Volume 26 - Part 1 of many. This is Lord of The Rings on steroids. 👹
This newsletter turns 2 this month! Yay? 🎉
I'm breaking it into parts to make it easier to read. Not sure if it will work. I rely on the few people who reply every month to guide me while I tamper with its format. I was told that the previous newsletter felt textbookishly long so I cut that shit down. Here it is - tampered, smaller and shriveled like a dry grape but still (hopefully) good.
🌻Yobo Update
Yobo is the bird that pecks the raven. We saw her hop from her usual spot and land on the raven only to peck it furiously. I don't know the context, so I can't really judge her. I love her even though she's a little scary.
Sometime after sending you the previous newsletter she learned a few new tricks. She'd fly off to a higher branch and float downwards like a falling leaf. Not sure why a bird with wings would want to do that. She's so weird but I like her. She also attempted what looked like a vertical dive. The world is quite literally is her playground.
Yobo has found a fantail partner. My parents have seen him, I have not. Does this bird deserve the clown I call Yobo? Her visits are less frequent in number. She comes to watch us but doesn't announce her arrival anymore. My mother spotted her on her usual branch once. I saw her while eating lunch once. It makes me sad but I'd rather she goes wherever she's happy. To love the bird who visits your window is to let her go when she wants to go. (It's not like I have a choice really) The window feels lonely. She hasn't been visiting the squirrel and her other green hangouts much either. I feel an almost overprotective parental need to ask if she's hanging out with the right kind of birds. Are they good birds? Or do they all peck other birds? Do they do drugs in the park? I have no answers.
📱Doomscrolling-Funscrolling-Constantscrolling
I'm an adult with my umbilical chord fastened securely to social media and all things digital. It feeds my existence and I give it......some ad revenue. Symbiotic, innit? This digital placenta is delightfully stimulating. Give me more of that endless scroll and ads sneakily tucked in Instagram stories. PLEASE let me piggyback with you through your honeymoon while you post pictures of yourself in the hot tub.
Skip this ad in 4 seconds?
Let me live off your wanderlust, and pretend I'm slurping on that noxious looking red paneer curry you had at that destination wedding. Why don't you let me see a million pictures of your baby who doesn't quite know her face is being seen by absolute strangers who couldn't care less about her if they tried? Hi, do you want to buy artisanal soap that is chemical free, great for infants, adults and unfortunate pets? All I have to do is hang around. And so I did.
In a masochistic and dramatic way, I deleted Instagram from my phone last month and curtailed screen time for other apps. (I need to get it twice a week to upload a thing for a client and promptly (ish) delete it again) All attempts of self-growth must be performative and must be shared live, or is there a point? Check out this video by this new generic advice dispensing content creator. Follow your passion! Genius! Here I am, flailing with my hedonistic umbilical chord waving in the air waiting to latch onto another unhealthy coping mechanism. I could drink 5 bottles of wine and pass out cold but how will I know what you had for brunch? How can I ever be where I shouldn't be? How will I see the crevices of the minds of people I don't care about but still follow? It's nice to know you had a great hike, guy I was seeing in 2017. Cheers, buddy.
I was reading an article that said scrolling is the new smoking. No kidding, Joshua Fields Millburn! I've been sitting here for all of THREE HOURS and I haven't directed my anger at anybody yet. Do you know how defeating to the spirit it is to not be angry at someone every waking minute? Of course, I'm better than that person I don't know. Why would you think otherwise? I haven't said fuck the government even once today. What do I do with all these emotions? I have spent an entire day not wanting to dive head first into hot oil and become a pakoda of guilt to repent for my privilege or dissing someone else for theirs. Would the world be the same place without guilt pakodas? Fry me already, armchair activists! Tell me the ways in which I failed as a semi-decent human being because I added some milk to my coffee this morning. Tell me I'm singlehandedly responsible for the death of a planet so things feel normal again.
Oh hey, look. There's a lot of time leftover when one isn't scrolling all the time. Isn't that obvious, you clown?
Hi, it's been two weeks and I feel a little lonely sometimes. Has ANYBODY noticed that I'm gone? Oh yes, some people have. Phew.
