By Bhadra

here’s the podcast version –

Chapter 1 : The Early Days

As a child, I used to enjoy my own company a lot. I had plenty of activities to pass time, ranging from talking to myself to making DIY art projects, playing dress-up, taking self-portraits, doing a 10-minute ab challenge, jamming to songs loudly, and grooving to them with innovative steps the world may never see.

I still have paintings of birds, flowers, unicorns, and galaxies that I made as a kid and teenager. I remember watching YouTube videos on how to draw a horse, or searching Pinterest for “galaxy painting with quote ideas”, without feeling even an ounce of shame for seeking inspiration online. I wasn’t afraid or ashamed to admit I didn’t know things. I was just excited to learn and explore. I was open to learn and explore.

I’ve never been a particularly gifted artist, but that never seemed to matter. The moment I picked up a brush and made the first stroke, the rest of the painting almost drew itself. I look back at those works now and think: I really did make something worthwhile.

Recently, I tried painting a little something. I decided to browse Pinterest for ideas, and I’ll be honest, I felt like an imposter. Like a burglar lurking around to steal someone else’s work. But I chose to sit with the guilt and go ahead anyway. I started painting one with a pink night sky with the moon and stars.

Somewhere along the way, it became my own.

I used white yarn as borders for my clouds and filled them in with cotton. I played around with tinges of green and blue for the sky, and a pale yellow for the moon. What came out didn’t look like my reference. It was different. It was imperfect. But it had soul. It had me in it, my individuality in it.

It was definitely inspired. But if art isn’t meant to inspire, then what is it meant to do?

I still have videos of myself choreographing to random songs, creating my own steps that feel absolutely hilarious to me now. But back then, I was genuinely having fun. I wasn’t recording for an audience. I was recording for myself; unfiltered and free. I would pretend to be a contemporary dancer and emulate the steps I saw on a Malayalam Dance show I adored back then, “D4Dance”.

I distinctly remember looking at myself in the mirror and giving interviews… after becoming famous, of course. Famous for what changed depending on whatever I was obsessed with at the time. I was a famous actor one day, a dancer the next, sometimes even a social activist. Pretty much Barbie; I could be anyone I wanted to be :⁠^⁠)

I would embody their body language, use the words they might say, and speak at length like I was some seasoned expert. I’d talk about sociocultural issues I’d noticed, as an activist, about acting as my ‘craft’, dancing as a meditative flow where your body just ‘becomes the music’. It sounds silly now. Or maybe… not?

Because that imagination helped me articulate my thoughts better. It made me more confident as a speaker. And above all, I had so much fun while at it.

As for dress-up, i would mix and match jewelery, different clothing items and makeup and hairstyle, and do ramp walks in front of my mirror and call it a ‘Fashion Lookbook’ inspired by an Indian Youtuber ‘Sejal Kumar’, who i admired back then. It was just for the joy of dressing up. No audience, no pressure. Just me and my mirror. I’d then take self-portraits, which are now equal parts hilarious and embarrassing to look at. Here’s one that I am least embarassed to show you:

Done laughing? Hehe. Regardless of how I see it now, I was truly happy being by myself. I didn’t need anyone else to keep me company. In those moments of solitude came my most creative sparks. In those moments came personal growth and the quiet growing of my talents. Not that i am a big deal now, but if i am anything now, it’s ’cause of uninhibited her then.

As a child, I did things simply to keep myself company. Not as a performance, not to prove I was worthy or artistic, but just to have fun with myself. In fact, I don’t remember being bored as a child.

Chapter 2 : The Noise

Then came the internet black hole. Especially after COVID, there was a sudden overload of talent, information, and pretense. The boom of YouTube, Reels, and the comparison trap. I started thriving on little sparkles of dopamine that fizzled out so fast, I kept scrolling endlessly, hoping to catch that spark again. I began comparing every bit of my creativity to strangers online. Everyone seemed better. Everyone seemed to live fuller, happier, more exciting lives.

I started believing that unless my art had an audience, or a price tag, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t valid until so. I was swept away by the numbers online.

I started a photography page on Instagram but stopped posting after the initial rush of motivation because I found my pictures unworthy of public display and attention. And after a while I stopped clicking pictures altogether because if i ever did click something, I would inevitably compare it with stranger creators online. If I didn’t click, I didn’t compare and didn’t feel insecure.

And then college.

In college, there was somebody to do everything with.

Somebody to go to the gym with.

Somebody to go to the mall with.

Somebody to share a meal with.

Somebody to sing with.

Somebody to dance with.

Somebody to walk with.

Somebody to binge a show with.

