Cries of an Unmarried Widow

Orange purple skies. Sunlit cotton candy clouds. "Demn!! This is so beautiful.. where is it??" I replied to her story. "Ikr! It's Shimla", she responded. The rest is history. Sounds too Gen Z? Why not? After all, I was reliving my Gen Z teenage dreams.

I had just joined the National Institute of Design (NID), India's best design school (apparently). PG21, as they called us, the 2021 Post Graduate batch. The social butterfly in me was in pro max mode. I was (obsessively) messaging everyone from all three campuses – Ahmedabad, Gandhinagar and Bangalore. After all, I had finally gotten into NID after two failed attempts. I had to make the most out of it. Networking has long been my second nature. Connecting with people has never felt like an effort. From building Discord servers to creating WhatsApp groups, I am sure I did more community building than the professors of NID.

I was mindlessly sending rapid fire of "hi" and "hello" to everyone I could. That's when I came across a girl from the photography design department. I started talking with her. I thought that at least connecting with the students from the photography design department would be nice. What if we end up collaborating on a project?

As I look back today, I wasn't wrong. We ended up collaborating on a project in due time. In fact, on multiple projects. And the most intimate and heartfelt body of work I have ever produced was with her. The story of the project is for another day. Coming back to my love story. Little did I know that this brief encounter would change my life forever.

I had always wanted to study abroad. It wouldn't be far from the truth if I said I was drawn to her when I heard she had done her bachelor's in Melbourne. I was deeply drawn to her spiritual depth, just as much as to her quiet, effortless beauty.

We would have conversations about my brother, who passed away long ago. She would share about people she had loved and lost in her life. She understood death more than anyone I had ever met in my life. Someone, after years, was touching a suppressed wound in my heart with such softness and care. A renowned psychotherapist from England, I discussed with, told me during our conversation, "She brought your brother back to life." That statement moved me. I paused for a moment and thought about it. Maybe he was true.

I still remember the first book she recommended I read as we were talking about my brother's death and healing. It was "Many Lives, Many Masters" by Dr. Brian Weiss. I had read the book end to end in a few days. I was in tears by the time I reached the last page.

Book recommendations became a daily ritual. So were conversations around death, grief, music, art, photography, books and nature. From sharing songs on Spotify to sharing pages from Rumi's books every morning, that conscious ritualistic exchange has been one of the most beautiful things I have ever experienced.

I had fallen hard for a girl I hadn't met in person yet. She felt strangely known. An obsession of sorts was growing to the point that she would creep into my dreams.

Fast forward a few months, one night, she told me that she wanted to share something. When someone says, I want to share something, without actually sharing it in the moment, you better be prepared for what's coming. The long message came. She clearly said that she didn't have space for anything romantic in her life. She was going through things, and healing was important for her, and she didn't want to give me false hopes.

I understood what this meant.
Her honesty, perhaps, saved me years of betrayal trauma, but triggered a new avalanche of rejection trauma. I gulped the hard pill.

That night was brutally painful. With an aching heart, a choked throat, and a numb body, I cried an ocean. I took out my phone and took about 3000 screenshots of our conversations on WhatsApp and Instagram. It was a funeral of sorts, bequeathed to the death I saw coming.

I wonder sometimes why I cried. What hurt me this bad? I still don't have the answers. Was it because she rejected me? Was it because she didn't even think of giving it a chance? I couldn't find an answer to that one question that kept ringing in my head — why wasn't I enough to even be "considered"? Why did she not want to even meet me in person for once? Why didn't she want to go out on a date? Why? Why? Why?

That doubt swallowed me whole. Overthinking everything I could, I filled all the rooms of my mind with doubts and despair. Also, the NID campus is perfect for overthinkers. You get absolute freedom not to do anything and just daydream and overthink. I stopped attending classes, missed film screenings, and lost interest in everything. My friendships began to fade. I was like a lifeless body moving on campus; sadly, nobody wanted to befriend a dull soul.

That hurt me even more. The same people who craved to meet me and become my roommates had started avoiding me. The same people from my film course who always wanted to be friends with me didn't even call me to their outings in Ahmedabad. My health deteriorated. I lost weight.

I was emotionally drained. I had to look for a way out.

