On September
The Plunge— a term aptly used to describe the period of time when one has left their familiar environment, entered another, and, after an initial honeymoon phase, sinks into a kind of disorienting, depressive loneliness. It’s said that this period reveals and forces confrontation of deeper issues. This term is part of a larger set of emotional stages typically introduced to college students before they study abroad for a significant time, though it was presented to us during our Fulbright orientation as well.
In September, I plunged. Though it was not what I expected. (In a moment of arrogance, I have to admit that I thought I could temper my plunge or maybe avoid it all together with a combination of work, distractions, and sheer will.) I was forced to move gently through the month. It was a period of time spent mostly indoors, mostly in bed, and mostly inside my own head.
Some of the plunge was outside my control. I fell ill for the first time and spent a week in bed with a bad head cold and low-grade fever— nothing too serious but enough to dampen my spirits and long for the comforts I could not have (a $6 tub of Pho Tai broth from Pho 54 Noodle Bar, a hug). I barely got to teach in September too, as it marked the end of my student’s 1st term (on a trimester system) and thus meant intense subject review and exams. No time for extra english classes outside of their curriculum, which is what I teach.
It was also around the time that the delight of my solitude— something I majorly looked forward to on this journey— finally wore off. I found myself listless and unfocused in all this free, open time with no social distractions, as well as frustrated at the oxymoron of it all. Compared to August, I read a fraction of as many books and wrote little of anything substantial. In fact, the only thing I can say I accomplished was binging all of Ted Lasso. The thing I was missing, I think, was the social life. The already built-in community of people who could act as a sound barrier to my echoing, endless thoughts reverberating in the emptiness, or as a soft place to land when I was tired of listening to myself think. They were still there, of course, but it’s different when you have to consider time zones and work schedules— by then, the thoughts had passed.
I told you all in the beginning, I promise you only the truth. It’s important to me that I capture as much of the dreary times as I do the exhilarating ones. And there were indeed exhilarating moments in September— most of these occurring as a result of my first trip outside of Chennai, to the temple towns of Kumbakonam and Thanjavur.
We traveled to Kumbakonam on the overnight train (finally, a horizontal traveling experience for my poor, Economy-battered neck) as representatives of the U.S. Consulate to meet with university students participating in a local ACCESS program, a program run by the embassy that offers English language classes. My fellow Chennai ETAs and I had been asked to give a short lecture on tips for job interviews. Before the day of the lecture, we ventured out with the Consulate posse to Airavatesvara Temple and met ahead of time with the students, who had prepared a multi-person guided tour of the temple. Built between 1143 and 1173 by Rajaraja II, a Chola Emperor, the structure was an inconceivable masterpiece. It was the start of a whole weekend of temple hopping (they don’t call it the town of temples for nothing). We concluded the trip by driving 40 minutes to Thanjavur to what they call the Big Temple— Brihadisvara Temple. Based on the crowds, I got the sense that Brihadisvara is comparable in popular culture to the Statue of Liberty or Mount Rushmore. Beyond that, there was no comparison. As the sun began to set, we strolled barefoot through the gargantuan premises just as it was turning golden in the twilight and I was convinced that I’d never seen a more beautiful man-made place in my entire life.
There is something about these ancient edifices. It feels awry to even stand near them, let alone inside them; these structures that saw the Cholas fall, that watched the British Empire come and leave, older than the Black Plague and the Aztecs and the Bible. And now, somehow, here I stand on its weathered stone. Another insignificant human that will come and go like everything else has. It’s the same way I feel when I’m in the mountains— like just another small animal enjoying a short life on an adrift ancient rock. Nothing more. It’s a good feeling if you don’t let it sit for too long.
Beyond my travels to the temple towns, September fell flat. And I want to honor it for what it was— a slow time with a few golden moments. It is silly to expect any experience, whether its a 9-5 job in DC or a Fulbright Fellowship in India, to be a ride of only highs. It’s silly, I suppose, to expect anything in life to be. What it did give me was time to be gentle with myself and my body, to learn more about guarding my energy. It allowed me the opportunity to forgive myself for not being productive (still working on it). And it let me ruminate on the maxim “Be curious, not judgmental” spoken by Walt Whitman, brought back to me by (embarrassingly) Ted Lasso, and molded by me to fit my circumstances of severe self-criticism. Instead of being judgmental of the state I was in emotionally, I decided to be curious and ask why. Only once I found those answers could I forgive myself and move forward without self-resentment— onto October.
October sneak peek: Durga Puja in Kolkata!!!, a new term, visits from friends