Bit of an introspective post to start off with, but here we go.
If you know me, you’ll know that up until a few months ago I was gearing up to enter the film industry. I had a job offer at a production house where I had already interned at previously, the pay was pretty much what I wanted, and it was going to take me to possibly my favourite city in the world: Bombay.
You might also know that I recently completed my Bachelor’s in Mass Communication, and it was one hell of a three-year ride. I spent a lot of it trying to fit into the mould of a perfect media student: working on student films, writing my own, powering myself on momos and beer and this vague dream of making it big by starting embarrassingly small.
It was a fast-paced life and, being in the midst of it, I found it normal. Something could be said here about a frog in a pot of boiling water, but it wasn’t exactly like that. It was possible that I knew somewhere, deep down, that I wasn’t cut out for it. But like most people my age, I was willing to pretend.
So pretend I did. My friends liked to joke that I never really knew what I wanted and, in the beginning, it was true. I joined the course with the intention of specialising in Public Relations. In my second year I was moved particularly by one of our courses called Social Change Communication, and vowed to pursue a career in journalism or documentary filmmaking. Then I attended the Mumbai Film Festival in late 2018, and made more filmy friends, and thought: you know what? Maybe I want to make films.
In fairness to myself, I did happen to discover a genuine passion for film over this tumultuous journey. But my second internship in the industry — two months spent in Bombay, working on several ad films and going sometimes for days with little to no sleep — introduced me to a life I had never before imagined for myself. I had not thought to include inane working hours, sky-high levels of stress and a constant feeling of slipping in my vision of adulthood. And yet here I was, at its brink, already beginning to fall.
I think it's an open secret in the film industry, especially in this country, that you spend a lot of time and energy preparing yourself for failure. The years and years of working as a measly Assistant Director, sometimes even taking up jobs in tangential departments like Costume and Production until someone, somewhere, notices you and gives you your big break, is a tale as old as time. We’ve all heard the same stories about persistence and dedication. One of my favourite people in the industry had a similar rags-to-(some)riches story, and I found it inspiring. I would tell myself: that’s going to be me in just a few short years. Never mind that as a woman who spent a majority of her time outside India and, as such, doesn’t even like watching Bollywood films that much, the odds were stacked against me. Never mind that, deep down, I knew this wasn’t the life I wanted for myself. Never mind all of that: I was willing to sacrifice everything for my one in a million chance at success.
Then the world succumbed to a global pandemic, and my life — much like everyone else’s — came to a grinding halt.
At the beginning I was bereft, and felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Our last few weeks of college were called off, as were our final exams. Up until my last day of college, I had been doing what I do best: spinning uncontrollably under the disguise of productivity, never pausing anywhere long enough to rest, eyes always set on the next item on a long list of things to do to get where I wanted to be. All of that evaporated seemingly overnight. One day I was in a stuffy college apartment with my best friends, talking excitedly about the summer we would spend together in a brave new city, waiting impatiently for the first day of the rest of our lives. And the next day I was home with my sister, looking out of the window at a suddenly quiet world.
When it became evident that the pandemic wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was I, I began to adjust my expectations. So I wouldn’t be moving to Bombay in May: maybe later, then. What could I do in the mean time? I joined an online course on scriptwriting, which I just as quickly abandoned. I spent hours upon hours completing my last few online college submissions, but then the last deadline was met, and my last Viva was given, and… now what?
We began to cook: Mom, Didi, and I. Experimenting with little recipes we always wanted to try. Nachos with cheese. Mee Goreng. In a truly unprecedented feat, we spent one afternoon making butter chicken and butter garlic naan from scratch. It was delicious. After our indoors Easter Sunday Mass, lunch was a rich Kerala chicken stew with appam. One day, after spending a week dreaming about it, I set out to make a Pork Noodle Soup in an attempt to recreate one of my favourite comfort meals when I was in Singapore. It came out better than perfect, so much so that I cried into my bowl. We began watching MasterChef Australia every night and, inspired, attempted to make pasta from scratch. It was lumpy and thick but we took refuge in the fact that it could have been worse. Recently, Didi invested in a pasta maker for the house. Our first endeavour with it was to make spaghetti bolognese which, and I say this with no amount of lightness, blew my socks away.
You’re probably thinking at this point: OK, so? You’re pivoting to cooking?
Let me tell you about some other things I’ve been doing. I spent the month of April participating in National Poetry Writing Month, a global effort by countless poets to write one poem every day for a month. For the first time ever, I succeeded in penning down 30 poems in as many days. In fact, I had more! And I was actually proud of a few of them, proud enough to share them online, even.
I spent one evening emptying out the cupboard above my study table, and sorted through journals and memorabilia — handwritten notes from friends, photographs, even old essays — left over from my school years. Drowning in memories, I began to write: an attempt to remember the childhood years I spent in countries so far away from this one.
I also began to teach. In an effort to keep myself busy I had sent out a flyer at the start of May, advertising my qualifications in public speaking and acting, and offering training for these skills. I received many queries but only one turned into a student, who was interested in one month of classes. My lessons with her were a mix of public speaking, acting, writing, and interpersonal skills. She was 16 and reminded me of myself at that age: eager to learn but lacking the confidence to really put herself out there. And so I tried to embody my mentors at that age: an English teacher in Singapore whose firm encouragements helped me battle my worst confrontations with depression, and my Acting teacher whose friendship in many ways changed my life.
A few days after my lessons with her came to an end, I sat by the window and very quietly revisited a lifelong dream of becoming a teacher.
I found I was terrified to even consider it. Even as a restless part of myself was immediately at peace with this idea, my brain was in turmoil. But I have plans! I remember thinking. Bombay! Filmmaking! But in the face of that attempt at logic I found myself sure of one thing: that my previous vision of the next few years had no doubt been leading me towards a burnout. However, it wasn’t just that. It’s embarrassing to confess this, but a lot of my reservations came from wondering: What would people say? What would my friends say?
Because, you see, to them I had been so sure. I imagined them asking me: What happened? And maybe looking at me with pity as they came to their own conclusions: I was too scared. I chickened out. I saw the years and years of struggle that were laid out for me, and I decided not to take them. I lacked the courage to do so.
And none of that is entirely untrue. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and the truth is that I was scared. But the greater truth is that this other option, this quiet suggestion at the back of my mind, was no less daunting. Mom has been a teacher for most of my life, and I’ve seen the amount of stress she’s dealt with through those years. But I also know the gentle fulfilment I’ve felt during my brief experiences as a teacher during this past month, and also a few years ago when I taught grammar and communication skills at an elocution center. That feeling, I realised, trumps any amount of trepidation.
So yeah, we have arrived at long last at the point of this post. I am pivoting to teaching.
I’m still the Krys you know and possibly love. I can’t watch a film without fitfully coming up with a mental list of things I would have done differently. I will always think fondly of the amount of work that goes into a 30 second commercial. But I’m also attempting to get in touch with another side of me that I had been getting ready to neglect for the foreseeable future. The side of me that actually likes quiet evenings inside, cooking a meal for her family, spending the evening in the throes of a particularly good Agatha Christie.
If your question is: what next? Know that I’m still figuring out the answer to that. For now, it looks like I might pursue a Master’s, and maybe take it from there. You’re free, of course, to text me if you want to know more, or even if you just want to berate me for managing to have another identity crisis.
I’d apologise for the length of this post, but I’ve always liked taking the long way home.