Going home to Bhubaneswar wasn't an option. I didn't want to disappoint my parents. Neither was going to the Himalayas a feasible option. Due to the COVID-19 restrictions, the college would be closed and reopened abruptly. In January 2022, when they shut down the college again, I decided to return home. I shared everything with my parents. I cried. My parents saw me in tears. It was one of the most vulnerable moments in my life.

One day late at night, I started googling: "best design colleges in the world". I wanted a new beginning. Somewhere far. I didn't want to go back to NID. I couldn't have the courage to be in a place where I had vivid memories that had never happened.

I would read more about RISD, SAIC, SVA, RCA, TU Delft, and other top art and design colleges worldwide. Slowly, the notion boards started getting filled up. I would reach out to alumni of those colleges via Instagram and have conversations with them.

Somehow, London sounded "cooler" than most cities. It truly is cooler and colder than most, pun intended!!

One night, finally, I didn't follow my usual (overthinking) routine. I sat down in front of my computer and filled out the application. Finally, I applied to RCA. The fucking, Royal College of Art, London.

Most people think I went to the Royal College of Art because I had it all figured out and didn't like the course in NID. But I didn't go there because of any of those reasons. I just went there to escape. That night, I had ignored my "impostor syndrome" to the best of my ability.

I waited for months. An email came one day. RCA waitlisted me.
From March to June, I was still on the waitlist.

I had given the second-semester fees for NID by now. I lost hope. I almost forgot about it, and I least expected an offer.

Then, after months, one day, the offer letter came!! I was in. I couldn't understand what happened. Was it real? I was in the FVC studio, reading the email with happy tears. I talked with a friend from product design who received an offer from RCA a year ago. We talked about London, the cost of living, the loans and why he chose not to go to RCA.

That night, I called my father. I told him I want to go to RCA. I am okay to leave NID. My parents knew about what I was going through. My father asked me one last time if I really wanted to go. "Yes", I said.

And there was no looking back.

But I had no money. I was surviving on my father's money in Ahmedabad. I was determined by then to make it happen. I began chasing every possible source — education loans, government schemes, and scholarships. I wrote to the district collector. I called friends connected to the Ministry of Education in India. I even reached out to the head of my department at RCA, the student body, and the alums.

Nothing worked.

We couldn't get an education loan easily. My father was about to retire. Art schools don't inspire much trust in bankers.

I tried every NBFC I could think of — Avanse, InCred, Auxilo, you name it. Each time, the same thing happened. They'd initially seem interested, ask many questions about my financial history, then worry about my father retiring soon, and finally reject me.

Eventually, my father's friend who worked in LIC told us we could get a housing loan against our home in Bhubaneswar. We started the process of getting a valuation of our house in Bhubaneswar. It came to over a crore. We use the valuation report to get the housing loan. That's how we scraped together around 30 lakhs through a housing loan.

Since the Visa process invalidates such deposits, I couldn't have shown this amount suddenly transferred to my bank account. They must see a consistent amount in your bank account for over six months. Then we added another 15 lakhs from our funds to get a fixed deposit to show the bank we were creditworthy enough for an education loan. Finally, with that FD of over 45 lacs as collateral, SBI gave us the education loan we needed for the visa.

All this for a dream I didn't even know how to explain. I still didn't know how I'd pay any of it back.

I kept applying for scholarships. Kept writing to RCA. Weeks passed. I kept writing to them again and again. I also wrote to the student body, the scholarship committees, and sometimes the HR and IT teams. Thank God they did not block me.

I relentlessly tried for any scholarship I could find — Chevening, Commonwealth, Inlaks, and many others. But most deadlines had already passed, and they mentioned that the process had to be started at least a year prior. I realised I was operating in the eleventh hour, trying to get things done.

But I kept writing. I didn't lose hope.

I would question at times whether I should go for it. Will it be worth it? Will it add a significant financial burden on my family?

But a part of me always kept pushing me. My inner voice was asking me to go for it. I have always wanted to experience this, and I wanted so badly for this to happen before I turned 30. Everything I went through in NID was a massive catalyst for me to apply for such a coveted place without fear. And I meant it when I told my father, I want to go for it.

