identity like everyone else, and that that seemed to be part of the problem-called-me-that-you-set-out-to-solve.

You are right, Gandhi is no holy moron. Gandhi should indeed be “examined and studied like everyone else”. But the thing is-- only Gandhi seems to be so intimately examined day and night. Only Gandhi seems to be under the great indian circus microscope, and only her every aspect NSA-ed out. Should I be offended, flattered, or both?

So many things happened between May and October. My husband of a gentleman is no Kummanam. Who comes uninvited into my home? Who in self-entitlement touches the life of my younger sister? She may be the second best bigot in this world after me, of course. But, never mind. Those were rhetorical questions.

Before May, I was engaged in my little personal life. I took a break, indulged in some creative relief from my dog’s illness, and shared the work. Then, a lot happened between May and October. Anything that pushes you to a new way of looking at life is always good. I accidentally invented an addictive Frankenstein’s monster of a game, a long time ago, as I have confessed several times now.

But, I am also a woman. I’m no megalomaniac Modi, nor fucking Gandhi. I’m also not Priya or Sandhya. I’m Karthyayini now. Also, since apparently I’m a bad team player -- just by not being on SM and being so full of myself -- may I remind you that there is a vowel Y in Priya, Sandhya and Karthyayini? And therefore, the Y in “Poetry” is mine. If you would go ahead and feel offended by this shameless self-love above everything else, then I would say you are just being silly patriarchal (when you are so used to privilege, even equality feels like oppression, doesn’t it?) Who is the real, patented owner of all stuff a woman thinks inside her little head?

After all, I am the creator of the game and how many times I apologize, take ownership for my crimes, admit I have lived a mask my whole life, convey my respect for everyone, express my gratitude for all the love, and repeat-parrot that I don’t wish to play the game, you just won’t let me quit and retire. So, I’m only doing some freethinking here when I say the vowel Y too is mine. I hope you read these lines without funny bile in your mouth for my unbearably narcissistic sake. Because, then I will know we have a friendship, real or imagined. :-)

Just as much as you thought I’m probably an fat-ass ottakam, and ‘ithiri edam koduthaa mathi, ottakam thale kerikkolum’ and therefore, you went ahead and decided to take control of the narrative by dragging me in front of people, I feel the same about you. You are surely a bad influence too. That is, if I am one! Apparently Bala learnt his recent let’s control the madwoman gimmicks from you! Because, imagine this--- I heartily said thankyou, takecare, byenow to all the good people on twitter the other day. Then the next morning, I see some good/neutral content post (no troll) from Bala on LinkedIn (not Twitter), the post even had fucking ‘Madan’ in it, with all sorts of colors, verbose, what not. So I ‘followed’ him as a ‘oh thank you my Lord you are such a sane person and here’s a social state of mind that I could use some help with’. Many random people ‘follow’ him, not just me. Why can’t I follow him on fucking Linkedin of all places? In fact I wasn’t even planning to read through all the overwhelming rural stuff on his feed (that’s his passion, not mine). “The Follow” was just an acknowledgment. Why would you or anyone think I’m absolutely not capable of that? It has come down to such that I’m the official femme fatale that all the helpless malayali men need to be protected from or something, which by the way is the greatest achievement for a little dork-nerd-geek of a woman who can’t function socially without constant assistance even at her naalu-kazhutha-vayassu 35! But, it also has reached such a state that I can’t do anything online or before it gets interpreted in some way against me. I have to re-think and plan-out every tiny little miniscule thing. In other words, I’m so “watched”, I can’t relax, something that everyone else seems to do. Isn’t that sad? For me? Not for others, of course.

Again, I’m so thankful the game is addictive, yay a zillion times, I’m good at Inception! Inception is good and bad, like with everything else in life. I get new milestones. I get new people. I get new stories to reminisce about as I sit in my adukkala zen world. And at least some people, if not all, find their own respective narcissistic selves acknowledged when relating to the wordplay, personalities, images and colors which I etched out inside my little head, and find these identities interesting enough to take on and forth for themselves, into their lives forever. I’m again, very thankful. But, I’m done. Please do not choose to get offended reading this. I believe no one is their worst version. Which is why I forgive my bullies, my friends, my lovers, my everyone. Please forgive me back too…? And let me live. In lovely Bundelkhand.

Please do not read into these lines, they have no layered meaning. But that’s not easily possible anymore for you, is it? You always have to respond or react with something clever, and not just listen! Time may set this communication misery straight, I believe.

I used to have a major crush on Tharoor, the writer when I was younger. Now I don’t care so much for him. Can I say that without sounding offensive? It’s Sunanda Pushkar I think more about. I think and wonder about her, her life and death. And if I meet NSM, I may totally embarrass him and do a namaskaram at his feet,only because he is a writer and they are always demi-gods in my head. (speaking of Gods, it’s amazing how you decide that I’m religious. I’m not trying to change anything now, only pointing to the lack of nuance when we rush to assume). Even that gesture would be purely contextual. I don’t think of NSM or Vallathol or OV Vijayan, or any male writers that you talk about. There was a time I would read a statement such as the following from The Great Gatsby – “They were careless people, Tom and Daisy- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made”, and entirely believe that Daisy could be me. But this is written by a man in 1925. I may need to read the book again, and see if Daisy was even rightfully portrayed, or if she was nothing more than an easy figment of the male writer’s imagination! Scott Fitzgerald stole most of his ideas from Zelda Fitzgerald I read somewhere, so maybe she was portrayed just right, I am not sure.

