So, what is a ‘Normal Day’?

Kashmir Diary: While I was absorbing and consoling myself about the definition of ‘A Normal Day in Delhi’ and ‘A Normal Day in Kashmir’, my subconsciousness was filled with a labyrinth of memories, thoughts, overthinking, trauma and nostalgia. It felt as if I had entered a matrix, where time and space had converged

By Irat Bhat

As I was walking down the lane, rushing through the streets to reach my office, I was reminded
that this was my first day at the new office, and I was sleep deprived. I stood at the
sidewalk, poised to cross to the other side. Of course, I am talking about a bustling
road of Delhi that was alive with honking cars and chatter of pedestrians like today was
the most important day of their lives.

While I was still absorbing the environment and comprehending how this happens to be
a regular day, and no important day as such is marked on google calendar, yeah, I had
to crosscheck google calendar to confirm how this is only a normal day. The Kashmiri in me took its time to wrap my head around it.

While, I was still absorbing and consoling myself about the different definition of ‘A Normal Day in Delhi’ and ‘A Normal Day in Kashmir’, I could sense my visual and auditory senses gradually loosing their control on consciousness, and, at the same time, I was fighting with myself to not enter into the
realm of thoughts, well, because, to put it in this way, my subconsciousness is a
labyrinth of memories, thoughts, opinion, overthinking, trauma and nostalgia. But,
then, a loud truck horn pierced through the air, and suddenly, I was transported to a
different realm.

I lost my battle of keeping up with reality (people are keeping up with Kardashians and here I ain’t even able to keep up with reality). In that moment, there and then, I wouldn’t have given in, if my subconsciousness had unlocked any other door of my labyrinth; yet, it happens to have a mind of its own. It had to choose a door that I can never win over.

Or, should I put it that I never want to win over this part of my subconsciousness, ever! Nostalgia, I fear it, yet, I celebrate it; a paradoxical statement, I know. It felt as if I had entered a matrix, where time and space had converged.

It felt as if I had entered a matrix, where time and space converged, I couldn’t see and
understand reality properly, I didn’t even want to, I had long given up. As I slowly delved
deeper into my subconscious nostalgic maze, waiting for it through a memory
painfully attached to my soul, a vivid picture began to play out before me.

I was no longer on the crowded streets of Delhi, but in a serene winter wonderland. The traffic
light was replaced by a soft yellow, night lamp, the sound of honking fainted and the sizzling sound of
seasoning spices became more prominent.

The temperature abruptly started to drop, it felt much cooler and freezing compared to
Delhi’s cold. It hit me, I wasn’t in Delhi anymore, I was at my home, in my room, buried
under the hundredth quilt to ensure that the chilly cold air does not get to touch any cell of my
body, because any sane person who has ever resided in a frigid place would agree that
warmth is a luxury and would trade anything to have entitlement of the same luxury. I
wasn’t in the middle of the road anymore, rather in the comfort of my bed. I was partially
awake, but I still wanted to sleep in, probably because in reality, I required more sleep,
so knowing the visuals I am witnessing at the moment aren’t reality, beyond that and
above all, I still tried to make an attempt to sleep in a bit more, very well aware that
none of it is happening in real life.

In a terrible attempt and as I struggled to steal a few seconds from time to sleep in, the olfactory organs betrayed me and decided to wake up to the delicious smell of ‘harissa’. The next to betray, in line, were my very own neuron receptors who chose to send signals to my mind, and, then, in a jiffy, all parts,
muscles, cells and nucleus, every minute part of my body betrayed me and were fully awake.

Winning over the first battle of my day, by getting up, just like a magnet attracts
iron, my feet automatically got swept up by the kitchen, taking a side seat, besides
the window again. I had no motive to experience cold, I already have a fair share of it,
thanks to the Kashmiri winter. As everyone was settling in under the yellow lights,
surrounded by my loving family, basking in the warmth of a cozy kitchen, brewing ‘Nun
Chai’ in the background, this served as a perfect melody to my ears. Nothing could have been
more perfect than this, the piping hot harissa bowl, smothered in oil and ghee, in the
center, acting as the main male protagonist of any Bollywood movie. While I was still
admiring the harissa and thanking the person who invented this, my eyes laid on the
plate that was being prepared for me, like that in movies, in slow motion. My mother
leaned over to hand the plate over to me. I couldn’t stop but admire the most delicious
food I had ever seen and my happiness knew no bounds.

Food and happiness, I believe are proportional. The better the food in terms of quality
and quantity, the happier the person. As they say, the way to every human’s heart is
through their stomach.

