by Nikita Singh
‘Not exactly, not meat. I’ll eat seafood once a week and poultry once a month.’
‘That’s not too bad, actually,’ Mona said thoughtfully. ‘You can eat salmon and tuna and chicken. Even turkey. Just not pork or lamb or goat or beef?’
‘That’s the plan. I don’t think I’ll miss meat; I didn’t ever eat pork or beef anyway,’ Zeenat said. ‘It’s just chicken that’s hard to resist … but I want to slowly phase it out and stick to a pescatarian diet.’
‘Hats off, man. I could never do that,’ Mona said, jumping off the counter. ‘Just the thought of living without Sunny’s famous Punjabi butter chicken makes me want to cry.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, I’m fighting away tears right now just smelling Sunny’s famous Punjabi butter chicken,’ Zeenat said. She laughed to mask the sincerity of her admission.
‘What’s the verdict on eggs?’ Sunny asked.
‘Haven’t read up about it. From what I know, there are farm-raised, cage-free options, but I’m not sure how much of that is just greenwashing … There’s a lot of reading to do …’
As they chatted away, Zeenat felt stronger in her resolve. The fact that she had witnesses definitely helped her stick with her plan. So, when they finished cooking their separate lunches, they sat down at the kitchen counter together to eat. Zeenat might have failed in her fitness goals and plans to stand up to Priyanka, but at least she was succeeding in going vegan for a month. Minus that accidental sip of cow-milk coffee, but she had made sure to get that problem rectified. All in all, she wouldn’t say her New Year resolutions were going too poorly. She cherished the small sense of accomplishment she felt.
25 January 2021
Switching to a vegan diet was where Zeenat’s advocacy for the planet had started, but it certainly couldn’t end there. The year 2020 had opened her eyes to many new issues, one of which was the impact of the fast-fashion industry on the environment. As she read more about it, she found out extensive information about unethical business practices, low wages and even slave labour, child labour and sweatshops. After many horrifying hours reading about the fashion industry, it was clear to Zeenat that she couldn’t support fast fashion any longer, something she had done mindlessly for several years.
According to the United Nations, the fashion industry was the second-largest polluter of clean water, responsible for 10 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions, and consumed more energy than aviation and shipping combined. On top of that, every second of every day, one trash-truck worth of textiles was either burned or sent to a landfill. The data was overwhelming. Zeenat couldn’t even look at her closet without feeling overwhelmed with guilt. She didn’t need all these clothes she owned. She hadn’t even worn half of them more than a handful of times.
Donating wasn’t a good option either, she had learned. Most, about 85 per cent, of the donated clothes ended up in a landfill or was burned, and out of the 15 per cent that did go to second-hand shops, only a small percentage was bought. It could take over 200 years for the materials to decompose in a landfill. Not to mention the methane gas generated during the decomposition process, and toxic chemicals and dyes that leached into the groundwater and soil.
Zeenat felt increasingly helpless. She looked into recycling, repurposing, swapping and thrifting. She thought about her mother, who never threw out anything. She always found a reuse potential for everything: old T-shirts as cleaning rags, old towels as mops, jam jars to store spices. She believed in caring for things, and when they broke, she made sure to mend them. When she and her siblings outgrew their clothes, or simply got tired of them, her mother would always find specific people to hand them down to, making sure each article of clothing would be used by someone. Nothing was thrown away unless it became completely useless. These weren’t new concepts. These basics of minimal living had come naturally to her mother. Now, Zeenat tried her best to bring them into her lifestyle.
After much researching, Zeenat made a to-do list of different ways to reduce her impact and, in the end, reached a conclusion: the best thing she could do was to stop buying clothes. A less drastic option was to ask herself every time she wanted to buy something: will I wear this at least thirty times? Another was to buy only from ethical and sustainable brands, but those cost a lot more than fast fashion. Yet another was to swap clothes with friends, or buy from thrift stores, since used clothes consumed no new energy or labour to produce. Renting was an option too. Choosing quality over quantity, repairing clothes or altering them so they fit better, buying more mindfully were all good options as well. But, in the end, not buying anything at all seemed like the best and simplest alternative. It was also the hardest.
