I’ve always said that the new year is a tad overrated. That said, a new year is an opportunity. It’s a chance that we get, year on year, to start over on a fresh page, leaving the mistakes of the previous year behind. It’s a chance to look ahead, to hope for a better future. After all, what’s life without hope?

Like everyone else, I too have a bucket list. Many elements of this list have stayed on for years, even decades now. Some have been struck off to be replaced with other things. But these are not resolutions to be broken by the end of January. These are things that change with time, with baby steps, taken one step at a time. These are little drops that will one day form an ocean.

First on my list, is to forgive myself my shortcomings a bit more easily. I am perhaps my own worst critic. There are days when I look around me and see a messy house, an unmade bed and dirty dishes and curse myself for being worthless, constantly telling myself that I’m no match for others who manage to keep a spotless house. This year, I’d like to be a little kinder to myself and try not to feel inadequate all the time. 

The next on my list is to take some time off for myself every week. To start doing what I love to do: write. To spend time with my thoughts and words, because they’re important to me. 

And finally, to tolerate crap a little less. To speak my mind without being rude. To be strong without appearing insulting. This is perhaps the most difficult of my tasks. But I’d like to try. 

What’s on your bucket list?

I’ve been struggling to verbalise what I feel since my city started sinking on the 1st of December. It’s taken me 13 days to finally sit down and attempt to put these thoughts into words. Forgive me if I’m not entirely coherent, for these past days have been extraordinary in more ways than one.

The first day of December will remain forever etched in my mind. Only a stroke of incredibly good luck got me out of office and back to my parents’ home that evening. Things were still looking manageable when I got home around 6 that evening. Little did I know that the next three days would be a roller coaster of emotions. Little did I realise that this city that I so love would sink in ways that none of us ever imagined it would. Even when the power went off at 8 that night, I only grumbled a bit about the inconvenience caused, never realising that parts of my city were already under water. Only later that evening when I started seeing tweets about people stranded on their way home did I realise that this wasn’t going to end just yet. I remember being amazed at the generosity of common people like you and me, who threw their homes open to complete strangers stranded in the rains, offering them food, wifi and a place to sleep. I didn’t know then that this was only the beginning.

For the next three days, cut off from the rest of the world, with no power or network, I didn’t quite know what was happening. The road before the house was waist deep in water. Inner roads were flooded till the neck. Back home, I managed to ascertain that S and the FIL were fine but had no power or network either. I heard from friends, neighbours and well-wishers that Nanganallur was fine and with very little flooding. I heaved a sigh of relief. I got my parents out to the safety of my aunt’s house and we all treated it like a quirk of fate that brought the family together under a single roof after all these years. Even when my cousin called on the evening of Wednesday in panic asking if we needed to be rescued, we put it down to unnecessary panic. We didn’t know that people were indeed being rescued by helicopters in many parts of the city.

It’s only when I got reconnected to the Internet on Friday afternoon did I come to realise the magnitude of the tragedy. I was seeing tweets for help, cries of distress, common citizens rally together to hold afloat a sinking city. And by then, the worst was already over. As I progressively got back to civilisation, I was struck. Struck by random strangers answering calls for help. People in other cities reaching out to volunteers and the rescue forces on the ground to provide information. I saw common people come together and cook meals for the displaced. I saw places of worship throw their doors open to everyone and shelter them for the days to come. What I saw filled my heart with an unspeakable gratitude for the goodness innate in people. I personally sent out an appeal for rescue of a trapped friend that was retweeted and shared about 100 times. It warms my heart that help reached less than three hours after the first appeal went out on Twitter. Used as I am to seeing bitterness and rancour, outrage and politics, I was surprised that my Twitter feed was almost entirely filled with tweets asking for or offering help. That is still the case, 13 days after the tragedy. I see people still tweet about rehabilitation, relief, clean-up and the like.

Born and raised in Chennai, I always associated my hometown with a distinct lack of respect for the other. Friends hailing from places like Coimbatore, including and especially S, have never failed to point out that Chennaiites lack basic manners. But in the aftermath of the floods, I realise that a sea of humanity still exists in this city. Ten years later, the death toll and the flooding will become a statistic, but those who helped me, my family and friends will forever remain etched in my memory. I may not remember the day the roads of my city turned into an ocean, but I will always remember random strangers who offered help unsolicited, asked after my well-being, and ensured my family and friends were safe.

Maybe it required a wall of water to turn this selfish, disrespecting mass of people into something we are all proud of. They say disaster brings out the worst in people. But, for me, this disaster has indeed brought out the best of Chennai. May you always remain this way, my beloved city.

Today was an important day. Actually, today was a wake up call. It struck me like a thunderbolt. A basic truth about myself that I didn’t quite know or acknowledge.

Earlier today, I was at a social event that I wasn’t quite comfortable in. Among the many people, all happy and cheerful, I felt quite out of place. I’ve said it before. While I consider myself quite social, I also like being left to myself.

I’ve always considered myself an extrovert. But many things have happened over the past year that have made me rethink my own character. In this past year, I discovered that I actually like my own company. That I prefer spending time by myself. After these experiences, I decided to reclassify myself as a selective extrovert. But today was a whole new story.

I wasn’t even selectively extroverted. I found myself wishing that I could just get home and curl up in my bed with a book in hand. Or curl up against S and have a quiet conversation. Or anything. Anything apart from being within this mass of people I barely know. This feeling surprised even me. I wasn’t quite expecting to feel this way, given that I was quite enthusiastic about going there in the first place.

I realised within that crowd of dancing people that I’m in reality intensely private. That I can count my close friends on the fingers of one hand. Actually, I don’t even have to count. I just know. If I’m left alone with just family and close friends, I’ll probably be at my happiest.

To me, this realisation has come pretty late in life. I’ve actively sought company in the past and become part of a larger circle of people. I’ve gone out of my way to ensure I’m always surrounded by people. 

What was it about today that made me realise something so diametrically opposed to what I thought my character was? Is this what we call growing up?

I’ve had an online presence for nine years now. Starting with a very public blog in 2006, I’ve come a long way. I’ve published under my own name, then chosen to go anonymous. Each of these has been a learning experience.

I’ve been on Twitter for over six years now. Both on my blog, and on Twitter, I’ve had interesting discussions, gained valuable insights and met wonderful people. I’ve been criticised, trolled, threatened with murder and rape. But I’ve also been encouraged and supported by people who barely know me but stand by my right to have an opinion. For that, I’m grateful.

I’m not a very social person. I like to think of myself as a selective extrovert. I have many friends but few close ones. I’m circumspect about what I say and careful about who I allow into my life. But, once or twice, strangers have broken that barrier. They’ve stormed their way into my life and made me question it.

In all these years, I’ve met just two of these online friends in real life. It’s been the right choice to make. I won’t ever regret meeting them and allowing them into an otherwise private life. They’ve taught me valuable lessons. They’ve taught me that you can make great friends, irrespective of age and distance. They taught me see life differently. For that I’m grateful.

As I continue this journey, I can only hope that many more such people come into my life. After all, isn’t that what life’s all about?