On one side, I was letting go of something; on the other, I was holding on to something else with even more grit and conviction. But letting go of NID was not bothering me this time. The validation I always wanted after multiple failed attempts was already there the day I topped the entrance exam with AIR 1. This time, it was about dreaming big and chasing my dreams that felt beyond my reach at some point.

It was draining and frustrating to see those emails from RCA, which mentioned clearly that they prioritise scholarships for offer holders of the Round 1 applicants. I applied in Round 3 and got the offer in June!! Classes were about to start in September in just two months!! At this point, the odds of getting a scholarship were close to zero!

But I kept writing to RCA.

And then, one day, an email landed in my inbox: "Thank you for your interest in the RCA's Scholarship scheme. We have assessed your eligibility based on the relevant criteria and are pleased to advise you that you are eligible to apply for one or more Scholarships for 2022/23 entry."

They opened the official portal for me. I had to write about my journey, financial and social background, and why I deserved the scholarship. I called my friends who had gotten scholarships or were studying abroad. Their words of motivation helped me craft a letter without trying to undermine my achievement.

I wrote the 750-word letter. There was no ChatGPT then. I used Grammarly to refine my letter. If you wish to read the entire 750-word letter that I sent, please get in touch with me via email. I will be more than happy to share.

That night, I wrote the entire letter and submitted it with the required evidence. I wrote about being from the Teli community, an OBC (Other Backward Classes) group in India, about my father's modest salary. I didn't want to crowdfund my education because I didn't want to ask for money for an education in a foreign university when people struggle to make ends meet in my country. I have always believed in keeping crowdfunding limited to urgent medical needs. I should change that notion now, though.

What probably worked in my application was that I didn't hide the challenges — financial hardships, lack of access, systemic caste based disadvantages, and a deep disconnect between where I came from and where I wanted to go. More than anything, my clarity of purpose came through in how I wanted to use immersive technologies to design emotionally powerful, socially rooted artistic experiences.

I just wanted one chance.

Then, after just a few days, one morning in mid-August, I got the email: "We are very pleased to tell you that your application was successful and you have been awarded the Apple Scholarship. Congratulations!"

I wish there were a word for what I felt that morning when I read the email. I called my father and said, "Stand here... let's take a photo." I just wanted to keep a memory of this beautiful moment. I told him about the scholarship. I could see that pride and joy in my father's smile. That photo is one of my favourites. Both of us look stupidly happy in it. I would ask people excitedly and curiously about the exact scholarship amount. A few days later, a friend from RCA who also got the Apple scholarship messaged me: "Dude, it covers the entire tuition fees." I was boarding my flight to Ahmedabad from Bhubaneswar when I read it. That feeling! Omg! I wish I could relive it again!

The most important thing I learned was to ask. Ask. Ask again. Ask even when it makes you uncomfortable. Because sometimes, the universe doesn't say no. It just waits for you to mean it.

If you're applying to your dream university or looking for scholarships, I hope this helps you feel less alone.

After I landed in Ahmedabad, I messaged her that I wanted to share something special. I had hardly shared anything with her, and she spontaneously guessed, "Yes, I know! You got the scholarship!". I smiled. We shared a connection that felt deeper than what made sense, like we'd known each other before, somehow.

She was flying to Ahmedabad. I asked her if I could meet her at the airport. I don't know if it was about pampering my ego or sharing my joy, but I needed to share it with her. Perhaps, it was both. I wanted to meet her one last time before I headed to London. I didn't want to leave with anger in my heart. But I couldn't stay either. I had to begin something else. Somewhere far. We met at the airport. I'd brought her a copy of Show Your Work by Austin Kleon, and a print-out of the Apple scholarship letter was tucked inside it. I asked if I could capture her as she read it. That moment felt sacred. I was closing one chapter and stepping into another. I remember feeling both elated and sad — something ending, something beginning, all at once.

And strangely, I was grateful for how everything unfolded. It wasn't easy. But it brought me here. I had a thank-you note for her that I had scribbled down at the airport. She asked, "Why do you thank me?" I didn't have an answer. I could have narrated an entire film to her. But I didn't want to overwhelm her yet again. I smiled and shared whatever I could in the Uber ride to the campus. I was nervous, sad, happy, scared, excited and melancholic, all at the same time. I tried to keep my words simple. But I said many things that day that I shouldn't have. She stayed quiet. There was relief in her eyes, pride, confusion, tenderness. She smiled without words. She congratulated me. She told me to live my life.

