I was living in a rented room that didn’t get any sunlight.
I was working remotely in a programming job that I had thoroughly outgrown. It would take every ounce of my willpower to pick up a task, and not two minutes would go by that I would find my mind distracted by something else. And I was dependent on this job for my visa.
The pandemic and successive lockdowns had ensured that my friends were trimmed down to this one circle of Indian friends who were also new to the country.
I had never had any lover or girlfriend; indeed, not only had I never had sex, but I had started suspecting I was asexual.
I also had symptoms of depression and anxiety. I kept asking myself: “What is wrong with me?”, and came up with a growing list. I kept asking my friends: “What is wrong with me?”.
I researched every mental health disorder and for each one of them, at various points of time, I was convinced that I had it: from autism to narcissitic personality disorder to OCPD (which is different from OCD, that I also thought I had).
At one point during the middle of the first lockdown, I forgot to get out of the room for a week and couldnt sleep for days. Sleeping pills and forced morning walks only helped so much.
I was ordering Deliveroo twice a day. Stress eating made my weight shoot up to 90+, the heaviest I had ever been. I would be later told, by doctors who treated me for Covid, that I need to lose weight; I was clinically obese
The beginning of the end (of that life) happened in April 2021, when I contracted Covid. It was bad. An ambulance had to be called. I was hospitalised for ten days. I had thoughts of death.
Two months after that, in the week of my thirty-first birthday, I walked into a spiritual retreat.
And then, everything changed.
20 months later.
I am permanently settled in England.
I have endorsement as an exceptional talent in digital technology. I have been off work since the last 10 months.
I live in my own flat. It is spacious and sunlit and I love it. I am a landlord; I have two lodgers.
I also own a car that I love. I have been to all over England with it. In the summer, I used it to attend summer festivals like Buddhafield, Moving Connections and St Michael’s valley. It is big enough that I can sleep comfortably in it on long road trips.
I have a community of people all over England whom I can call upon, ask help and feedback from, and who love and accept me just as I am.
I am as fit as I’ve ever been and have actively partaken in sports and HIIT classes. I went bouldering. I shot clay pigeons. I joined social tennis, played squash and badminton, and attended a weekly football group. I have kayaked down the river cam. I completed a six week course in fencing.
I have also taken lessons in singing and drawing, and learnt Salsa, Tango and Contact Improvisation. I joined the local 5 Rhythms community. I used to go for improv workshops and acting classes.
I have taken a shot at drawing in life drawing classes. And I taught myself to cook.
I have reconnected with family. I visited my parents in India for a month and went on an Ayurvedic health retreat. I hosted my sister in England. I surprised her with my new life: new car, new house, new friends, as well as a ticket to a retreat as a present. Ten months after she visited me, I surprised her by delivering myself at her doorstep in Warsaw.
I have also reconnected with Oxford: through alumni events and Christmas dinner. I reconnected with old friends: Alex, Billy, Barbara, Sachin, Prateek.
I often socialise in London: be it philosophy discussions in a pub, a collective creativity dinner, a quiz league match, or moving connections.
I know what love is, in all its forms: physical, energetic, heart-centred, sexual. I know how to love. I wrote love letters. I had lovers.
And, perhaps most importantly, I love and accept myself.
And what is wrong with me? Mu
20 February 2023