When I was in class 3rd, in science, we read that a person cannot survive without food after a week. And since that day, it was established to me that food is really an essential part for survival and everyone ought to have their food, whether they like it or not. Now that I am older, it pains me to see that in one part of the world, people take food for granted and waste tonnes of food due to abundant access of food, while the other part of world is starving, dying, because of food shortage. Survival of the fittest, or survival of the richest, is the new Darwinian question.

It makes me question myself, how am I better than those who waste food?

My consciousness holds my throat and gives me a satirical laugh; hidden under a rhetorical question about my doings for people, who are dying because of scarcity of food. Empathy and sympathy do not fill empty stomachs, otherwise the third grader kid wouldn’t have to witness the death of
people because of scarcity of food, while growing up. She would have believed that
everyone is given and served their food, otherwise people die and that cannot possibly
happen; she would have then made peace with the thought that no one can ever be deprived of
their right to food. No one. Only for the innocent and naïve thoughts to shatter like a
glass, when reality gave her a check list.

The same little girl, grown up now, about to take the first bite of harissa of the season,
cladded on Girdae, a stale bread, that enhances the flavour, found it difficult to swallow it
down the throat. She felt the opening of her food pipe has choked and jammed and no
food morsel can pass through it. Her mother gave her a light pat and asked her to take
a bite. Seeing the smile of her mother, and the awaiting feedback, the same girl decided
to gulp down the very morsel, that was about to choke her, decided to go against her
thought process and have the food. As she forced the food to push through her throat,
she couldn’t help but be more thankful for the privilege that she has been bestowed
with.

Food is such a privilege, so is the privilege of understanding and sharing of human
emotions and humanity. Not everyone is entitled in understanding — such luxury of
connecting to humans through feelings, emotions and pain, above all.

As the nostalgic haze began to lift, the vibrant colours of the Kashmiri winter morning
slowly faded away, replaced by the dull, concrete landscape of Delhi. While I was still
consumed by the memories of the past, it felt as if everything was fading in front of my
eyes, like the final scenes of a movie. I could see myself from a peripheral view, yet
everything seemed so distinct, so vivid.

In the background, the honking of vehicles and the hustle-bustle of people started to
replace the music of melancholic pain shared on the table of harissa at breakfast,
between the older version of mine and the younger version. The aroma of spices and
tea gave way to the cacophony of car horns and chatter. Reality was slowly seeping
back into my consciousness, like the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon, I
couldn’t understand if I was happy that the blanket of nostalgia was over, or worried
about the uncertainty that I was about to step into.

As the world around me became clear and visible, I could sense the rise of anxiety
through my bones and skin. My heart began to beat faster, my palms grew sweaty, even
though it was chilly, and my mind started to whirl with worries. Anxious about the first
day in a new office, amalgamated with the gut-wrenching thought of starvation and poverty,
along with the homesickness and feeling of being a loner in a new city, I took a deep
breath and started walking.

I walked the lanes, one by one, using Google maps to locate my destination. The
navigation app led me through the winding streets of Delhi, past street vendors and
markets, until, finally, I arrived at the doorstep of my new office, with the help of a
colleague, otherwise I would have been completely lost. I took a moment to collect
myself, smoothing out my clothes and composing my thoughts. With a deep breath, I
stepped inside, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Everyone was welcoming and warmly introduced themselves. As I settled in, it didn’t
feel liken I won the challenge, because it never was a challenge to begin with! How
could an opportunity be a challenge? An opportunity is always a blessing, sometimes,
a blessing in disguise, yeah! Never a challenge.

As I settled into my new office, I was enveloped in a warm and welcoming atmosphere.
My colleagues made a conscious effort to put me at ease, and I found myself slowly
shedding my reserved nature. It was as if they had a sixth sense, knowing exactly how
to break the ice and win me over.

I couldn’t help but wonder if someone had somehow managed to sneak a peek into my
mind while I was lost in nostalgia earlier that morning. How else could they have known
what I was thinking about and how food is the way to a human heart?

It seems as if they had a secret recipe.

Actually, food and connection with humans has never been a secret, yet, we choose to ignore and turn a blind eye to the other half of the world. We shared food on the table, the conversation flowed effortlessly. The initial awkwardness gave way to light-hearted chatter, and before I knew it, we were all laughing and joking like old friends. Tea acted as the perfect catalyst, fueling our discussions and fostering a sense of camaraderie.

As the day drew to a close, I reflected on all that I had learned and experienced. The
training sessions had been informative, but it was the little moments – the shared
meals, the laughter, and the warmth – that had truly made my first day special. And, of
course, food had played a starring role in it all. I left the office with a full heart and a
happy belly, already looking forward to the next day.

All photos of Kashmir by Irat Bhat.