The thing about the pandemic was that even though it shut everything down and limited everyone to their homes, it also created a burning desire for newness and action in people. Every time Zeenat turned to her screens, consumerism was shoved into her face. Every day, she woke up and checked her Instagram. Every day she saw people in new clothes, shoes, jewellery and make-up, carrying new handbags and drinks with plastic straws. She was served targeted ads for the brands she used to shop for, before she started the no-buy for the month of January. And once she clicked on one of the ads, they reappeared with doubled ferocity over her next visits to the app.
Every time she went online, there was temptation. She struggled to keep it under control. So, she set guidelines for herself to help her walk away without giving in to impulse buying. She wrote them down on Post-it notes and stuck them on the wall in her room, above her desk.
–Visualize the money you would’ve spent on shopping in your bank account.
–Imagine what else that money could buy.
–Walk through what would happen when the package arrives: you’ll open it, try it on, fold it, put it away, throw out the packaging (landfill!!!)
–Sunny and Mona will judge you and make jokes about packages arriving every day.
–Where are you even going? You don’t need clothes.
–Try the five-second rule. Simply click away within five seconds.
The reason she had to take this so seriously and make this elaborate system to keep her on track was that it was far too easy to slip up. A mix of these guidelines had helped her not buy anything for twenty-four days so far. Of course, she was allowed to buy groceries and hygiene products, but only when she ran out of them and needed to repurchase. The keyword was need, not want.
It was on day twenty-five that Anthropologie presented her with a ‘50% off sale items’ ad. That meant that the sweater she liked, originally priced at $100, and discounted to $50, was now available for just $25. That was a steal. And it wasn’t something frivolous. She needed a sweater. Hello, she lived in upstate New York, where it was freezing cold eight months of the year. Also, she definitely was going to wear it more than thirty times. Sure, she wasn’t supposed to buy anything for seven more days, but who knew how long the sale would last? What was the point of risking paying twice the amount of what she had would have to pay now, just to follow a stupid no-buy she made up for herself? It didn’t make any sense. It made no difference whatsoever on the environment whether she bought the sweater today or one week from now.
So, she chided herself for making up silly rules, and placed the sweater in her cart. Shipping was $7. Free if her order was $50 or more. Which meant that she needed to spend $25 more to save $7 on shipping. If you think about it, that meant she would essentially be paying $18 for something that was worth $25, which would probably already be down from $100. If you think about it, she would lose money by not buying something now, when it was on sale. That logic made sense in her head, so she clicked on the SALE tab to search for something else she could buy to qualify for free shipping.
Her Post-it notes stared at her from the wall in front of her. Zeenat kept her eyes trained on her computer screen. She was being too harsh on herself. She deserved something nice. She shouldn’t feel guilty for treating herself every once in a while. She had successfully completed t
wenty-five days of the no-buy. One small purchase didn’t matter. No matter how strongly she felt, the Post-its stared down at her as she scrolled through the sale section.
31 January 2021
Last day of the month. Zeenat wanted to make it count, while also recognizing that she shouldn’t put too much undue pressure on herself and prioritize her mental health over all else. Keeping that in mind, she thought back to her mental list of goals and their results.
Fitness: FAIL
Her fitness goal had reduced from an intense six-week HIIT programme to one Pilates class a week. That meant she was doing one low-intensity workout per week, instead of six high-intensity sessions. Strangely, she was okay with it. By the fourth week, she was able to complete moves she hadn’t been able to perform at first. That was progress. So fitness felt like a win, even though she had failed to achieve what she had set out to do.
Veganuary: WIN
Zeenat had excelled at maintaining a vegan diet throughout January, hence establishing a good foundation for the year. This transition was going according to plan. Zeenat took a moment to appreciate her efforts and take pride in the results, just like the article she had read online said to do.
