Feels

Very rarely do I feel inspired to be happy and look forward to the coming days with a stinging intensity. I am going to call that feeling the Saturday evening feeling. When you know there is the Saturday night and then the whole Sunday for an endless possibility to not do anything but feel inspired to do many things. It’s a little like that feeling when you are going to drink after a long time or when you are packing your bag for an exciting trip. It happened thrice this month and I’m more than willing to offer an explanation.

It’s a fleeting moment of delight in one of those long stretches of solitude. It’s a gloriously empty, happy feeling. Nothing still makes sense but it doesn’t matter. Life is good in those few but energetic moments. I know when it’s inside me, I also know when it’s slowly ebbing-now at my fingertips and now gone. But I don’t feel sad when it goes, I just feel hungry. Like an orgasm. And then I order a ton of pizza and drown my inspiration in cheese and pepperoni.

The first such moment happened a week ago. I had just returned from a nice little trip. I had had zero sleep because I had to catch an early flight. But it was all okay because I had been reading the Neapolitan series. Elena Ferrante has made the October and November this year the best months of my life. A month ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep so I spent the entire night with Lila and Lenu. No sleep and still not cranky.

Last week, I was pages away from finishing the fourth book in the series and when I hit the last page, I almost didn’t want to read it. I was sad because it was all going to be over. I finished. Put my face in the pillow and bawled like a baby. And then I slept and for the first time, felt very inspired in my sleep. I woke up cranky and miserable but it was a good misery. Like having lost to a battle that I enjoyed being part of.

The second happened again, with Ferrante, after I finished reading The Days of Abandonment. I suddenly felt prepared for every tragedy in life. Olga suffers and stops and suffers and grows. I learnt a lot from her. I lay in bed for an hour after that. Not thinking, not moving.

The third happened this morning after I watched all six episodes of Ladies Room. I felt happy for no particular reason. Or maybe lots of reasons – for holidays, for wearing shorts, for not having bathed in two days, for finally feeling okay to have missed deadlines for three writing contests, for knowing I was soon going to go out to drink, for wanting to plan life, for wanting friends like Dingo and Khanna, and for the love of cities.

In episode one, Dingo is happily rolling weed after weed, calmly saying that the universe has got her back. I don’t know about universe or my back and who’s got it. But I’m content with this bubble that keeps filling me up and emptying me at the same time.

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