I just did an amazing workout and nobody will ever know how much my stamina has improved or that I have stamina at all. The absolute horror. I made some art and it hasn't received compliments yet because nobody knows it exists but me. Call it Schrodinger's art. I tied a strange bun that looks like a small liver on my head and nobody will see it. I made the nicest tomato soup I have ever tried and nobody will see it. I did this funny thing with my eyeliner, I look ridiculous in a cute social-media-friendly way and nobody will see it. I can now literally fold myself over like a blanket during yoga and nobody will know. I wrote a sad journal entry and nobody will know. I hid from all my work and responsibilities under a table because my phone was of no help....and nobody will know.
I wrote a chunk of this essay aching from my first ever back spasm. I thought it was a good idea to do a very demanding workout after weeks of not doing much. I followed it up with some yoga to stretch my muscles that frankly just felt betrayed. They were accustomed to the potato-chip life. The (virtual) absence of that one gym bro in my life is to blame for this catastrophe. Where was he when I thought I was a ballerina with big dumbbells? I can't extricate any sympathy or any 'haha, Sachi, you're so funny' messages for the jokes I'd ordinarily post about myself. NONE. When you get this, the spasm will be long gone and so will my jokes about aging.
What is your life worth if you aren't living it assertively and loudly? There is such an imbalance in the universe. You too had fun with your friends last week. The world must know! How can your followers have cocktails without knowing what you drank last week? Artisanal gin mustn't go to waste.
It could be worse is what I tell myself. Then I saw other aspects of my personality emerge, ones that I wasn't nurturing because I was busy with more important things like dedicating a chunk of my life to apps. 'Perhaps we could enjoy our time and not let everyone know everything...' is what one of them tried to say but I cut her off. Fuck her.
Time progressed as it often does without waiting for us to catch up.
One day, my mother found me wrapped like a cinnamon roll under a blanket in Mumbai's muggy weather. She heard strange animal-like sounds emerge from under the blanket. She wondered if like Gregor Samsa in the Metamorphosis, her daughter too had turned into an insect. Would she finally get to swat me guilt free? The brave woman peeled the blanket and tried to decipher what I was saying. I was trying to tell her through acceptable histrionics that it was a great hair day and nobody would know. She rolled her eyes and left.
One night, I slipped off the couch like a heap of overcooked lasagna. The lack of tightness and contortion that follows absorption in a screen continues to surprise my body. What is this new found pliability? My consciousness may be almost entirely digital but I, fortunately or not, am still corporeal. I have still not turned into an insect or an amoeboid life form.
This is not okay. Something had to be done. But nobody could see it so I didn't do anything about it. My parents are concerned...in person. Not a single concerned GIF entered my inbox. Is this my life now?
Several days later, the world shook, the trees shuddered and the winds blew in chaos as I realised that it truly is okay to not be available and online all the time. Defying the expectation of being on all the time feels like defying gravity. I forgot this was an option since I DMed that cute person on Facebook in 2009.
The foundation of my life has been shaken.
I tremble from how deeply incomplete my life feels without constant anger, comparison, rapt absorption, people giving me unsolicited advice, dancing teenagers, animals doing weird shit, astrological explanations for my neuroses, pictures old crushes reappearing on my screen without warning, ads of weirdly scented candles, self help content, people telling me to monetize my content, people telling me to consume more content, quotes telling me it's okay to not be okay, shitty overused quotes, reminders of how the world is dying, how every fruit and vegetable is downright evil and must be eliminated from your diet, how if I don't change something urgently I will die, how everything I do is manifesting an unwanted future for me, Gen Z slang, someone's morning cup of coffee that looks hella bland, people's pretty bookshelves, people in other countries living their lives like covid isn't a thing, people telling me to live my life as if covid isn't a thing, people trying to peddle pretty yet unsuitable masks, bad covid jokes, how everyone is depressed and how everyone who's not depressed is telling the depressed people to soak some sunshine.
And then I come back to where I am. On the floor. Still weirdly folded like pasta, wondering what to watch.
How will I ever survive the perils of inhabiting my real life sans phone time?