No-buy: FAIL
She had failed the no-buy challenge and ended up spending $77 at an unethical, unsustainable brand to buy a sweater she was convinced she needed and a dress she had no occasion to wear. When the package arrived, she had quickly, shamefully, removed the tags and thrown away the packaging. Now, these new pieces of clothing sat in her closet, indistinguishable from the old ones. Ultimately, that slip in willpower didn’t feel worth it to Zeenat.
Speaking up: FAIL
At most, her goal to stand up for herself had seen partial success. While she hadn’t confronted Priyanka, which was what the actual goal was, she had spoken up at Starbucks and gotten her coffee order corrected.
Zeenat was unhappy with the 25 per cent success rate. She still had an opportunity to flip that last fail into a win, because Priyanka had texted Zeenat to ask her to go for a walk. Fifty per cent sounded far better than 25 per cent. She could live with 50 per cent.
In the past, Zeenat had only spent time with Priyanka in a group setting. So, when Priyanka asked Zeenat to meet her alone, the request made Zeenat a little anxious. She shrugged it away as she picked up her new sweater from the top of the pile of clothes in her closet and put it on. See, she was already putting it to use.
To prepare herself for the confrontation, Zeenat read articles titled ‘6 Ways to Cut a Toxic Friend Out of Your Life for Good’ and ‘How to Gracefully End a Toxic Friendship’. She was ready. If Priyanka so much as made a snide remark about Zeenat’s social media absence or dark circles, Zeenat was prepared to put an end to such bullying then and there.
By the time she left her apartment, Zeenat was almost shaking with anticipation and dread. No, she told herself, as she walked to the park where they were meeting. You won’t back out.
She spotted Priyanka waving at her from the other side of the street. She crossed over when the light turned and walked towards Zeenat.
Priyanka stopped six feet away from Zeenat and said, ‘How’s it going?’
Right away, Zeenat sensed it. Her voice was different. Her whole demeanour had changed. She looked nothing like her lively Instagram selfies – the structured leather coat was replaced by a warm-looking puffer jacket, and her beanie hat was pulled down to cover her ears completely, hiding all her hair, even her sideburns, making her head look like an egg. Zeenat had never seen Priyanka use her beanie for warmth before. Something was wrong.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, lowering her mask, since Priyanka was honouring the six-feet rule and they were outdoors.
Priyanka lowered her mask on cue. No make-up. Something was definitely wrong. ‘Mm, nothing,’ she said, walking on the snow. ‘Just quarantine blues, I guess.’
‘Quarantine’s been going on for almost a year now. What changed?’ Zeenat walked next to her.
‘That. That it’s been so long. We’ll graduate in a few months, and it’s all over. Our very expensive American experience wasted in a lockdown. Massive student loans, no jobs on the horizon, a dead economy and a messed-up immigration system.’
Zeenat felt guilty about not having student loans; she had received a full scholarship based on merit. Additionally, it had always been her plan to go back home after finishing her master’s anyway, and she had never been delusional enough to believe that she would have lucrative career opportunities with her MA in English literature. She wanted to go back home and teach at a university, while working on her PhD. So, none of the very real problems Priyanka had listed applied to Zeenat.
‘Yeah, it’s all looking pretty bleak,’ she said nonetheless. ‘It’ll be okay though, eventually. It won’t be like this forever.’
‘Yeah … you don’t know that.’ Priyanka’s shoulders drooped further.
I’m just trying to stay optimistic, Zeenat wanted to snap. There’s nothing wrong with that. As long as it’s not toxic positivity. But Priyanka’s tone hadn’t been snide. It had just been sad. So Zeenat stopped herself and instead said, ‘You’re right, I don’t know that. I just say that to myself to get through the day.’
