Shadowed. Metabolised. Moored.

People ask me why I blog. Am I making money off it? You know how it is here: well-meaning friends and family asking questions, nonplussed and oblivious to the storm quietly rising inside me. I let it pass. But i am sure that the few who have known me intimately would have noticed it already ... like imaginary smoke escaping from a sun-baked earthen kiln.

To me, blogging is therapy. The words float in wispy whispers as my fingers go clackety-clack on the keyboard.

Traditional therapy is expensive. I would need it every day with everything happening in my life right now. The brand building , parenting, housekeeping, ten dogs and the little fires that need to be doused every single day.

And the last few days have been a bit of a jousty ride. I have been sequestered inside my home most of the week. Wednesday was my mother’s birthday, and Saturday marked the day she passed away, 13 years ago.

I sat there, laptop open, typing out why heavy metal screening is important, for we are the first cleaning brand in India to do so, when Shadow, my black button nosed Shih Tzu, tiptoed into the room, sloth-like, and pawed at me in concern. His saucer-shaped eyes are little islands of love and innocence. He is feisty when needed, alright... and he does have a preference for potato crisps, the thin ridged ones. He makes it known very volubly.

I do not know how I would have coped without my dogs. They are my ring of fire, breathing protection into me and offering only warmth and love. I will sound clichéd in saying this, but they ask for nothing in return. Maybe a belly rub here, a scratch behind the ear there. Just a quiet, constant presence, my refuge from the chaos outside.

It is hump day in Australia and I sit in my living room. I don't know why but the blue fabric of the couch reminds me of the emerald blue waters in Bali. The memories come flooding back.

The gentle surf of the waves.

The little motorboat thrusting forward, creating a trail of foamy water around it.

My son holding my hand, scared yet excited at the same time.

We are on our way to the little turtle island in Bali.

I snapped out of my reverie. I live elsewhere now. That was a different time, now carved into fragments that keep rearranging into new patterns in my head, reminding me of the person I once was.

Maybe that's why I like to write. A way of metabolising experiences before they disappear into the black hole of memory forever. It keeps me rooted whenever I feel like I am standing on shifting sands.

I look at Shadow, still staring at me with those big rotund eyes, hopeful that I will pick him up and stroke him. He is the quiet one, tailing me around the house. He minds his own business and looks at me from time to time. An unspoken communication between us, checking in on each other.

I guess that is what real relationships are all about, right? Looking out for the other person. A ding of the text on the phone. A cup of coffee at the local cafe.

When it does not feel forced or performative.

Call it by whatever name. Therapy. Blogging. Journalling.

I don't really mind.

It sits with me quietly, asking for nothing.

And its warmth circles me, just like my ring of love made up of Shadow and the nine canines and my goofy, awkward, gangly teenage son.

Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible  

First dreamer. Accidental chemist @ Green Molecule - Clean Confidently