Rosalyn D'Mello: Settle down, with yourself

One evening, it dawned on me how much Iâu00c2u0080u00c2u0088missed my alone-ness. Pic/Thinkstock

The holy quivering of violins surrounds me (thanks to John Tavener) as I compose my thoughts so that they can be assembled into something coherent, so I can make sense of all the delicious madness echoing inside my head. I have begun working on my second book. I know this now for sure. I've titled it 'The Miracle of the Loaves and the Fish', since it is, at heart, a book about the generosity behind the act of feeding. It is also, I learned a few days ago, an epistle to my best frie­nd, Mona, and concerns itself with the subject of ecstasy: spiritual food. I have been researching the lives of certain saints, the euphoria of specific poets and writers, and other manifestations of rapture, however mythic or presumably real, for instance, alleged rumours about how when Annapurna Devi, who played the surbahar and the sitar (but rarely ever to an audience), performed her daily riyaz, the air in her home would be redolent with the scent of sandalwood, as if she was a conjurer of sorts.

The weather in Delhi has been ecstasy-inducing, too - lush winds that cause dizziness among leaves of trees, sudden dramatic downpours, overcast skies that give momentary respite from the otherwise dry heat of April. Each shower seems like a miracle, because the temperature drops and it's unexpectedly pleasant. There is no need for air-conditioning.

After a month of travelling, I feel at bliss back in my apartment. Since my sister returned to Mumbai, I am flatmate-less once more. And though I'd decided to put a message out there in case there was someone looking for a room, after I returned and turned on all the mood-lights one evening a week ago, and listened to Coltrane as I sipped on an unusual cocktail I concocted with Old Monk and kokum syrup, topped off with a squeeze of sweet lime and a dash of rock salt. As I listened to Coltrane playing 'In a Sentimental Mood', it dawned on me how much I missed my alone-ness, how precious it was to think aloud, to read aloud, to write aloud, without the interruption of another person's presence. I decided I would work a little harder every month so that the extra bedroom could remain a space for visiting guests, so I didn't have to commit to having to make daily compromises with another person in order to pay my rent.

When I was interviewing artist Sudarshan Shetty in Mumbai 10 days ago over lunch, I asked him if he felt "settled" in some way, given that he became a father in his mid-50s and is happily married to an artistic wom­an. "People like you and me don't have the luxury of feeling settled in that sense," he said to me. It made perfect sense. In fact, it reminded me why I enjoy the company of artists so much, because even if their lifestyle encompasses a degree of conformity, if you scratch beneath the surface, you'll find a kind of erratic spirit, an uncompromising affinity to the creative soul, an unparalleled obsession with the practice of art making that goes beyond the currents of middle-class stability. His sentence intrigued me, because later that evening, when I met Jose Neil Gomes, the musician I performed with, I noticed that the wallpaper on his phone screen had two words on it, 'Never Settle'. I had been a bit preoccupied with the concept of settling, because I'd been in Goa, with my parents and my sister and her fiance, and given that she had decided to get married, she was privy to many of my relatives congratulating her while saying I should also consider "getting settled". It irked me, because in my head I am already "settled". Most societies conflate one's marital status with being settled. I, who live independently, am financially stable, even have insuran­ce policies to my name, mutual funds, fixed deposits and gold, a regular column, a book, and over a thousand articles with my byline to my credit. How on earth can I be perceived as someone "not settled yet"?

The world betrays single people in insidious ways. I recently came across a term that embodies the stigma attached to it - Singlism. I think it was why I was so disappointed with the gynaecologist I went to a few days ago, because instead of having an honest discussion with me about the repercussions of my uterine fibroid growing in size, she chose to treat me not as a patient but as an "unmarried woman" whose uterus had to be preserved at all costs.

Never before in the history of Indian society have so many women chosen to live alone, instead of succumbing to the pressures of marriage and child-rearing. If you are one of them, I urge you not to let anyone second-guess your state of contentment. If someone asks you to consider settling down, have the bravado to say you already are. With yourself. And that you are happy. Because in the end, that is what matters most of all, and let no one tell you otherwise.

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com