Ratika Deshpande

From: Ratika Deshpande
To: Jarrod Blundy
Subject: What does the sky look like where you are?
Date: April 2, 2024

Hey Jarrod, I hope you’re well! It’s the second day of April; my family and I will be moving out of the city in less than a month. We’re recording very high temperatures–a normal occurrence now, unfortunately–but lately it’s been pleasantly windy. The other day I woke up at 4:22 am and when I stepped out into the balcony a cold wind blew past me, as if it were October. Even during the day, a strong breeze dances through the house, in through the balcony, out through the front door.

How’s the weather there? I remember seeing this post on Tumblr last year where the blogger argued that discussing the weather isn’t small talk, and I agree–there’s such beauty to be found in it (although it’s not so easy now that the effects of the climate crisis are catching up with everyone). Especially now that the days are longer and the evening sky isn’t obscured by the fog anymore, we’re rewarded with a beautiful sunset almost daily. Every day is a surprise. I’m a big fan of taking a break around 6 pm and walking out into the balcony to see what the sky is up to.

Weather is one thing you can turn to when everything else is bleak in life, I’ve found. I’ve had some bad days recently, and none of the usual tools–listening to music, writing to vent, distracting myself on YouTube–really worked for me. Evenings have become something to look forward to. I used to take my phone with me up to the terrace, to take pictures of the colorful sky. This year, I haven’t done so. And I’ve found it to be very freeing, to just sit there and enjoy the view. The absence of the weight of the phone in my hand is amazing; I don’t ever miss it, and it was so easy to forget that I had a tool that would let me capture the sky in some way.

It’s ironic, isn’t it, to want to capture something like the sky–to contain what cannot be contained?

I could talk about the sky all day, honestly. It is so common a thing, yet every time I write about it I find there’s something new to say. And right now, given what’s going on in my life, it’s all I find myself capable of writing about.

What does the sky look like where you are? Pictures are easy to share, but I’ve found great joy in using just words, because they don’t limit me to just the sight, the way a camera does. I can also note down the shouts of the children playing down in the street, the call of the eagle swooping overhead, ideas for essays running through my head, questions about how clouds form and what our earliest ancestors felt when they saw the setting sun, not knowing the science of what was going on, among other little details.

Can I perhaps politely challenge you to try and make time to enjoy a sunset today, and tell me about it only in words?

Whatever you choose, I hope you find some [peace] in what are, the world over, not so inspiring times.

With best wishes, Ratika

From: Jarrod Blundy
To: Ratika Deshpande
Subject: RE: What does the sky look like where you are?
Date: April 5, 2024

Hey Ratika!

Today is April 5th, and I’ve been thinking about your message for the past three days. I hope you’re well and that you’ve had some better days come your way.

I’m so glad that you brought up the weather. It’s what we all have in common, so it’s only natural that weather is so often the conversational icebreaker. Good or bad, there’s very little we can do to control the weather. We just have to — heh — weather it.

For someone whose professional life is ruled by weather patterns, you might be surprised by how little I look at the forecast. Sure, I’ll keep an eye out for major disruptions like storms or heavy snow, out-of-the-ordinary highs and lows. But do I know what the temperature is going to be the day I go out for a hike or when exactly the highest chance of rain is? Usually not. I need to be prepared for inclement weather either way, so it doesn’t ultimately matter what the meteorologist expects will happen — just what actually does and we never know for sure until it really happens.

Your description of your evening escapes to the balcony had me wishing I could experience it alongside you. I love a good balcony; will your next home have one? That same dancing breeze, unsure of which month it is, has been making an appearance here too. Though it brought 60-degree weather to us just weeks ago, the last few days it carried thick, wet flakes of snow and temperatures back down to the 20s.

I’m writing this email from the passenger seat of my car, plunked inconspicuously under a conference center’s small parking shelter in the middle of nowhere, just before I’ll curl up in my sleeping bag for the night. The prices for staying in their cabins for this conference were exorbitant, and I like the comfort and…coziness?…of sleeping in my car. I often daydream about “van life”, hitting the road and living a nomadic life of self-sufficiency — oh, the romanticism of it! Maybe someday. But then again, uprooting to a new community is challenging. Are you looking forward to a fresh start outside of the city? Dreading it? Somewhere in-between?

It’s ironic, isn’t it, to want to capture something like the sky–to contain what cannot be contained?

