A Proper Newsletter
The hustle life is never straightforward
Hello!
A lot of you have reached out to ask me how I manage to send out these newsletters every 30th without fail. Amidst life, writing is one thing, but actually sending the words out in the world like little bottled missives is a monumental task and my standard answer to everyone asking me is “I don’t know.” It’s true. I don’t really know how I manage it — life gets busy and my date of choice is 30th of every month, the very tail end when life gets a little too strenuous, the pocket gets that much tighter and yet, here I am, in your inbox.
I guess we always make time for the things that matter.
Yet, time remains such an enigmatic quantity. I’ve written an essay on time called “On Time.” It’s currently out in the publishing markets finding a home. I hope it lands on its feet and stands beside other similar essay. I can’t wait for you to read it — it was a mind bending, life altering couple of months when I wrote that essay. It also got a distinction when I submitted it for my creative non-fiction module. I’m a little proud of that, just a tad.
Yet, time runs out and I scramble, every month, to get these newsletters to you. Recently, in a meeting with my professor Luke Williams, he told me that all writers are hustlers in some sense, and I couldn’t help but smile and nod. Writing is such an un-straightforward profession, not that others are straightforward, but being a writer, and actually writing, and from all of it making actual money that can sustain and help you live your life are widely different train tracks and it’s only in rare instances that these lines converge. But there are moments when they do and to reach those points, that’s what the hustle is all about. There is a part of the Piccadilly tube line, just before the train arrives at Kings Cross where in the darkness of the tube you can see another train travelling the same direction as you on a track right next to yours. An opening in the tunnel and the two trains are parallel, and in that motion, both trains feel frozen, and its like you’re looking into a mirror, an alternate world, an alternate track and bam, the walls close in and it all disappears. The hustle for writing is similar — for fleeting moments on the path, things come together and you glimpse something beyond the ordinary black walls. And the more you travel down that line, the more often you get a chance to glimpse it.
(Sometimes I wonder if all of this is making sense or if I’m just rambling away to no end. And if this is a ramble, I thank you for being here, still, reading on. I write this for you.)
But on other occasions, when the train is hurtling away without an opportunity to glimpse something new, the travel can still be as exciting. Like these newsletters. Recently, I received an email from a friend who shot one to an unknown list of friends telling us all she had delivered a baby, his name, and how the two parents were so happy. There was a picture too of the three of them in the delivery room looking so very tired but so very happy. I was overjoyed and I sent her a big virtual hug. But it made me think — wasn’t what she sent an actual newsletter? A letter containing news of immense importance, a life update?
Maybe I should start using these newsletters in the same vein to give a big life update too. But it feels too straightforward — how then will I glimpse the alternate paths I could have taken? Yet, I believe some updates need to be said. Spoken out loud. Written with words on a white page, screen, hologram or virtual reality. Somewhere in the digital landscape. And that’s just what I am going to do.
I’m getting engaged to my partner next week, on 1st of November in an intimate family scene and I’ll be getting married early 2024. Such a simple sentence yet holds the weight of my entire life, our entire life, and everything moving forward. Remember that “On Time” essay I spoke about earlier? I wrote that for her, to her and in many senses of the word because of her. The best part of me comes out when we are together and I want more of it, I want more of her, so much so that I’m putting a ring on it. And through some twist of fate, she thinks similarly enough that she wants to put a ring on me too. Rings of power that rule us all.
Here we are. We get engaged within two days. Despite the overwhelming number of things one must do to get an engagement party set up this newsletter hits your inbox. Time, time is short, but we manage to make the time for the things that matter most to us. Like for me, you.
While there is much to celebrate in my life, there is little to be happy about the state of the world. It gets to me. Bubbles up and explodes out in the form of words. Here is a little poem for you that shot out of me in the depths of a night.
I’m thinking about the spider
outside the window
At home in London
While sitting in Bombay,
Wondering if its giant web
caught a great meal today.
I’m thinking about the yellowing leaves
On the fig tree in the garden
And I’m thinking of the leaves falling
And how when we return we may rake them up
Or let them sit, yellow patches in green grass.
I’m thinking about the turn of the seasons,
How predictable,
The summer, hotter than the year before,
Followed by the changing winds
Before the cold, colder than before, kicks in.
And I’m thinking about the evenings
Families huddled up together
To share their warmth.
How many people don’t have a family?
Or a home to somehow, someway
Survive the cold.
I’m thinking of the cold-heartedness of
Those who look but doesn’t see
And I’m thinking of the wars
Fought in distant lands
That are closer to home
And how many define a home
And how many will be forced out
And how many will be unwilling to move and cease to be,
And how many will become refugees.
I’m thinking about the governments who
Will close their doors to the stateless
And I’m thinking about the ice in their heart
Which makes them blind
And I’m thinking about the fire in their heart
Which makes them raise a hand
In the name of a country, a religion — just names,
And I’m thinking about the children caught in the crossfire
Growing up alone
If given a chance to grow up at all.
While here I sit,
In distant Bombay
As the October winds heat the city
As they always did
So winter — whatever that is — comes again.
I hope the spider living outside my window
Caught a great meal today.
Someone deserves to call a place home
And eat a good meal
While the cold seeps in. Until next month,
Remember, time doesn’t run, you do,
Akshay
You’re reading Missives from an Island a newsletter by Akshay Gajria. This newsletter is delivered to your inbox on the 30th of every month. You can also find Akshay on Twitter (X), Instagram, and Medium. If you enjoyed reading, consider tipping him by buying a cup of tea (or three) here or buying his ebook (linked below). You can discover his work at akshaygajria.com