And sometimes when I feel unsure of what I'm doing or who I'm becoming, I return to it. I hold her message in my pocket like a reminder and tell myself, "Dude, you'll be different. You are different. You're meant for bigger things in life."

Visa arrived a few days later. I flew to London. If you're hurting and need a way out, I hope this reminds you that it's okay to start again.

As the flight landed, I could sense a calm within myself. It didn’t take me long to feel at home. I am grateful to the people I met in London who made me feel so much at home. Maybe my story is already written here, and I can’t wait to see how it unfolds.

That scholarship didn't just pay for my studies. It paid for freedom. Money helps you buy things which you can't really buy with money.

I didn't have to work part-time. That transformed my entire experience at RCA. If someone has the capacity and luck to do so, one should definitely experience the RCA experience with a full ride scholarship in London. It's artistic freedom to its core. It changes the way you observe things and absorb experiences.

I didn't have to worry about rent every week. The loan I got from the bank for my fees was used for my living expenses. I read books and bought loads of books that I loved. I met people from different countries and went out with them to amazing places in London. Tate Modern and The Photographers' Gallery became my second home. I tried all the best ramen joints in town. I went to nightclubs, to gardens, to beaches.

I attended all my favourite concerts — from Coldplay in Manchester to Sigur Rós to Ólafur Arnalds. The Florence concert was the best. I danced like a crazy mad guy in an open space. Sleeping At Last was ticked off from my bucket list. SYML ticked off. Amber Run ticked off. Rahat Fateh Ali Khan ticked off. Atif Aslam ticked off. The Paper Kites, ticked off. The list is endless.

I lived my life, in short.

Okay, the list isn't finished here. I met Marina Abramović and got a book signed by her. I met Shirin Neshat and got a beautiful wish written for her in the book. I met Chris Do and got a lot of signed copies of his books and posters. It's an insane feeling to meet people who inspire you.

Amidst my entire king-size life, an ache persisted in my heart. I tried working on it. I went for therapy sessions with a fantastic therapist based in Mumbai, which was life-changing. I got to learn a lot about healing, attachment, and hypnotherapy. I got to understand past life regression therapy. Some sessions were very long, stretching to over 4 hours. Some were so transformative that I still remember how I felt during and after the session. Please let me know if you are going through a tough time and have an intuitive feeling that therapy might help you. I would be more than happy to share her contact. She is in her 70s but has the vibrance of a young lady in her 20s!

I worked on a deeply personal project in RCA. However, calling it a project feels limiting and wrong to me. I don't know what to call it yet. It turned out to be a profoundly healing journey for me. She happened to be part of it throughout. I'm still grateful for how she helped me navigate many unanswered questions. I asked her everything that had been sitting heavy on my mind. Some of those questions were brutally honest and borderline triggering, but she had the courage and patience to answer them. She took her time, and she shared everything with care and tenderness. It felt like a closure I never knew I needed.

I took photographs. I printed like a king, almost obsessively. I explored performance art. I made films. I made things I didn't know I had in me. I also wrote a lot. Filled up many journals. I went hard on analogue photography. I experimented with materials and learned more about phototherapy and auto-ethnography. I spent a lot of time in the RCA library. My entire time in RCA was a healing experience.

I fell in love with London.

Amidst all that, one day I received a long message from her. She said she no longer wished to keep in contact. She could sense that I still had feelings for her and pointed out how I had been trying to call her, overstepping her boundaries and not giving her the space she needed. She also mentioned that she was seeing someone and that it wouldn't be right for him if she stayed in touch with me.

I understood. I gulped down the hard truth.

It took me a day to process it all. But the next morning, I felt oddly light, like a free bird. I went out gallery-hopping with a London-based influencer and her daughter. It turned out to be a beautiful day.

Slowly, I began going out on friendly dates with new people in London. Kew Gardens became my favourite place to take someone on a first date. Hackney turned into my go-to spot for drinks and conversations.

By the time I finished at RCA, we weren't speaking anymore. I started seeing new people, more seriously this time. I was more mature. I took things with more lightness this time.