That’s in our nature as humans, I think. We cannot grasp the concept of infinity, so we try to shrink it down to something that can be grasped. We count and map the stars. We categorize every weather pattern. We name every color of the sunset. I remember being a young child, maybe four or five years old, when my dad went skydiving. My mom, sisters, and I went to watch him take off and then sail through the sky back to earth. Before he took off, I wouldn’t let my dad leave without promising me that he’d capture a bit of cloud in a jar for me on his way down. I can still feel wisps of that disappointment that only a young child can conjure when they don’t get something they think they’re owed. (I didn’t comprehend at the time that I should’ve been thanking my lucky stars that he simply returned to the ground safely, jar of cloud or not.)

In honor of your challenge, the other night when I went for a run along the wooded road by our house, I took my earbuds out of my ears and simply observed and experienced the world as I moved through it. The sky was roofed by thick, yet innocuous, gray clouds that did not betray the oncoming storm they hid. The breeze whistled in my ears, helpfully masking road sounds and keeping me cool as I plodded uphill, eyes on the sky. I knew the evening light would fade steadily, evenly, and without the benefit of a painter’s full palette for its sunset. But those days are fast-approaching when I can sit atop the climbing crag at Baker Mountain, bathed in sunlight, and watch it transition from golden to crimson to palest pink to twilight. Though I love all the seasons, there’s no denying that by the end of the last, I long for the next.

Without segue, a new topic: routines. I love hearing about how people spend their day, so I’m curious: What is your typical morning routine, and how does it differ from your idealized one? If possible, my challenge to you: Make one morning follow that ideal plan. Is it as good as you imagined? What was unexpected about it?

Take care,

Jarrod

From: Ratika Deshpande
To: Jarrod Blundy
Subject: Re: What does the sky look like where you are?
Date: April 13, 2024

Hey Jarrod, I just stepped out into the balcony to check out the weather before sitting down to write this reply. It’s unexpectedly dark outside for 2:46 pm on an April Saturday. There’s no sun, only heavy grayness over to the west. There’s wind, although we also have the fans turned on inside the house. The sky is a color that refuses to be named; it is at once peach and grey and beige and white. I can’t think of anything to compare it to. In On Writing, Stephen King says that while people can go, “It was so beautiful I couldn’t describe it!” a writer should be able to give that description. I can’t, however, and that makes me happy, because it means I’m truly paying attention to a thing without simultaneously taking notes in my head. It means that I’m looking at something that feels beyond words. And every such occasion is a chance to truly live. I wish for everyone to have such experiences.

You mentioned that you don’t look at the forecast often. It reminded me of the winter that just went by–it started late, but when it did arrive it was severe. We had lots of soups, kept all doors and windows shut to keep out the chill, and huddled in the same room all day, running the hot-air blower as we knit and wrote and studied. Every few hours, I’d open the door to the balcony (yes, my new home will have one, and we’d be one flight of stairs away from a large terrace!), or step outside for some errand, get hit by the chill, then check the weather and announce it to everyone in the house. I’d usually add various exclamations in Marathi, as if my mother and sister couldn’t comprehend how cold 6 degrees Celsius actually is. My mother sometimes found it pointless, jokingly asking me if I’d somehow suddenly start feeling extra cold just because the forecast said so, and I have to admit that there was some truth in that. We must do what the weather demands! And I love winter, so the colder it is, the happier I am.

A night spent writing in a car sounds quite exciting; I should try writing in places I’ve never done so before. What might I come up with just because of a change of place? That question has been on my mind for the last several weeks as we pack up our lives here. We’re still two weeks away from the move, so it feels like being stuck in the middle–things are ending here but they’re yet to begin there. I’ve visited the city before but only for a few days at a time, and I’m looking forward to exploring it with my sister and new friends.

Mostly, though, I’m excited that we finally have a place of our own, a place to decorate and paint as we like, a place to fill with the smell of chai and the laughter of silly jokes and collective snores from afternoon naps.

Your story about getting a piece of cloud in a jar made my day; I couldn’t help but imagine it as an illustrated children’s book. Oh the things I’d get made if I were rich! It also reminded me of a sweet little story I read recently, “The Ramparts of Night” by Iori Kusano. I hope you like it too!

I’m glad you were able to enjoy a nice evening while out on your run. Looking at the sky is a great pleasure, and I envy your chance to be able to do so from beautiful vantages. You get to experience awe in more than one form!

(The clouds just roared, a sound that excites me to no end.)

You asked me about my routine; unfortunately, April has no intentions of allowing me anything of the sort. The month didn’t start on a good note, and although I’m better now, there’s work that needs to be done now that I’m done sulking and crying. When that’s done, there are friends to meet before leaving and things to pack. I have the opposite of a routine right now.

