Hey everyone,

Here's a (less than) 1-minute read which left me thinking for long months after.

I hope you like it.

Feeling of Depression versus Clinical Depression in women – A thin line of demarcation

(Originally published in the Times of India Web, June 6, 2020, 7:38 PM IST)

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“I am sad.” 

“I am upset.”

“I feel like crying.”

“I feel disappointed in myself.”

“I am depressed.”

Those could be random disheartening mood swings from daily life. Or, those could be hints towards an impending doom of a clinical disorder that is tiptoeing unnoticed. Ironically, the line of demarcation is so thin and fragile that often clinical depression is passed off as an ordinary mood swing.  And still often, random malady of daily stress passed off as a self-proclaimed depression. 

The fact however remains – ‘feeling of depression’ is hugely different from ‘clinical depression – both literally and figuratively!  Psychiatrists across the globe have been continuously urging us to  understand the difference while we tend to substitute one for the other undermining the severity of latter. 

One major sign of Clinical Depression is when the feeling of misery lasts most of the day, every day, for more than two continuous weeks. If it does, the person needs urgent medical help. 

If it does not, the person might need further observation or social support and kindness to deal with the situation. Sometimes a small gesture, as simple as sharing a good news, can make the person feel better and can help break the chain of distress.

Earlier this month, a close friend lost his wife to clinical depression. She committed suicide at a lone corner slightly away from her home by hanging herself. In a courageous and most honest confession that my friend made to public, he wrote how they had been seeking psychiatric help for last two years, how nothing seemed to work in her favour, and how lockdown worsened it. An outspoken extrovert that she was, we did not get to hear a single complaint, whimper or sign of struggle from her during all these years. It was her personal battle. It was the battle that she fought till the last with a loving husband and doting children helping her get better with each passing moment.  

The gait of depression is as quiet as giant. It does not make much noise until it takes a life away. Sometimes, therapy and medical help also fail. 

Still stranger remains the fact that Clinical Depression tends to hit women twice or thrice as much as it does men. At some point, we do see intersectional convergence of mental health with feminism. As per a report shared by Pew Research Centre, mental conditions like post-traumatic stress disorder, borderline personality disorder, depression, anorexia and even eating disorders have a tendency to  inflict women twice or more as much as men. So much that women are three times more likely to attempt suicide than men.

The reason lies in cultural makeup of our society which is largely patriarchal. For instance, when a woman develops symptoms of a mental condition, she begins to get judged for her illness right at the onset. Even a slight deviation from her expected roles increases her chance of getting called out with terms as ‘crazy’, ‘lost it’ or ‘insane’. This depresses her further, thus, driving her into a vicious, non-ending circle. It is not surprising that in most cultures, not even a word of empathy is shared, let alone medical help. The only tests that families rely on are not laboratory driven experiments but stereotypes set by the society.  

In urban set-ups, where women are mostly working professionals, self-reliant and independent, it becomes increasingly difficult for them to escape the entrapment of commoditized mental health as if it was a commercial package. How bemusing that common lures entice women to treat themselves with an array of fad choices –– try yoga, juicing, sleeping, cutting sugar or gluten, moving country, travelling or installing a meditation app! If that is not all, continuous email spamming by Counseling centres as a one-stop help solution adds to the hubbub! 

In times when we need substantial measures to combat clinical depression, all we get is a gambit of promotional, unverified, commercial choices. 

It is time we ask of ourselves questions that matter. Are there enough rehabilitation centres around us? How equipped are small towns with psychiatry help and counseling? If they are, how long is the waiting queue of patients outside the clinics because often clinically depressed patients need urgent help? Also, are the therapy charges affordable for common people or does it burn their pockets to seek long term Psychiatry and Counseling sessions? Is psychiatry treatment cost subsidized by government machinery? What is the support system for patients to induct them back into a normal routine life once their treatment is over or do we make them re-enter the same scenario which actually led them to a mental condition? 

In turbulent times such as these when the lockdown has forced us to remain indoors, has cut community assimilation, given us more time to let the devil prowl in our mind and restricted social support — the vulnerability to skew towards a mental condition has increased abysmally. 

The only thing that seems to work is a timely medical help! 

Let’s not forget that pain is real but so is hope. 

Corona times are the greatest for a non-fashionista

(Originally published on the Times of India web, April 27, 2020, 12:51 PM IST)

In one month of lockdown due to Cornoa virus outbreak, I have complained around every important activity –sweep, mop, cook, work-from-home in random schedules or quit community gathering activities. However, if there is one thing I am truly comfortable with, it is the suspension of fashion in my life.

Corona times may have banal outcomes; it is but a period of utmost gratitude for a non-fashionista like me.

I have always hated dressing up – be it for office, parties, gatherings, conferences or even for a workout in the gym. It has felt like a pain! How cumbersome to match the right shirt with the right pair of trousers, both meticulously ironed and then further team it up with correct socks and shoes – day after day, occasion after occasion. What adds further misery to the annoyance is to make a choice of suitable make-up (not mandatory though), hairdo and a permutation of related accessories to enhance the look.

Of late, life has come around like a boomerang to a non-fashionista’s prayer, rendering itself simpler than ever.

With workplace having moved to home laptop screens, meeting and seminars to webinars and community gatherings to digital portals, it implies – no one will be watching what I wear! Hurrah! All I’d have to do is to put on a decent shirt over comfy pyjamas and worn out tee, dab a shade of lipstick, comb hair bangs and zoom the webcam to cleverly capture just the face. Mission Deception is successful!

No qualms that my hair has overgrown like branches of a tree from every wrong side, eyebrows blossomed like a dense bush over my forehead, traces of uncoloured hair turned into a grey forest, yet I am unashamedly unbothered. The salons and parlours are locked down, you see, leaving everyone helpless (what a brilliant excuse)!

In last one month, the maximum choice I have made with regard to dressing up has been between a few comfortable shorts and tees. Did not realize how cathartic would it be to lose sense of collection my wardrobe has maintained over a period of years! I no longer remember the shades or variety of dresses, office suits, sarees or shoes it stores. Besides, neither there is a pressure to buy clothes nor to keep them in order!

Corona has fuelled my fire to live a minimalistic lifestyle. There is no place of fashion in my life any longer, not even a bit. Yet no single important activity seems to have stopped. Life has only become better. I now dress to survive. I neither judge nor get judged. The bug of apparel consumerism does not bite me any further. I have forgotten what a mall, fashion street or online shopping page looks like without a whimper. I have stopped consulting youtube fashion channels or makeup tutorials for rescue hacks to save my world. Nor do I cringe for wanting to look a certain way on some special occasion.

For some, fashion could be a sense of self-expression (which is appreciable) but it always has felt like a load on my head to cover up the real self. If they tell me wedges, fringes and tassels, it makes me think of bushes and not hair styles. If they tell me olive, teal or rose, it takes me to a flower garden and not to skin undertones. If they tell me about angled, contoured or flat strokes, it leads me to painting palettes and not to makeup brushes.

Am I not well-read in image management? No, I pretty much am. But my mind refuses to get wired with fashion theories and fundamentals compared to the feel of original skin. Do I care? Not anymore. I have learnt to embrace the naked reality of simplistic living.

And therefore, I now look how I should – in the truest sense of self. I can count my grey, feel botches on skin, accept a unibrow and fall in love with every little flaw in the body. My energy has diverted to eating right, building mental strength and nurturing a healthy self, which certainly has no place for pretension.

Soon, Corona will fade away leaving us in our new skin. I have picked mine and it is called ‘minimalism’, and I plan to hold on to it for the rest of my life – happily.