Even somebody to study with.

There was always somebody.

And somewhere along the way, I forgot what it felt like to do anything without anybody. I remember having errands to run but feeling almost handicapped to go get them done alone. If I ever craved a specific meal from a certain restaurant I would ask every single person I know to accompany me. When nobody turned up, I would feel lonely and pathetic. It’s embarrassing to think of it now.

Meanwhile, my attention span also grew restless. I couldn’t read a paragraph without zoning out. I couldn’t get through a podcast past the five-minute time stamp. I couldn’t even finish listening to a full new song.

Chapter 3 : The Slow Return

Lately, I’ve become hyper-aware of this restless state of mine. I’ve been trying to unlearn these habits and teach myself how to enjoy my own company again.

To sit with silence. To focus. To be.

I’ve been working on my attention span, gently redirecting my energy towards more thoughtful pieces of information, and towards art that nourishes. I’m learning to be curious again, to create again.

Every time I come across a new piece of work online, I tread carefully.

I try not to compare. I try not to just admire or envy.

I try, instead, to be inspired, like I once did.

I’ve been taking baby steps. But they’re steps forward. And no, I’m not fully there yet. But this journey has taught me a thing or two.

The most important thing, if you ask me, is to be ready to be uncomfortable. When you start learning to play the piano, the keys feel too far apart. Your fingers stumble. Playing multiple notes at once is awkward and confusing. But the first time you hit a chord just right, there’s nothing more fulfilling.

This applies to every art.

And yes, that includes this art as well: the art of slowing down, the art of solitude.

Chapter 4: Becoming Your Own Company

When you’re relearning how to enjoy your own company, it might feel strange at first. It might even feel boring. That’s okay. You’re simply teaching yourself something you once knew and forgot.

If you can just push past that initial discomfort, if you can stop yourself from picking up your phone just once, you’ve already passed the first test. Remember when you first learned how to ride a bicycle? You kept losing balance. But there was someone holding the seat from behind. Be that person for yourself here.

Do something small. Dance in front of your mirror. Jam to that one song that never fails to lift your mood. If you used to paint, try painting something tiny, even on the back of a receipt or an old CD. Don’t feel like you have to show it to anyone, unless you want to. But don’t hide it just because you think it’s not “good enough.” Art is supposed to be imperfect. It doesn’t need to win or impress or outperform. It just needs to exist. There’s room in the world for your art too.

If that feels like a win, try something a little bigger. Take yourself out, to a cafe, a bookstore, or a restaurant. Go to the mall to shop alone (window-shop if you’re broke). Reclaim the joy of your own company, one little adventure at a time.

One thing I’ve never done but really want to is go to the theater and watch a movie alone. There’s still a little inhibition around it, but I’m working on it. Once I do it, I’ll let you all know.

Coming back to you, let me be honest: you might have forgotten how to be when you’re alone. You might feel like people are watching you; like you’re sad, or awkward, or strange for being by yourself. But the truth is, most people aren’t watching at all. They’re far too wrapped up in their own little worlds. The discomfort is mostly in your head.

I say this from firsthand experience. When I recently went to Vietnam, I booked a scooter ride on Grab (basically South-East Asia’s Rapido) and took myself on a morning cafe date. I journaled. I scribbled a few verses of a poem. I clicked pictures of myself, some making weird faces, others capturing the quaint little cafe. This used to feel intimidating. But that day? It just felt easy. No one cared. No one stared. Everyone was busy living their own life.

And I walked out with the kind of smile that comes from showing up for yourself, from trying something new, just for you.

It won’t happen today, or tomorrow, or the day after. It’s a gradual shift. It took me a couple of months to truly enjoy my own company again. So know this, it doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow return. A quiet homecoming, one that needs you to keep inviting it, over and over again.

When you start enjoying your own company, really enjoying it and finally put your phone away, you begin to hear yourself again. You stop needing to fill every silence with noise or every moment with activity. You learn how to sit still. You learn how to really see a moment. You notice what you never did before. You learn how to be a child again.

Your mind slows down. The anxiety may begin to quieten. There is more headspace for creative thought and reflections. You begin to become self-aware.

In a world where the size of your social circle defines your likeability and where the hustle culture is glorified, be a rebel! Reclaim your time, your headspace, your curiosity and moreover, your solitude.

SOLITUDE IS NOT LONELINESS.

So, this week, take yourself out. Or stay in. Just do something, anything, that is only for you. You might be surprised at how good your own company really is.

Here’s hoping this nudges you to reconnect with your inner child.

You are your own best friend. You just forgot.

evolving. becoming. being.