I don’t have an ideal routine, truly. The reason will take up many pages and is something I still haven’t articulated to myself completely. There was a long phase until recently when I felt that after years of following routines, I liked not having one at all. But too much freedom isn’t really helpful either, so I’m looking forward to July, when I’ll start my postgraduate studies. Regular classes will force me into a rhythm, and I think I’d do better that way.

Right now, the only thing I’ve been requiring myself is to wake up at 6 am, so that I can stand outside in the balcony with a cup of chai and just look at the world: there are a few people down on the road, returning from their morning walks, getting ready to go to school. Shops shutter open, the birds start calling, cycles pass, ringing their bells. I can’t see the sun, only its gauzy light falling on the white walls of the building across the street. Beyond it, there’s the shikhar (spire) mast of the temple, its orange-red flag waving in the morning breeze. There’s sound, but not noise. People may be late for the day but the world looks as if its moving slowly, taking its time. These fresh, languid hours are one of the few things I love about summer, and I’m glad that I’ve gotten my sleep back on track so that I can wake up on time to truly enjoy them.

What about your routine, both current and ideal? And while we’re at it, what would it look like, if anything were possible, and you weren’t limited by time, space, or money?

With best wishes, Ratika

From: Jarrod Blundy
To: Ratika Deshpande
Subject: Re: What does the sky look like where you are?
Date: April 18, 2024

Hey Ratika,

Peering out my second-floor window, the sky is a heavy true black. Last night, the bright silver half-moon graced me with its presence, inviting itself through my bedroom window to keep me company as I dozed off. This evening, it seems to have taken the night off.

On Writing has been on my to-read list for quite a while. If its contents have anything to do with how eloquently you write, I think I’m going to have to move it up towards the top! What a beautifully descriptive and evocative letter. 🙂

You and I are birds of a feather regarding the weather. I, too, would typically prefer it colder to warmer, and a warm winter is just a disappointment. Especially now that I’m pursuing more outdoor winter sports, the more snow and ice, the better! I saw a quote today in an advertisement for a rain jacket that has stuck with me: “Trust your coat, not the forecast.” A good reminder that the weather can always change, so be prepared. Maybe your mom would nod along to that advice.

I expect that you’ll find all sorts of new things to write about come moving day and beyond! A change of scenery, and routine, and the exploration of new things always get my creative juices flowing. I hope you’ll find both peace and spontaneity in your move. And a cozy reading and writing nook.

Thank you for recommending The Ramparts of Night, I loved it! This bit was perhaps my favorite:

As soon as Ayane turned away, Masae clambered to her feet and made another grab for her own sleep, stretching out both arms like she wanted to give it a hug. She’d drag it all the way back to the futon with her; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d wrestled sleep into submission. It was a feeble thing, like a cotton puff stretched too thin, but it was the best she had at this point.

“Macchan, here you go,” Ayane said, returning, and walked face-first into Masae’s sleep.

As a night owl, I relate quite closely with Masae, and I, too, am paired with an easy, heavy sleeper. My wife can fall asleep anytime she wants, and often when she doesn’t! My mind races and I always feel like I’m running out of time, so sleep gets neglected. But when it’s within my grasp only to be obliterated by this sharp sound or that bursting idea, well, it’s disappointing. Does sleep typically come easily to you?

(I never think of clouds being capable of a roar. I’ve always considered sky sounds to be reaching me through and despite the clouds, not emanating from them. But now I am curious.)

Although it may not be ideal, your 6am easing into the day sounds lovely. Getting a sneak peek at the world before it’s realized you’re there to observe. It’s not often that I’m awake early enough to catch the day breaking, but when I am there’s nothing quite like sitting quietly, fulfilling the role of witness.

My current routine is haphazard and rushed. I set my alarm for the last possible moment I need to awaken and still have time to shower, dress, feed and let out the pets, pack a hasty lunch, and microwave an on-the-go breakfast sandwich. I don’t love it — my ideal routine would probably start earlier, with time for exercise and reading, but would require a drastic change in my well-established habits.

But, one small step after another will eventually get you anywhere you want to go. Which, I suppose, includes going to bed at a decent time. And although I’ve missed “decent” tonight, I think I can still make “acceptable”.

I hope your sleep greets you warmly and easily as an old friend tonight.

Jarrod

P.S. I wonder if you’d talk more about your efforts to simplify and consolidate your online life, cutting out the inessentials? That budding conversation from we first met has been waiting in the wings of my mind. How did you decide what to discard and what to keep?