I don't know.
I really don't.
🍬 You can find my older writing here.🍬
I'm breaking it into parts to make it easier to read. Not sure if it will work. I rely on the few people who reply every month to guide me while I tamper with its format. I was told that the previous newsletter felt textbookishly long so I cut that shit down. Here it is - tampered, smaller and shriveled like a dry grape but still (hopefully) good.
🌻Yobo Update
Yobo is the bird that pecks the raven. We saw her hop from her usual spot and land on the raven only to peck it furiously. I don't know the context, so I can't really judge her. I love her even though she's a little scary.
Sometime after sending you the previous newsletter she learned a few new tricks. She'd fly off to a higher branch and float downwards like a falling leaf. Not sure why a bird with wings would want to do that. She's so weird but I like her. She also attempted what looked like a vertical dive. The world is quite literally is her playground.
Yobo has found a fantail partner. My parents have seen him, I have not. Does this bird deserve the clown I call Yobo? Her visits are less frequent in number. She comes to watch us but doesn't announce her arrival anymore. My mother spotted her on her usual branch once. I saw her while eating lunch once. It makes me sad but I'd rather she goes wherever she's happy. To love the bird who visits your window is to let her go when she wants to go. (It's not like I have a choice really) The window feels lonely. She hasn't been visiting the squirrel and her other green hangouts much either. I feel an almost overprotective parental need to ask if she's hanging out with the right kind of birds. Are they good birds? Or do they all peck other birds? Do they do drugs in the park? I have no answers.
📱Doomscrolling-Funscrolling-Constantscrolling
I'm an adult with my umbilical chord fastened securely to social media and all things digital. It feeds my existence and I give it......some ad revenue. Symbiotic, innit? This digital placenta is delightfully stimulating. Give me more of that endless scroll and ads sneakily tucked in Instagram stories. PLEASE let me piggyback with you through your honeymoon while you post pictures of yourself in the hot tub.
Skip this ad in 4 seconds?
Let me live off your wanderlust, and pretend I'm slurping on that noxious looking red paneer curry you had at that destination wedding. Why don't you let me see a million pictures of your baby who doesn't quite know her face is being seen by absolute strangers who couldn't care less about her if they tried? Hi, do you want to buy artisanal soap that is chemical free, great for infants, adults and unfortunate pets? All I have to do is hang around. And so I did.
In a masochistic and dramatic way, I deleted Instagram from my phone last month and curtailed screen time for other apps. (I need to get it twice a week to upload a thing for a client and promptly (ish) delete it again) All attempts of self-growth must be performative and must be shared live, or is there a point? Check out this video by this new generic advice dispensing content creator. Follow your passion! Genius! Here I am, flailing with my hedonistic umbilical chord waving in the air waiting to latch onto another unhealthy coping mechanism. I could drink 5 bottles of wine and pass out cold but how will I know what you had for brunch? How can I ever be where I shouldn't be? How will I see the crevices of the minds of people I don't care about but still follow? It's nice to know you had a great hike, guy I was seeing in 2017. Cheers, buddy.
I was reading an article that said scrolling is the new smoking. No kidding, Joshua Fields Millburn! I've been sitting here for all of THREE HOURS and I haven't directed my anger at anybody yet. Do you know how defeating to the spirit it is to not be angry at someone every waking minute? Of course, I'm better than that person I don't know. Why would you think otherwise? I haven't said fuck the government even once today. What do I do with all these emotions? I have spent an entire day not wanting to dive head first into hot oil and become a pakoda of guilt to repent for my privilege or dissing someone else for theirs. Would the world be the same place without guilt pakodas? Fry me already, armchair activists! Tell me the ways in which I failed as a semi-decent human being because I added some milk to my coffee this morning. Tell me I'm singlehandedly responsible for the death of a planet so things feel normal again.
Oh hey, look. There's a lot of time leftover when one isn't scrolling all the time. Isn't that obvious, you clown?
Hi, it's been two weeks and I feel a little lonely sometimes. Has ANYBODY noticed that I'm gone? Oh yes, some people have. Phew.
