Episode 14: The Nostalgia of a New Year
Dear friends,
Thanks so much for reading. I started this project with the intention to dig into who I was, who I am, and every month’s post comes out different. Sometimes, I go deep into masculinity, and sometimes I riff on politics. And I appreciate all of you, because I know your attention is pulled in a thousand different directions.
With that, I have to remind people that Gaza is still under siege by Israel. Its been over a year. Babies are freezing to death. The death toll is at more than 45,000 with over 100,000 injured. Take some time to learn about the issue at Electronic Intifada and other reputable, anti-zionist outlets. Donate to UNRWA, the UN agency directly responsible for the welfare of Palestinians that Israel also banned during this war.
Like my last post, I talk somewhat about writing below the main post, and what I’m reading and watching. If you’d like to see this, you can subscribe below on a paid plan or you can wait two weeks to read it when it will automatically become available for everyone! Also shout out to Maria for being my very first paid subscriber!
Today’s piece is a tribute to nostalgia, in some ways, and looking forward to the coming year. I hope the piece, and the New Year, triggers some fond memories for you too.
Vivek.
As much as I would like to speak of the impossible realities that might come in 2025 in the abstract, I find myself struggling with the here and now, in terms of how to be practical about the coming year.
These days, I find myself thinking about what’s to come. I’ve spent years in my younger years staying up with my family in our basements and living rooms watching the ball drop in Times Square. More recently in moments of weakness, I’ve digested advice by YouTube bros hawking their techniques for turning lofty but airy resolutions into concrete goals and actionable tasks which will CHANGE MY LIFE IN 2025, hoping for some insight. Nonetheless, I’ve been revamping my own systems to match my own tendencies and proclivities so I can write what I want and work more effectively.
Yet, this time always reminds me of the black-eyed peas my mother would make for New Years Day growing up Texas, Virginia, and Georgia. That the aroma of the peas eventually came to mean that something new was on its way, even though I didn’t know what that was. That time had rewound and started over, like the cassettes in my boombox in my bedroom, where hours ran away from me as I read and wrote in my journal emerging thoughts of love and pain and fear and excitement that come at you fast in those young years.
Gathered around the small dining table in the kitchen, we would talk about the party we went to the night before and who was there, and what kind of music played. In any given year, through some of high school (when I finally got a car), those parties would be helmed by one of the many desi families we were connected to, and for those evenings our lives intertwined with the others as we started the evenings with crisp samosas and deep-fried pakoras - back then I would eat them almost exclusively with tamarind sauce only (not the bright green mint chutney I love so much now) - and carefully lug my Styrofoam plate to see what the kids watching TV upstairs were up to, as far away from the adults as possible.
There are two specific memories I remember from those times, watching Poltergeist with our neighbors down the street and playing Mike Tyson’s punch-out. It was at a series of parties where we watched Poltergeist, then Poltergeist II, and other scary movies. Even a Bollywood one or two (though those were not nearly as good). I will never forget the scenes of the small white child holding her hand out at the television, called in by black and white static while clutching her stuffed animal. With the lights turned off, we sat separated on the couch but together in allowing fear creep up and into us, even as Bollywood music leaked in underneath the door. Us kids and those adults blissfully unaware of each other at least for a little bit. I credit my interest in the speculative and sublime to these times, when we stole away from our parents and the aunties and uncles to see what else was out there, through the latest technology we had at our disposal, the television.
By the time Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!! (Notice the two exclamation marks!!) came out, I was eight years old and desi parties filled our weekends, alongside visits to Hindu temples, or watching Saturday afternoon movies for free while my mother sunbathed lazily in the patch of warm Texas sun that streamed in through the screen door. We never had cable, and if we did, it was for some promotional period like 30 days, or we got some strange box from an uncle at the Indian store that unreliably streamed in satellite feeds but mostly static. My parents never bought me a Nintendo, so I biked feverishly to friends’ houses or had to convince my dad to take me to the mall to play one. When we lived in Houston, I remember my face lighting up as I watched the other kids play Punch-Out!! and absolutely delighted by the comic book-like characters in the game, Don Flamenco and Piston Honda, all of whom I personally lost to multiple times (I was never great at video games). So like my ten year old now, I sat and watched and enjoyed the spectacle.