I was stepping into a version of myself. Nearing the end of my twenties, I began exploring my sexuality. I asked someone if I could kiss her on one of those early dates. She gently said she didn't see me that way. I smiled and gave her a soft peck on the cheek. We spent the rest of the night inside Colour Factory in Hackney. I was so happy to let the awkwardness dissolve into laughter.

A few months later, someone asked me if she could kiss me. I said yes. We made out. It was my first time exploring my sexuality with such freedom, without any strings attached. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either. I made sure not to guilt-trip myself and feel everything I was feeling. But the social conditioning I had grown up with made me overthink everything. It made me realise how shallow it might feel if you do not love the person you are intimate with. It made me rethink everything about coercion and sexual abuse. The weight of the stories of my female friends who have confided in me with what they have gone through has been heavy. Stories of rape, gang rape, sexual assault and molestation all make me rethink the notion of intimacy. How does someone heal from such sexual traumas? What does it mean to touch someone who has survived such traumatic things in life with care and consent?

In due time, I made plans to attend Vipassana, a 10-day silent meditation retreat. The first two days were tough. Sitting still for hours, without any conversation, felt deeply unsettling. An avalanche of thoughts crept in. My legs tingled from the prolonged cross-legged position. I felt restless at times.

I wasn't alone. Some participants left within a few days. The silence, discipline, and stillness weren't for everyone. The organisation was strict, especially about maintaining silence. Some were sent back for breaking it.

But gradually, something shifted.

By the third or fourth day, I devised a personal technique to help calm my mind. Instead of letting my thoughts spiral all at once, I began mentally sorting them — packaging them into little disks, shelving them like files. I told myself I could revisit them later, when I had the emotional space to deal with them. It worked. It became a mental filing system for the overload I often carry. Let me know if you'd like to learn more. I'd be happy to share it in detail.

Vipassana, at its core, is about observing your body and mind without reacting and seeing things exactly as they are. And over those ten days, I did. The noble silence helped. Anxiety loosened its grip. My sleep improved. I stopped eating after sunset, and to my surprise, it felt beautiful. Gujarati food was gentle, not too spicy. I loved the papaya, the milk, the rice and curry. It grounded me.

There's something deeply healing about stepping away from worldly attachments, even for a while. The stillness. The simplicity. It would be worth it if you could spare ten days.

Something else happened, too. I hadn't masturbated the entire time. By the end of the retreat, I could feel a different kind of energy pulsing through me. It made me realise how powerful it can be to preserve that sexual energy intentionally. The sensations are deeper and way more intense when it's finally released, whether through intimacy or self-pleasure. Almost electric. I wouldn't have understood it unless I'd felt it firsthand. It's not about rules or repression. It's about choosing presence over compulsion.

Vipassana helped me unlearn a lot of my reactive patterns, especially around overthinking relationships or holding onto past pain. In silence, I began to understand this: healing doesn't come from escaping your past. It comes from sitting with it. Long enough to let it soften, dissolve, and leave you just a little lighter than before.

At this point, I felt like I was ready for marriage. Financially, I wasn't in a great state. I still ain't. But emotionally, I was willing to build a relationship with someone. I went to meet some girls in my hometown in India. Typical arranged marriage style, you know! Whenever I would have a lovely, long conversation with someone, I would start daydreaming of building a life with her. But with time and some self-reflection, I would feel otherwise. It isn't easy to send the message to them that we won't be proceeding. It's tough. Most of the time, we would blame some astrological sign and escape the embarrassment of rejecting someone.

It was easier to tell someone about the differences in preferences around profession and take a step back. But it was difficult to mention that upfront when I wasn't attracted to someone. I know how traumatic it would be for a girl to hear this. I did not want to ghost anyone, but sometimes the only way out was to stop communicating. Thankfully, in an arranged marriage setup, silence is very clearly understood for what it means. I wish I understood this earlier. I sometimes wondered why I wanted someone who did not want me.

