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Every write-up, thought and work ethic begins 'with a certain disquiet'. I'm a bundle of emotions but am i emotionally available? Do I unpack my own grief and let it fill the lives of others, or am I listening ear? A shoulder to lay your head upon and say 'you see me for who I am'. There's a day that comes in this stage in every semester when I'm so caught up with the quick pace of the work I'm yet to do against the work I have to do. It's almost impossible to make sense of what comes first, to prioritize myself or those around me who are failing to capture their own viewpoint on themselves. 

Engineering is hard. People will tell you this, they'll say it's hard. Not everyone is capable of doing it. I say anyone can do it, you just need to do only it to do it the right way. Fuck your other interests. You'll realize it pretty quickly, no one cares for what happens to you. Some one dies, or else you lose yourself. They only want you to work over the dependencies. To stop living this other life you're trying to create for yourself so you can find a way out. There's not meant to be a way out till you're out. This is the life of it. Dhruv tells me a classmate of his dropped out, how shocking that was to him but he could see where she was coming from. He doesn't enjoy the constant turmoil either, too bad he's a year younger so he has another year of emotional distress to handle but I don't doubt he'd do it masterfully. He doesn't need to play hard, he can continue existing; working as his time permits and do all of it quite quickly and manageably. He doesn't need to skate up and down; only continue what's expected of himself and conquer the rest. In hindsight, I had that balance. At least for a while before covid vanished and my excuse to live lavishly in the comforts of my home were taken from me. Life was resuscitated. I needed to go out and meet my found family: my friends. It worked. I do agree with Chinmay, some of the moments when we were out together felt hollow. As though we were going to through the motions of having a grand picnic and then living out with the fallout. 

When Miransh died, and the fights began. I thanked God that he didn't have to see it. The Good die first. I don't believe he was objectively good or bad. He had something going for him though, dreams and aspirations and if permitted against his brief encounter with sickness and immediate demise, I don't doubt he'd have stood better against the currents in the fight against authorities and we could've had a different connection with all our friends. One that didn't sprout from the grief of mutual loss. But rather a different one that came into being from the happiness and the sense of belonging that came from being with one another. The comfort of home in the two tables put together: a few chairs that we could occupy before we begun the overcrowding, people coming in, saying Hello! how do you do? I think others saw us when we lost him. They knew we were grieving. It was a different and tough time. I don't think I handle loss well. I make every loss personal as though it was an illegal move in a cosmological game of chess I'm losing constantly within. Our lives remain untouched by God. 

God doesn't come to Mumbai. 

Indra says our group is cursed to remain sad always; never to be happy. I think I'm beginning to agree about that in some ways.