Among malayalee writers, I prefer to think more about writer RL who died by suicide (and not committed suicide, which some may feel is wrong usage) and wrote of relevant themes back in 1960’s. I feel frustrated that I never got to learn about her in school, while I was cheated into whiling away precious time on Vallathol! If RL were alive now, she could have chosen to be treated for mental ill-health, be a brilliant pioneer about issues that aren’t mainstream if she so cared, and be more than a romantic-suicidal-writer from the past. Do you know she has a sister who was a math whiz? I could only find her book (Geometry in Medieval and Ancient India), could find no books of RL’s. They were out of print.

My allegiance, if any, is towards people on the periphery. Not ones who are active and alive in public. That doesn’t mean I disrespect them. That’s the trouble. I can’t say a statement that I love the personal sector, without it somehow offending the public sector. I just mean what is mainstream social for all doesn’t really do it for me. I have always consistently “disappeared” from social life. It was always On and Off for me. Before May, my last blog post was in November. In May too, I was pulled online by repeated hacking into my personal life. I wanted to stay away and focus on my personal life but I was not simply ‘allowed’. I was dragged online. If you “examine” my childhood to life till now, I was the resident reclusive everywhere. You don’t grow out of these one fine morning and change for change’s sake. People must be allowed to hold on to beliefs that are not popularly approved, yes?

I could be wrong, but I feel it’s like a stuck tape with you, disabled women/MPDG/loosu ponnu are either romanticized or infantilized in popular narratives around. Both are good. In fact great, but only if you truly understand there is value in the adjectives, and not just in a matter of fact way. Why would strength, soul, smarts need to be exclusive on a linear timeframe?

I relate to Rohit Vemula because of the suicide. I think of him, now and then. But I can only be cerebral about his caste struggles and not really understand. Just like you can only be cerebral about my disability struggles, and can never really understand. Even able-bodied women can only be cerebral, and it’s a disservice to all disabled women (or at least me, I do not and must not wish to speak for all disabled women) when put in the same bucket as able-bodied women. I’m speaking purely contextual here, I am aware that in society there’s a lot of space for disabled women with special needs. But in our context, we seem to have the inability to think beyond Tanusree Dutta (not to sound reductionist about the violence around her, her courage or brilliance. Not just courageous, she is also brilliant. Adjectives matter, I feel). I was only pointing to how equating all women, just so that patriarchy has it easy, is never the entire truth. Violence against autistic women is multi-times worse as you of all people probably may choose to concede someday. Only when you are in left-progressive mode, no pressure. I had shared this back in June or July. This is not new information for me.

Nobody is denying that caste is one on many social issues, may be the biggest as you say. But I’m only a fellow traveler of the cause for caste annihilation. I say this while I acknowledge my caste privileges, probably that which allow me to have a Virginia Woolf-eque Room with a View in my lovely, little Bundelkhand where I can shut out the busybody wide world as and when I feel like. Is it fundamentally about caste? I don’t know, you tell me. I won’t argue or disagree.

One news story that have touched me in India for years now, from when I was still a teenager – Erwadi fire incident. I re-read about it often.

Autism. Mental Health. Omics. That’s what I prefer to think most about. And Karthyayini’s brand of spectrum woman feminism.

A sincere Thank You, if you chose to read this without addictively seeking layered meanings simply so you have some troll content on an otherwise seemingly witless day or just to feel good about yourself, and you actually read through it just to listen to some writer type woman type. Because, no more baiting me just to get a reaction, Caveman. Scoot along now, won’t you please?

In June I attended a talk at HMS here in Boston on precision medicine, among a few other interesting ones. I am still thinking about the opening keynote speech. It was one of the best I have listened to in the Healthcare field. It was by Greg Simon who worked on Moonshot Task Force as part of Biden’s cancer initiative. May happened, June happened, July happened, August happened, September happened. It’s now October, I have engaged with all my dear folks online more than I possibly can, and I am now back to chasing my niche interests. And happy hibernate.

Epilogue: My mom and I rarely have good times together. When in sour-mood, she would refer me to as his little Sudra, his kind of Koopamandookam, etc. and when in sooper-mood, she would go for my Apoorvaraagam, my Absent-minded Professor etc. I never cared for either, but there were middle grounds to our relationship, when we were like true equals, and when she would call me “Dunma-kukma-ritislaapi-kungaruku-naiya”.

I would call her that back too. “Dunma-kukma-ritislaapi-kungaruku-naiya”.

It was a jumbled word play on “mandu-makku-plastiri-kurangu-yaanai”. She learnt it from Periyamma, the one who went away young.

0 notes