I just did an amazing workout and nobody will ever know how much my stamina has improved or that I have stamina at all. The absolute horror. I made some art and it hasn't received compliments yet because nobody knows it exists but me. Call it Schrodinger's art. I tied a strange bun that looks like a small liver on my head and nobody will see it. I made the nicest tomato soup I have ever tried and nobody will see it. I did this funny thing with my eyeliner, I look ridiculous in a cute social-media-friendly way and nobody will see it. I can now literally fold myself over like a blanket during yoga and nobody will know. I wrote a sad journal entry and nobody will know. I hid from all my work and responsibilities under a table because my phone was of no help....and nobody will know.
I wrote a chunk of this essay aching from my first ever back spasm. I thought it was a good idea to do a very demanding workout after weeks of not doing much. I followed it up with some yoga to stretch my muscles that frankly just felt betrayed. They were accustomed to the potato-chip life. The (virtual) absence of that one gym bro in my life is to blame for this catastrophe. Where was he when I thought I was a ballerina with big dumbbells? I can't extricate any sympathy or any 'haha, Sachi, you're so funny' messages for the jokes I'd ordinarily post about myself. NONE. When you get this, the spasm will be long gone and so will my jokes about aging.
What is your life worth if you aren't living it assertively and loudly? There is such an imbalance in the universe. You too had fun with your friends last week. The world must know! How can your followers have cocktails without knowing what you drank last week? Artisanal gin mustn't go to waste.
It could be worse is what I tell myself. Then I saw other aspects of my personality emerge, ones that I wasn't nurturing because I was busy with more important things like dedicating a chunk of my life to apps. 'Perhaps we could enjoy our time and not let everyone know everything...' is what one of them tried to say but I cut her off. Fuck her.
Time progressed as it often does without waiting for us to catch up.
One day, my mother found me wrapped like a cinnamon roll under a blanket in Mumbai's muggy weather. She heard strange animal-like sounds emerge from under the blanket. She wondered if like Gregor Samsa in the Metamorphosis, her daughter too had turned into an insect. Would she finally get to swat me guilt free? The brave woman peeled the blanket and tried to decipher what I was saying. I was trying to tell her through acceptable histrionics that it was a great hair day and nobody would know. She rolled her eyes and left.
One night, I slipped off the couch like a heap of overcooked lasagna. The lack of tightness and contortion that follows absorption in a screen continues to surprise my body. What is this new found pliability? My consciousness may be almost entirely digital but I, fortunately or not, am still corporeal. I have still not turned into an insect or an amoeboid life form.
This is not okay. Something had to be done. But nobody could see it so I didn't do anything about it. My parents are concerned...in person. Not a single concerned GIF entered my inbox. Is this my life now?
Several days later, the world shook, the trees shuddered and the winds blew in chaos as I realised that it truly is okay to not be available and online all the time. Defying the expectation of being on all the time feels like defying gravity. I forgot this was an option since I DMed that cute person on Facebook in 2009.
The foundation of my life has been shaken.
I tremble from how deeply incomplete my life feels without constant anger, comparison, rapt absorption, people giving me unsolicited advice, dancing teenagers, animals doing weird shit, astrological explanations for my neuroses, pictures old crushes reappearing on my screen without warning, ads of weirdly scented candles, self help content, people telling me to monetize my content, people telling me to consume more content, quotes telling me it's okay to not be okay, shitty overused quotes, reminders of how the world is dying, how every fruit and vegetable is downright evil and must be eliminated from your diet, how if I don't change something urgently I will die, how everything I do is manifesting an unwanted future for me, Gen Z slang, someone's morning cup of coffee that looks hella bland, people's pretty bookshelves, people in other countries living their lives like covid isn't a thing, people telling me to live my life as if covid isn't a thing, people trying to peddle pretty yet unsuitable masks, bad covid jokes, how everyone is depressed and how everyone who's not depressed is telling the depressed people to soak some sunshine.
And then I come back to where I am. On the floor. Still weirdly folded like pasta, wondering what to watch.
How will I ever survive the perils of inhabiting my real life sans phone time?
I don't know.
I really don't.
🍬 You can find my older writing here.🍬
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