The Power of Solitude: A Funny Journey to Self-Discovery

There’s power in being alone. Not the dramatic, stormy, brooding-in-a-dark-corner kind of alone, but the serene, chai-sipping, thoughts-meandering alone. Ever since Alka fell ill, I’ve discovered a new superpower: loving solitude. It's not that I didn’t enjoy alone time before, but this newfound relationship with myself has turned into something of a rom-com montage—me, a quiet room, and a growing sense of clarity.

For starters, spending time alone has helped me understand the world. Did you know that a dog barks exactly at 8:30 pm every day? Neither did I. Alone time has turned me into a Sherlock of suburban mysteries. From deciphering the cryptic language of pigeons on my freshly painted A4 501 Nandan Prospera  balcony to analysing why people insist on using cha-maila to express surprise, anger, self- flagellation or as a mild expletive solitude is a classroom where the syllabus is endless.

As Alka’s illness kept me grounded, I noticed something peculiar: people and their visits became scarce. At first, I chalked it up to their busy lives, but then I realised something deeper. People often shy away from illness or hardship, not out of malice, but discomfort. It’s easier for them to send a thinking-of you text than to show up and face the fragility of life head-on.

And that’s okay. Solitude has taught me to stop taking it personally. Everyone’s got their baggage, and some simply don’t know how to carry yours alongside theirs. I’ve learned that true friendship isn’t measured by how often people visit but by who shows up when it counts—whether it’s with a bowl of varan-bhaat, a kind word, or just their quiet presence.

This newfound understanding of human nature has made me oddly empathetic. I get it now: life’s tough, and not everyone has the capacity to offer comfort. And while their absence can be disturbing, it’s also a blessing in disguise—it clears the noise, allowing me to focus on Alka, myself, and those genuine connections that truly matter.

Then there’s the joy of learning about myself. Turns out, I enjoy talking to the shot-glasses or fridge magnets (they are Alka:s prized possession from our travels and are patient listeners! ) and narrating life’s small victories, like finding two socks that actually match. I’ve unearthed long-lost hobbies too: reading books, listening to music, daydreaming, and that inexplicable need to not worry about the patina of dust everywhere.

Most importantly, alone time is my fortress of solitude where I guard my energy. No unnecessary small talk, no neighbour gossip, and absolutely no fake concern on anything and anybody outside my home. It's blissful silence, like hitting the Do-Not-Disturb button on life.

Simon & Garfunkel’s I Am a Rock is such a brilliant song—it perfectly captures that bittersweet interplay between the strength of solitude and the walls Ive built to protect myself. That line, “I have my books and my poetry to protect me,” feels oddly comforting to me as I strum my guitar to the S&G classic. It’s as though they’re saying, “Hey, it’s okay to find strength in your aloneness.”

But what makes the song so beautiful is its irony. While it glorifies my kind of isolation, there’s an undercurrent of yearning for connection. It’s like I'm trying to convince myself that being a 'rock' or an “island” is all I need, but deep down, I know it’s not the whole truth.

In a way, it mirrors Alka and my present journey. Spending time alone does make you stronger, but it’s not about shutting the world out completely—it’s about recharging so you can reengage with more clarity, love, and resilience. You’re a rock when needed but still anchored to the people who matter.

Here’s the kicker: With every quiet moment, I’m better equipped to support Alka, love her, and make her laugh with my fridge-magnet dialogues. Alone time isn’t lonely—it’s the secret ingredient to being her superhero.

And honestly, who needs a cape when you have peace, perspective and Alka around you!