Notes on turning 30
Last August, a day before my birthday, I left Providence (the city I lived in) for Cape Cod, Massachusetts. I had heard wonderful things about this place and decided that it will be the perfect getaway for the weekend. So a ferry ride later I was in Provincetown aka P-town.
Once there, I walked the road, a singular stretch that continued for a long time, so I knew that I wasn’t off-route. The day was semi-cloudy, and there was no sign of rain. I rented a bike and rode to the Herring Cove beach. Upon reaching, I searched for a nice spot in the expansive stretch where I could rest between the sea and the sky. I meditated on the rising and crashing waves for sometime. I briefly moved to get a sandwich and chips, watched people in the water and talked to my folks back home. Later, I went into the sea and let it take me, lying with my back on the water, and looking at the overcast clouds. After what felt like 15-20 minutes (in reality was probably only 2), I raised my head and looked around. I was farther than the farthest person I could see in the sea. I turned around and swam back to the shore freestyle. The second time, I was more careful, angling my body along the shore, hoping that to be carried horizontally along the shallow waters. This time, when I raised my head, the currents had tilted my body diagonally, such that I was drifting away from the shore again. And I could only let the waves carry me so far. I swam back again and decided that it was time to wash myself and explore the rest of the town.
I took my bike to the market area and got some souvenirs for friends and my sister. While casually strolling along the winding path I stood in a corner to listen to a band playing on the street. I curiously followed the sound: someone was clacking at their keys. The sound felt very familiar, similar to when I type on my keyboard, the sound of purpose. Following the sound, my vision caught two people with typewriters in front of them, and a poster that read, ‘customised poems on a pay what you can basis’. Curiously gravitating towards them, I got one for myself as a birthday present. The quickly cobbled together words in a poem which made sense too, were my prized possession from the day. I held onto that piece of paper and brought it back to my apartment where it rested on the wall until I moved again. Now, feeling famished as the sun set, I found a café, the only one that had a vegetarian food option, & ate a big dinner. Thereafter, I was on my feet again to find a bus to my hostel in Truro. While waiting on the bus stand, I ate my last meal for the day, a tomato soup from a nearby shop.
Braving through the isolated winding path forested on either side, I saw a hoarding indicating my hostel was nearby. I paced forth to find recluse from an exhausting day. Upon reaching my abode for the night, the woman at the reception told me about a bonfire at a nearby beach. I was tempted but tired, so I reconsidered. Just then, another middle-aged woman staying at the hostel came to the reception to ask about the bonfire too, and then she asked me if I wanted to join her. The idea of company to a beach bonfire tempted me and I conceded. In a couple of minutes surrounded by the pitch dark of the night, we quickly made our way tot he beach. By the time we reached, the bonfire was dying down, but it was just enough for us to feast on some marshmallows coupled with crackers and chocolates. My vision, on the moonless night, was guided by sound. I followed the voice of the waves crashing against the rocks and along the shore. I tried to look in the direction of the sound and focus the dark, a dimly lit night we saw two eyes shining in our direction from afar. Someone with better vision than mine silently exclaimed that it was a coyote. He probably inhabit nearby and followed the smell of the marshmallows. The woman I went with to the bonfire was from Boston. In the morning we woke up early to see the sunrise at the beach.
And just like that I hopped onto the next decade of my life, the 30s, simply and blissfully. A day that actually began with some doubt about travelling alone, letting go and trusting my path eventually built into one of the most beautiful memories that I carried with me. The hope is that this sets the tone for the decade and continues to shape the newer dimensions that I am yet to attain. Below are some more of my notes from the day I turned 30
Now, reflecting back on this day—
I was poetically inclined! Why?—
I believe the impetus was there, externally and internally, that inspired me to the point of poetry. I believe that when I was younger, I would plunge into poetry much faster. I had not read Sarojini Naidu, Christina Rosetti, Shakespeare, the Romantics, etc. as yet. For a long time my own writing was restricted to an obscure corner of my mind that would make a sudden appearance in my personal diary- one that no one was allowed to read. The hastily scribbled rants were usually transpired by meltdowns. I have come a long way now, with an inner voice that is stronger. I don’t compare my work anymore. I am here to tell my stories and bring to life others’ histories, ideas and imaginations. And I do that in the way that resonates with me the most. So looking forward to undeterred growth that allows others around me to grow as well.I have a deep affinity for beaches, a friendship with the blues— of water and open sky, that makes the most mundane of moments quite pleasant and full of life. As I age, being close to water is increasingly becoming a sure shot way of being happy, calm and gradually letting go of what needs to go. Just as the water runs its own course, it doesn’t ask or depend, it chooses. It is as unpredictable and raging as it is calm. It is my belief that adventure and peace aren’t mutually exclusive. There is a soft spot of their co-existence. As for me, it isn’t an either/or, rather I choose to prioritize both.
In my part of the world a solo trip will be seen as a tad radical. It isn’t a usual occurrence. At the Herring Cove beach, I remember seeing a lot of people with friends/family. I do not remember seeing anyone who was there alone. I observed some of these people, not deeply, just in the passing, their dynamics and their conversations. While looking around, I felt at ease. Believe it or not, it was the feeling of anonymity that let me relax. I didn’t have to think of being a person who is brown or Indian, or a woman, or an ‘alien’, or the other— I was just there. [Just to give some context, I have felt more aware and conscious of my identities ever since I came to the States. That is not to say that profiling does not exist anywhere else in the world, but rather, this is my first longish stint of being in a country where I am a minority in more ways than one.] So when I was at the beach laying under the cloudy sky or swimming in the sea, anonymity was not scary for me. It allowed me to relax and refresh. It let me be. This memory of this day is a reminder for me to pause periodically. For in these commas and semi-colons of life lie the fuel for creativity, a chance at magic— which we can never be enough! I hope to be more comfortable with pausing.
Now, I have spent many a— birthdays surrounded by my loved ones and I am extremely grateful. Recently, struck by the loss of two very important people in my life, my definitions of celebration have changed. For me, celebrations are not just loud and full of dopamine. Rather, they are about being joyous in company and also in solitude. I celebrate moments of sharing food or chai, taking long walks or trips, journeying to see my people, sharing warmth and freedom. Living independently has been a lovely change, and that comes with a bit of a surprise. It has allowed me to connect, share and engage with more people in a profound manner. I has also enabled me to embrace possibilities and be more vocal about my feelings. With a promise, because hope feels less committal, of more growth, adventure, strength, love and peace.
Embracing what lies ahead and looking back at all the bigger decisions and seemingly insignificant ones that have brought me to where I am, I feel a content- in a mildly ecstatic way. To end my notes on the turn of the decade, I want to say that I have a growing list of things that I want to accomplish. But in every pause that I take, I remember that I am here, I am breathing, and that is enough.