It wasn’t until years later that my parents relented and got me a Sega Genesis, with games like Altered Beast and Sonic The Hedgehog. I would devote hours, and probably days, to the latter game. Since, at the time, Genesis was next generation tech - it being 16 bit over the Nintendo’s 8 bit - I reveled in the fact that some kids in my circles were impressed. I had something akin to the holy grail at home, and those kids looked at me for the first time, and maybe even talked about me. Either way, I felt the better for it. The Genesis secured me limited cachet when we had just moved to Pennsylvania. But most people knew of Mario and Luigi and Mike Tyson; not Sonic and Tails and Knuckles. So I played alone or with a few friends in my parents bedroom whose small TV rested on a creaky stand that felt especially precarious anytime it was touched. The carpet was thin, bland, and beige, but the hours I spent there were magnificent.
At that age, I devoured everything I could get my hands on, especially books. I would spend hours in the bathroom reading Stephen King, which I had found in the library and couldn’t let go of. I read IT, Dark Half, Misery, The Stand, The Shining, Pet Sematary, Needful Things. In my later years, I would watch as many film adaptations as I could, including the made for TV version of The Stand. Those episodes ultimately disappointed me, but I still loved to see it. But in my room, or the bathroom, reading gave me an expansive freedom that is hard to harness now as a much older and more responsible person, and the trappings that come with it.
Yes, just like my ten year old, V, I read with exuberance in the bathroom.
I would spend hours there, but the difference between now and then is that my parents never stopped me from reading while sitting on the commode (while I am often forced to stop V from reading). They were busy. With what, I don’t remember. But I do remember the commitment they had to trying to teach us ritual - whether it was of the Hindu or of the black-eyed pea variety. I rebelled from most of their efforts, but I still recall the sheer amount of love that went into all of it as they were themselves trying to understand how to live in a land they were not born in, with children that were.
This past month, we were meant to go wine tasting in Mexico, but my kiddo threw up the night we were supposed to leave. So that didn’t happen!
So we spent our time locally during the break. We saw some friends and hiked in Malibu, we watched movies and we read books together and separately.
Here’s a pic from one of the daredevily hikes we did:
What I’m obsessed with
I just started reading Seeing Like a State by James C. Scott. Its more of an academic book, but some of the folks at Viable Paradise were talking about it so I put it in my library queue! It is somewhat refreshing to listen to an academic book as compared to fiction and standard non-fiction.
Our family is currently obsessed with Wicked, the prequel/sequel bracketing the Wizard of Oz. V has seen the play and watched the movie in theaters, and we are now watching it at home so that R and I can see it as well after watching the original Wizard of Oz. We talk about the story and whether things make sense, and whether it is seamless with the decades old film starring Judy Garland.
Craft Thoughts
As I continue on my works in progress, I am diving into understanding how to structure short stories, particularly those of the speculative variety. I started reading Meander, Spiral, Explode by Jane Alison, and have been consulting with my writer buddies about the various structures that make sense for the short form. I found a few short courses on the subject which I plan to take, and if anyone is interested in knowing what those courses are, please reach out to me or comment below!
Works in Progress
I’m continuing work on the piece that got me into Viable Paradise, and trying to finish up serious revisions on it no later than the end of this month.
I’ve also got a bunch of story ideas I’m hoping to make progress on this month. Lets see if that happens!
Speaking of goals, I set a goal to submit to at least 9 publications this quarter, and get 9 rejections. That’s about 3 per month; it seems doable to me, so lets see if I can do it.
Thanks for reading! Please comment and share when you can!