One fine Sunday morning, when I was making French Toast for my father, I wondered – What am I doing with my life? Is my decision the right one? Did I make the correct move to accept a job that would shake my life?
And then, I heard my 2 year old niece talk to her mother. She had trouble making her own decisions. She wondered out loud with her mom – Should I wear the blue underwear with Lola on it or the red underwear with a yellow teddy on it?
Simpler times. I wish I can go back to making such decisions.
Yet, I love our lives.
Yesterday, I felt my end was near.
There was a sharp, shooting pain that took birth from my ear till my chest. Numbing my face, making it difficult to speak.
Fear rose in my chest, leaving the tiny red beast within the confines of my rib cage in a tizzy. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Yet, I could feel it. My end was near.
There was a serene acceptance. Almost embracing the fate that seemed sealed within the confines of my mind.
I wondered if you would remember me. I wondered if you will look at my typed out words, resting in your phone and feel loved. I wondered, if my words would help you feel cherished. I wondered if you could finally feel me next to you.
The day sailed by, without any physical incident to the little red beast. It was still beating. By night, it slept restlessly.
Then there was dawn.
I had survived.
But my words still hung on in your phone with a silent hope in my being that those words would still have an effect on you, which I cannot define.
As soon as the bus halts at my stop, I find myself rushing to cross the road. Forgetting my fear of crossing roads. Rushing like a mad woman to climb the three tiny steps and stand next to this jolly man with his hair parted in the centre. Just this. The man with the magical stall of wonder. My Pani Puri walla.
He nods his greeting and silently thrusts a small bowl made out of dried leaves in my hand. He puts on his gloves, takes a puri from the stacked heap, cracks it open, fills it with masala aloo, dips it in the spicy tangy paani and places it gently on my bowl.
The first Puri, when it touches my tongue and cracks open in my mouth, the flavours explode! Melting away all the frustration and stress of the day. I feel comforted. Sometimes, this spicy beauty soothes my soul better than the saccharin words of my dearest friend.
The flavour brings out the vivid colours of the darkening night skies, and as it starts refreshing my soul I can finally hear things around me. Till then it’s just my Pani Puri walla filling my bowl with my beloved street food, comforting me silently, without understanding the chaos in my mind.
By the end of maybe ‘one plate’ or even two, I don’t even feel guilty about my indulgence.
Rather, I feel happy. Content. Comforted.
The mother held her baby in her arms as she rocked her gently. She sang that sweet lullaby in her soothing, gentle voice. Her dream of wanting to be a singer was fulfilled. She had an eager audience. Her daughter calmed down. Her breathing became regular. Her eyes heavy, until it was unbearable to keep them open anymore. She was finally asleep. But the mother continued to sing. Repeating the verses, enjoying the lyrics as she imagined dedicating each words to her daughter. Singing her emotions to her. Till the song slowly faded on her lips. Her eyes rested with the trailing verses.
The day came to an end. Another battle won. All that mattered was her baby daughter in her arms.
Regardless of whether you care or you don’t about this situation of yours, do not let yourself get sucked in that pitiless black hole.
You don’t have to take one day at a time. You don’t have to do anything that everyone asks you to do to climb out of that black hole.
Do what you’ve got to do.
But, don’t ever give up.
Don’t you dare.
Keep fighting. It’s going to be worth it.
Everything is going to be ok.
She would rush around the rooms of her house, her mind swirling in turmoil. Her elder daughter’s marriage was failing. Her younger daughter refused to settle down. She found no comfort in her husband’s words, rather they flared up her temper even more. So she rushed around, busied herself in work. She overworked at her hospital as a consultant. Her patients choosing her over other doctors, because of her soft, patient and sweet nature, provided her no comfort. This success was nothing. She threw herself at the kitchen to not let her thoughts overtake her sanity. Her home was where she could be herself. Even if she held herself back, she was herself. Her impatience, her irritation and her tiredness would spill out in her tone.
This one day when her daughters were going out together they saw her brows crossed. She had her hands on her hips as she came at the door to close after them. The younger daughter called for the lift. Neither of the daughters would dare, but the younger one pushed the door open while her mother was closing it. She looked annoyed. The daughter rushed near her and planted a kiss on her right cheek and ran off to a safe distance near the lift.
The kiss seemed to melt her bitterness away. Her brows were uncrossed and she couldn’t help herself and she gave a reluctant albeit a big smile.
For a while, in that moment, everything was perfect and fine again.
It is all interlinked, one art with another. The obsession of one drives the passion for the other art. And thus, something beautiful is created and sent out to be absorbed by the world.
Art simply is. Nothing can define it but, it defines everything.
For some, its a salvation to a broken heart and for some, an emancipation to live out beautifully in this wonderful world. Effortlessly unties all the knots and simplifies until there is nothing but lightness all around.
It churns and churns your beautiful mind till some part of you is put out there for the world to admire, to breathe in till it intoxicates them to drive them to their passion.
A wonderful, infectious butterfly effect.
Really, everything is simpler when happy.
Never felt so light and free. My beloved freedom, independence and space.
I’m very very happy.
And my beauty sleep is restored. 😀
There’s always some once upon a time in every lazy bum’s land.
I started loving the whole process of making tea. Different types, with intuitive precision to obtain perfection.
From ginger lemon grass tea to simple black tea lemon flavored.
Making one elaichi tea to perfection, only to realize dad loved it but he doesn’t like the elaichi flavor. He said yes to it because I showed interest.
boo hoo ha ha ha. 🙂 😦
For me, I would love Barista or CCD serve me my favorite iced teas 🙂