Rosalyn D'mello: The bittersweetness of doing nothing

My very existence and identity are hinged on this continuing articulation of my self representational PicThinkstockIt seems in retrospect that I chose the end of winter to hibernate For at least one week I shut myself in my apartment in Delhi and didnt step across its threshold Whatever groceries I needed I ordered online because I had no cash in my wallet and couldnt be bothered to exit my safe haven to go to an ATM There were social engagements friends visiting from out of town and it wasnt that I didnt want to see them or see people in general I suppose I was simply exhausted from all the travelling I needed to be holed in and not have a reason to change my clothes I rejected most phone calls and didnt willingly make any I simply stewed in my own solitude in a deep intense passionate way and was a little frightened by how much I enjoyed itOf course four days into this selfimposed exile I was afraid I was exhibiting signs of depression I know all is not right with me when I voluntarily do not wash my hair in five days However I gathered that as long as I was making my bed every morning after I awoke and was taking a daily shower and cooking for myself I was not exhibiting symptoms of any mental illnessI bingewatched Parks and Recreation and absolutely invested my energies in Leslie Knopes character played by Amy Poehler who along with her bestie Tina Fey are my female comedian sheroes I got to the end of season six and actually gasped The show had the balls to depict a woman who truly had managed to have it all and was neither clinically insane nor lonely Mostly I felt energised by how Knope who starts out as deputy director of the parks and recreation department always managed to get things done mainly through ethically viable ingenious means It was immensely gratifying to have another female role model to add to my growing television cannonMy break from the world was interrupted by a few assignments but was otherwise marvellously uneventful But soon enough I began to contemplate the vast reserves of guilt I seem to have stored within my consciousness much of my guilt circling around the very capitalistic notion of productivityEvery evening as Id watch the sun slink behind the eucalyptus tree from the window in front of my writing desk I started to ask myself if I had done enough Had the day been worthwhile What had I accomplished What tangible output did I have to show for it Because so much of my writing is done through a series of distractions I tend to forget by dinner time that I managed a 2500 review plus another deadline plus a bunch of reading besides also cooking for myself and doing my fair share of housework This is not to mention the days when I do not write a word and the thoughts in my brain are not transcribed at allAs a feminist Ive read numerous scholarly articles about the emotional labour performed by women as daughters wives mothers and housewives But my predicament in this case was different It had to do with intellectual labour As a fulltime freelance writer my livelihood is governed almost entirely by my rate per word therefore my earnings are impacted directly by the volume of my output But every piece I write every column review feature or essay is the consequence of hours spent first in subconscious then distracted angst Each time I write I have to tell myself that whatever I am writing is not beyond me Sometimes I feel like a conjurer like I have to make words out of nothing or out of nuance only or a feeling an intuitionUnlike an actual labourer who earns a daily wage at the end of my day I know I will not have built or demolished anything I will have nothing to show On some days all I will have done is procrastinated and on those occasions there wont be any physical manifestation of my work Even when I do write and have my pieces published there is never a guarantee that they are readWhich is not to say mine is a thankless occupation It is however a humbling one Why do I continue to do it Because it is a calling a vocation Because my very existence and identity are hinged on this continuing articulation of my self My words are the sweat of my brow the flesh of my soulDeliberating on the life and times of Everywoman Rosalyn DMello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover She tweets RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbagmiddaycomCatch up on all the latest Mumbai news crime news current affairs and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here Also download the new midday Android and iOS apps to get latest updates