After several meetings with many prospective brides, I decided to stop looking for more and sort out my work first. I decided to come back to London for work. Mentally, I had postponed my marriage plans as such. I ain't a big fan of these matchmaking apps, so I was never inclined to these. I would get irritated to see my parents swipe through Odia matrimony. But then, one day, I found a girl on a matrimonial website a few days before heading to London. She was from Nayagarh, my parents' hometown, aka my village. I saw her profile in the app. It's called Shaadi dot com. A very popular matchmaking app in India. She was wearing a saree, and I told my mom she's pretty, from Nayagarh, and has studied quite a lot. I saw multiple master's degrees in her bio. We thought of getting in touch.

Before leaving for London, I got on a call with her brother. We had a lovely long chat. He was from IIT Kharagpur and was a close friend of a good friend of mine from my NIT days. That one long call was enough for me to get the vibe. He passed my vibe check. And I passed his vibe check. I went back to London. Later, my parents had a conversation with her family.

Insane to even think of it, but we had so many close relatives. That was a significant green flag for me. After my NID love story, I wanted a closely knit family, preferably from Odisha, to tie bonds with. But I had my ways to search for that spark with someone. My parents know me well. So they were very clear about how important it is for me to meet and know her. So they did not promise anything to them. I had always told my parents I would need a few months of conversations with someone before choosing them as my life partner. Thankfully, they have always acknowledged this. But deep inside, they are uncomfortable with such long conversations before marriage. At least they were clear about this and never tried to hasten my decision to marry someone without being thoroughly convinced.

I am happy they have always respected my choice. They shared her number with me. I texted her. We got on a call. First call. I hear her voice. I was like, omg!! Where were you all this time? I would love to listen to this voice for my entire life. What a lovely voice, the kind of voice I have always waited to hear. We continued having deeper conversations about life in the next few weeks. I vividly remember the day she told me about her love for nature and plants. I asked her what she would do if she had a lot of money someday. She told me that she would like to build a school. My heart smiled deep inside that day. I pray that someday we build a school together. My father would be so happy.

She's got discipline in her, which is enviable. I got a creative wilderness in me, which is also enviable. Together, we complement each other so beautifully like Yin and Yang. She makes sure I exercise regularly. She reminds me to have warm water in the morning. Little things like these make me feel so loved.

All my life, I have always been a giver of love, whether platonic or romantic, always silently craving for the love to return to me. But rarely have I received it the way I wanted, from the people I have wanted to. It took a lot of self-reflection and healing to let that craving go. It took a lot of luck to have my wife in my life. I'm slowly learning what it means to love and to let myself be loved. That line from The Perks of Being a Wallflower feels truer with time: "We accept the love we think we deserve." It's painfully true.

I am scared about my career trajectory, though. I still struggle today to pay my rent. And it hurts to see the interest on my education loans being deducted from my father's pension. I want to earn well and pay off the loans soon. But it's so tough to crack opportunities in the artistic space. And it's so draining to use all the creative energy in selling shoes and beer. I am so lucky to see my wife love and respect my profession in the creative field. It matters a lot to me. My mom still wishes to make me an IAS officer, though! LMAO! I have been trying to tell her how different a trajectory I am on, but mom's heart, you know! She believes in me so much that she feels I will get through if I appear for the IAS exam! Anyway, it's all on a lighter note. She is confident that I love what I do and will earn good money someday. Apparently, some astrologer has predicted that someday I will earn a lot of money! A crazy lot! I am even waiting to see that day! Haha!

I'm deeply grateful for the life I've lived so far. I've been lucky to have good health, to be surrounded by kind people, and to grow up with grandparents who instilled in me a love for learning. In a world torn by war and violence, I often pause and realise how much of a privilege it is just to feel safe, to be nurtured, to be curious.

I grew up in a world where sexual desires have been perpetually shamed or silenced. That silence has shaped me. That has led to being obsessed with a person, even with little attention from them or any minor sexual hint from them. I have been trying to understand the roots of my relationship with desire and how it continues to shape the way I show up in the world. The way I see my purpose in the world. The way I see relationships. The way I see friendships.

If you've made it this far, thank you. You're an incredible reader; I don't take your presence here lightly.

May we all courageously let our dreams evolve, even when they scare us. May we gather the wisdom and grit to pursue the ones that truly matter.

May your pursuit make you feel more alive, more often. So that when death finds you, may it find you alive.

Thanks for reading.

Abodid

This reading material is an excerpt from the ongoing research body of work Cries of an Unmarried Widow.