Category Archives: Worry


I was made to promise that I won’t tell anyone, so I am breaking my promise by writing about it here, still…

Two kids in a certain environment I inhabit, have downloaded* a rather dangerous game app that has been taking lives, for the purpose of “hacking into it”.   They have apparently downloaded it into a new phone with a new sim that has no other information, which shows that their interest in the game is purely academic.  These are geeky chaps and are well-aware of their geekiness.  They are about 13 years old.

My dilemmas are as under:

  • Should I believe this?
  • Must I share this news with authorities, despite my promise of not breathing a word about this to anyone?
  • Must I worry about the people who downloaded the game because it is a potential killer, or be happy that young’uns are trying to hack into it – an appeal to the nerd in me?
  • Must I worry that someone in an environment I know actually has the cursed app on their phone and this could be the tip of a more massive iceberg or am I being a quintessential worrier?
  • Am I being over confident about the sanity of people I love that they won’t pick up stupid/dangerous habits from friends, or is my trust justified? I think my trust is justified, but I may be blinded by love.

What would you do if you were in my place?

* Update: A google search** tells me that you can’t download the app, but do something on social media to get into it.  I don’t quite understand what, and I don’t want to know.

**It seems India is the country with the most number of searches about the game.  Yeah, we are a morbid people like that.


See saw again

The last time I posted I spoke about decisions made.

I was premature.

The see saw continues, but this time, the swing is to the other side.

The only saving grace right now is that I am in my sanctuary town and will be visiting the temple today.  I hope my sanctuary shows me a way to reconcile to whatever decision is made.


Remember to breathe

I can feel my heart racing. I have five days to two deadlines (DoD and DoE) and three more proposals to write.  I wouldn’t panic if I didn’t have three days of the first death anniversary ceremonies of my grandmother starting Friday.

…which in itself is a bit stressful because given that my grandmother was very popular, there would be many many people attending the final day’s ceremony and I am terrified about crowd management and interpersonal management – families can be the hotbed of politics, I say.

I just need to remember to breathe through the stress. As my vipassana mentor would say, “Breath. Only the breath”.

Wish me luck. Yet again.

Humour, where art thou?

I read somewhere that the frontal lobe of the brain is responsible for humour.  The frontal lobe is also the emotional centre, it seems.  Of course, the working of the brain is not as simple as that, and what we are is a mind-boggling interplay among various sections firing.  Nevertheless, there must be some more significant connection between fear/worry and humour.  I notice that my sense  of humour goes for a toss every time I am worried about something.  Like now.  This is bad because I don’t think any of us can survive any adversity without a sense of humour.

I think JKR was talking about this when she developed the concept of dementors – that their presence would make you feel like you can never be happy again.  By “be happy”, I think she meant laugh.   I have been reading posts by really funny people lately, and they are at their funniest best, but I don’t feel that loosening of the jaw muscles that I usually feel when I read them.  For me, this is very important – being able to laugh at myself is my best defence mechanism and when I can’t do it, I spiral into greater and greater depths of negative thinking.

I don’t think I am a pioneer in this thought as well – thousands of years ago, our philosopher poet Valluvar said something to the effect of laugh-when-things-are-screwed-up.  Right now I feel like bonking the fellow in his head.

Wonder what my patronus is.



Navel gazing

This would probably turn out to be a self-absorbed, nay, self-obsessed post, but it is being written to clarify the muddled head.  It could also be a bare-all kind of post, so consider this fair warning.

My gynaecologist, who is also a very good friend, once told me there is a superstition in the medical community that all emergencies come in three’s – the day she told me, she had to tackle two cases of rather rare ectopic pregnancy and was afraid of a third within the next few days.  Since then, I start looking for threes of bad news too, especially within healthcare, it has become a bit of an obsession with me.

Two weeks back, my uncle-through-marriage (79 years old) was diagnosed with prostrate cancer, needing surgery, radiation and the works.  A couple of days later, my neighbour cried to me about her mother’s newly diagnosed stomach cancer, followed by a strenuous surgery and the works.  I am tight-wound since then for a third announcement of the stupid monster that can’t seem to be killed no matter how advanced medicine has grown.

