Toska

Before I put any of my work out into the world, the loudest voice in my head always asks the same thing: who is actually going to care?

None of this makes sense. An Indian immigrant, writing in his second language, giving his book a Russian title, and trying to translate the heavy, quiet language of grief and love.

Outside of my MSc in Computer Science, reading and writing have always been a hobby for me. I post poetry, prose and essays on my Substack, An Anxious Nomad Collective, and I research and write content for the Roots of Reality podcast. Most of my writing is built from words I’ve borrowed from the books, music, cinema and art that have inspired me in some way.

One of those is a passage from a novel called The Idiot that I noted down a while ago, a memory of Prince Myshkin’s:

“He remembered how he had stretched out his arms towards the beautiful, boundless blue of the horizon, and wept, and wept. What had so tormented him was the idea that he was a stranger to all this, that he was outside this glorious festival... Everything knew its path and loved it, went forth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing, understood nothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature’s voices; he was a stranger and an outcast.”

I have been thinking a lot about that glorious festival. With the lights of Diwali fading, the release of my first book, and another trip around the globe for me, the world expects a celebration. But reading my own words back, I realize that in all their rawness, they are profoundly sad. Because I am sad.

That sadness is what turned a hobby into a book. Most of these pieces first appeared on the Substack. After I lost my dad, they stopped feeling like separate posts and started reading like one story. Volume One collects them, cut and reordered for print into four movements and a letter. It closes with a letter to my father, a form of a eulogy I gave for him. The book is dedicated to his memory.

Beneath the poetry, the milestones and the finished chapters, I hope these words reach someone, and I hope they matter.