IT WAS THE DAWN of the new year. The
holiday season, the time between end of
year and beginning of another year was
coming to an end.
The first day of January always seemed
a little louder than the rest of the year. For
some it was another year with a new beginning
while for some others it was just
another day and same routine. For me it
was a blend of both. Everywhere I looked,
the year felt young in that unmistakable
Indian way: messy, hopeful, and slightly
noisy.
Since I woke up, my phone had not
missed a single beat. It was buzzing with
‘ting’ sound, predictable messages and
status updates from my network – “Happy
New Year” followed by long strings of
emojis.
While scrolling through the status messages,
one message from my friend caught
my attention It was a status message that
read, “My resolutions for this year …”.
This thought lingered in my mind.
That night, in my hostel room I made
another list. Not on fancy stationery, just
in my phone. I typed a few lines. Drink
more water. Be more focused. Read at
least 15 minutes each day. Keep the room
a little cleaner than last year. Try waking
up before 7 am. This was nothing
different from what I had written the previous
year.
And then, almost instantly, my mind
told me “Take care of your well being this
year.”
The phrase sat there for a while. It felt
too grown-up for a student who always
lost stationary in the class. I searched
for the delete button on my phone’s key
board, but then decided to let it stay. There
was something honest about it, that didn’t
need to be defended. It sounded so simple.
MIND DRIFTING AWAY
Holidays over, things got back to routine
and the resolutions quietly slipped
to the back of my mind. It wasn’t something
I tried to act on. It drifted into
the corners of my days, appearing in
ways I didn’t expect.
There were those afternoons when
I walked on to the terrace to catch
some sun. I saw a kite dip unevenly
in the sky, its tail tangled. It felt
oddly similar to how my mind behaved
during the busiest months:
fluttering, uncertain, but moving
anyway.
Some days, it was those little
things that made the mind feel
heavier. The sound of sudden silence of the corridor when friends left for
class chattering away and I couldn’t
bring myself to follow them. The
bustling afternoons when everything
outside felt far too noisy and
everything inside felt far too quiet.
The late-evening calls to home
where I found myself saying, “Everything’s
fine, All Iz well, Amma.”
Hostel life had a way of amplifying
everything. The arguments over who
used whose bucket in the bathroom.
One evening, after a particularly long
day of costing problems and corporate
law case studies, I walked to the
economical dosa bandi corner. The
bandi wala knew most of us by face
and served dosas. A group of students
next to me discussed about future opportunities.
I just listened. Somehow,
that felt enough.
RESOLUTIONS BECOMING ROUTINE
Nothing changed dramatically after
that. The list in my phone felt less
like a set of rules for myself and more
like a faint memory from the night
I wrote those resolutions. I didn’t
check them often, but parts of it still
stayed with me. As for taking care of
myself - well, it didn’t feel like a separate
line item from my resolution any
more, it became a trend, a part of my
daily life.
Some days it was just stopping by
the badminton court even when I
didn’t play, just to watch the rhythm
of people moving. Some days it
looked like re-reading old comic
magazines because the familiarity
felt grounding. Some days it was just
listening to random music, without
bothering to find out which movie.
Some days it was simply telling myself
that it was ok to feel off.
I suppose that’s the quiet truth of
resolutions. They rarely bring any
change overnight. They simply accompany
, like a companion who
doesn’t mind if you walk slowly. The
beauty is not about the list itself but
the way life tries to organise itself
around it.