Last week, a distant cousin and childhood playmate of mine, called to say that her father is in deep dementia/Alzheimer, can’t remember anything, even peeing, and is on catheter.  It gave my stomach quite a turn because this distant uncle of mine was a terror when I was growing up – dynamic, authoritative and what not.  I can’t even imagine him as being a baby, as she says he is.

A couple of days later, my father’s brother (80) had a dementia-induced nervous breakdown. I would rather not go into the details of the breakdown more because it is exhausting to even recollect it, but he still continues to be like a cat on a  sanity-insanity wall, ready to jump to either side at will.  We take him to the psychiatrist today, who will prescribe medicines, I am sure.  But knowing his tempramentallity, and my aunt not taking anything seriously, I wonder if the medicines would even be consumed – we can only lead the horse to the water.

I wonder if there will be a third case of dementia.

But that is not the fear I have – at least not the main fear.  A nagging doubt that has been doing its rounds in my head is this – have I inherited the insanity gene, that seems to fly around in my paternal family?  In each generation, I know at least of someone who has gone completely off the rocker – at some stage of their life or another.  My great grand mother was supposedly prone to hysteria that she had to be locked up.  My grand aunt was also hysteric, it seems.  My uncle seems to be on the way to going raving mad.  My father refuses medical help for his depression. Another uncle lived and died with Parkinson’s. I have a cousin, in whom, I can see shades of insanity – he already has the beginnings of persecution complex and it scares me to talk to him.

Considering that my PMS mood swings (they no longer swing, they seem permanently in the high of anxiety) last longer (they start with ovulation and last until aunt flo visits), could I be the next manifestation of the madness? The most disturbing thing for me is that as I see/hear of all the mad things my uncle has been doing this past week , I can actually understand what was going on in his head.  I can often feel that restlessness and confusion in my head too , I merely don’t translate them into action, like he did on that day.  How long before the walls that separate thoughts from intention and action break down?

I have a very good control over my actions now – even when I am seeing red, I can smile like there are daisies inside my head.  Now and then I yell (especially nearing aunt flo) at the kid for something trivial.  But I do feel a lot of anger, worry, anxiety, and fear inside, even if I don’t show them out.  Is that the start of the madness, which will finally come out when the veneer of civility breaks down?  Would I also breakdown and cry and laugh hysterically the next minute, and pace up and down the house like a caged panther, the way my uncle did?

Or as usual, am I overthinking this?  That everyone has thoughts and emotions cruising through their head, and what they make of them is what separates the sane from the insane?  I read somewhere that pain is inevitable, suffering is a choice.  My meditation mentor tells me the same thing – the stomach’s function is to digest, the lung’s function is respiration, the brain’s function is to think and feel – you cannot live without them.  It is detachment from them, or being aware of them that makes the difference.

So, perhaps I am not on my way to la-la land, despite the hormones wrecking havoc inside as I type this out and there is hope for me yet. But my uncle’s breakdown is an eye opener for me.  Whether or not I have the gene, it is my choice to keep my brain healthy.  More reading, more writing, more meditation and more exercise are the only paths to take henceforth.

The buck stops with me.

And this too had better pass…

Life throws curve balls all the time, but whenever one comes along, we forget that we have always tacked them, and buckle under the strain, screaming “Why me?”. The simple answer to that question is “Why not?”.

Rhetoric is a dog.

All of this weekend, I kept telling myself “This too shall pass”, first for a fever that left every joint throbbing (darn mosquitoes), and later for issues that would need time to resolve.  Yet, every time I told myself that, I heard a little voice say, why can’t it pass right now?  That’s not the way life works, little voice, don’t you know?

The virus has passed in its two days, but the issue will require a bit more time.  But in the cosmic sense, or even in the sense of a human lifetime, what is a few months?

[[Little voice: Months?  Do you now how many days that is?  You are being unreasonable, aren’t you? And do you even know what the repercussions would be after the issue is resolved?

ME: Oh shut up]]

I foresee that the week will be tremulous for me.   I hope I remember to breathe through it and let it pass, mindfully.  Life never gives anyone problems that they cannot handle.