‘Right?’ Priyanka said passionately, as if a switch had flipped inside her. ‘I keep having these talks with myself every day, every hour actually. Like I’m my own therapist, and need to keep myself on track. It’s like I’m in a constant state of crisis and I’m the only person who can help me. It’s terrifying. One moment, I’m fine. The next, boom, existential crisis. I’m just so sick and tired of being alone all the time, with my sad thoughts. I’m not a sad person. I have no interest in being sad … But how do I stop? I can’t. It’s just who I am now …’
As Priyanka spoke, Zeenat walked by her side, six feet apart, and watched her. For the first time, she was seeing the person behind the beautiful, strong and sometimes bratty demeanour. At the end of the day, Priyanka was just a person. Albeit quite rude and intrusive at times, but she wasn’t exactly the villain Zeenat had built her up to be. Maybe Priyanka criticized things about Zeenat that she didn’t like in herself. That’s something that happens. Maybe she set standards for Zeenat that she had for herself. It was wrong to do so, but maybe she couldn’t help it. Maybe it came from a place of insecurity. Or maybe she was just mean. Yet, that didn’t affect Zeenat quite as much, after seeing Priyanka be this vulnerable, this human, for a moment.
The more Priyanka opened up about her internal struggles, the more it became clear to Zeenat that she didn’t need to be confronted, at least not today. She just needed to be heard. Today, Zeenat’s job was to not add to Priyanka’s problems. She needed to be a good friend, to listen.
Zeenat was going to mark ‘speaking up’ as a WIN anyway. She wasn’t delusional enough to think that this was the beginning of an amazing new friendship. She was probably not going to be close friends with Priyanka in the future. They just didn’t connect that way. But, for now, at least she could be there for her in her time of need, and be unbothered and unaffected by her. And that counted as a win.
Guru
Dear Amit Sir,
You must be just as surprised to be reading this as I am to be writing this to you. It has been thirteen years since you were my teacher, ten years since we last spoke, and yet, when I think about death, I am terrified of not having said this to you before my time on this planet is up. I apologize. What a grim way to start this letter. Unfortunately, it has taken the literal thought of dying to jolt me into action and tell you some things I’ve been meaning to share with you for over a decade.
Growing up, the word ‘guru’ was considered to have divine significance, a term used to mirror the respect our society showed our teachers. It doesn’t retain the same meaning now. The term ‘guru’ has been bastardized, adopted by other languages, cultures, and turned into a buzzword to be used generously and applied to a variety of situations. It’s a dirty word now.
&
nbsp; Twenty years ago, when I was a kid, we were told that all our schoolteachers were our gurus. I could never surrender to that logic. Even as a nine year old, I recognized that the lady who taught us maths for forty-five minutes every day was doing so in exchange for a salary, not out of the selfless goodness of her heart. Not that she didn’t deserve the money for the work that she was doing. I would argue that, in fact, she deserved quite a bit more than she was making at that school, but it was the over-idealization of people who chose to teach as a career that bothered me. Most teachers I’ve had didn’t, through their actions, demand that all-encompassing, indisputable sort of respect. The respect we had to bestow upon them was mandatory.
Thirteen years ago, when I joined the school where you taught chemistry, not much had changed in my views about putting teachers on a pedestal. In fact, in my two years at that school, I lost respect for most of the teachers there because of the way they treated me. At the time, I believed that I deserved that treatment. Anyone who didn’t get high scores in tests and wasn’t the perfect, studious student deserved to be berated by teachers – that lesson had been ingrained in me since childhood. But as I’ve thought about these teachers over the years, as an adult, I feel for the sixteen-year-old me who came to your school. She didn’t do anything to deserve such malice.
I’ll give you some examples:
1. Patil Sir: The biology teacher who openly hated me. If I had to guess why, it was probably because I have always been bad at surrendered listening. So, while I wasn’t an especially wild child, I did question things. That might have proved challenging for him. Let me tell you about two instances:
Once, he refused to accept my project because I referred to a book other than the one he personally preferred. I asked him to provide me a written letter, so that I could show it to my parents when they asked why I got a zero on the project.
Another time, he told me and my classmate Rupa that we would never become doctors. There were only four students in his class (the rest of my section had opted for maths) and he went as far as wagering that he would give us both `10,000 if either of us ever got into medical school. What kind of teacher bets on their students’ failure? I believe Rupa did end up becoming a doctor, but Patil Sir did succeed in sucking out all my passion for biology in the two years that I spent in his class.
