It’s thirtieth of November, 2013 and the clock says its 9:50 pm. It’s not that cold for a December to start however, the temperature outside is too low to keep a lazy, little me indoors, wrapped in a bundle of blankets, after quite a long time, left to my thoughts at my own leisure. Its funny how we have so many plans and so much to think about and not have time to even think those things as we are most busy with other things, and how little we have to think about when we have loads of time just to do that. It then feels like everything has stopped when it should have been otherwise. Its funny how I’ve started complaining so much about such little things.
I am on vacation right now. I’m not at home. My friends find that peculiar. I have not had much experience of keeping secrets about myself but somethings, I would rather not advertise.
I have always believed that a good piece of writing never comes with brainstorming or any kind of mental exertion. It just comes. Not from your consciousness but somewhere from the untouched corners of the sub-consciousness, things start pouring out and find their own way of expressions. I think about that man I met today. I met a man in his seventies today. There was nothing remarkable about him except that he was from my home-town and had recently had a heart attack. Lying there in his bed, he asked me to tell him what his reports said and how was he doing. I told him of course, I was just a student. He insisted that I should tell him something good. I figured he must be scared. As I moved closer to his bedside for a little chit-chat to make it clearer that I was just a student and had no idea how he was doing, he didn’t really wait for me to tell him any thing at all. He started telling me story of his life. Where he lived, what he worked, how he lost his job, about his grand-daughters. Literally, in less than a two minute time he bestowed me with all this information. I would be lying if I said I was touched. I would be lying if I said I was glad I got a chance to talk to him. To be honest, I got scared. I got scared to see a man who has lived a full life, a big family with grand-daughters and yet to see him so eager to tell a stranger like me all this stuff, that too when I didn’t ask for it. I have heard its normal. I’m scared of being ‘normal’.
Hardly few days back, I was telling a really good soul how much polite people irritate me. They don’t let you know if they really mean all the good and nice things they are doing and saying or they are just trying to be nice because somehow, they have come to believe that pretending to be nice is nicer than doing as much as you really mean to do. I wonder how they never see it as hypocrisy. I was scared of myself. To watch myself so polite.
Its not all dark and gloomy today though. I’m not sure if its really a good thing at all or not but in a casual conversation some time back, someone said ‘I’d probably never forget your name’. Its one of those things friends say to compliment each other when someone does something really cool. Some times however, a stupid joke, a baseless compliment or just a friendly wink can bring a smile. Its good to have such things stuck in your subconscious. Or so I suppose.
Happiness. I wonder what it even means. I’ve heard it’s the state of feeling blessed, knowing that everything is al right or that it will be al right because things seem to be going the way we want. But then, nothing is ever al right, especially when things go our way, something is always missing. It’s same as when one door is unlocked, we get to see ten more locks to open. It never stops, and we always know that it’s not supposed to stop. Then what makes us happy? Delusion. A moment in a fool’s paradise.
Things like ‘sadness’ and ‘pain’ are even more confusing. It mostly happens when we are hurt or our expectations are not met. But then, is it not same as being weak? Complaining and moaning about things and then fondly indulging in self-pity as if anyone would care. Forgetting, that everyone has enough to take care of already. Arts of cowardice. Weaklings.
I may be wrong since, I fear I never had a real taste of either happiness or sadness. However, sane and clever people try to hold a middle ground. To know that things might be in our favour but, being careful not to expect much. To realize that we are not happy but not wanting anyone to see that. Keeping a middle ground and never giving in to any strong emotion. Thus, a gift of ever lasting discontent. Detachment and disconnection. I seek for sanity but clearly, its lunacy. Never mind!
For the past few days, I’ve been feeling a bit low. Not that anything in particular had happened but just been a bit more cranky and sullen than usual. Even bigger tragedy is my inability to cry and wail in front of anyone. Those who care for me are likely to get repulsed or so I think, and others simply don’t care.
Just as I was on my way to hostel from library today, on a signal the bus stopped and in a car nearby, I saw three kids. There was nothing remarkable about those chubby little things and also they seemed too much talkative. Another random look at them and they were making some in-comprehensible signs to me and mouthing words in a comic fashion. I was just too much confused if I should be offended or amused when the signal turned green. We were taking different routes. So now when I looked at those kids, they were waving at me. I just cared to wave back and they started waving even more vibrantly. Funny little people, I thought and noticed, I was smiling. I had always known that happiness comes from little things in life. You just have to look for it. But, I had truly appreciated the fact today.
How possibly could I ever be so thankless for such tender moments. Tender and innocent. Its all about our own perception. We may not have a choice given many things in our life, but the quality of it and also of those around us, we can definitely improve.
It’s Sunday morning. Finally, it’s Sunday morning. Although, I get real bad Monday-morning-fevers, but this is not what I want to think about right now. All I know is -it’s Sunday morning.
As I open my eyes, I gather it must be 8 or 9 am. Without getting up, I think about all the things that I have put off for this day, so yes, I have things to do. A lot of things to do. But, they can wait. As I lay on my back, emptying my mind of all thoughts that can possibly penetrate and filling it with absolutely nothing, I stare at the ceiling. From the window, I see a tree. Leaves, with one side green and the other side yellow. As I’m still lying on my back, I focus on my breathing. There it is. One breath in, and then out. Another breath in and there. it goes out as well.
In that moment, there is no beauty, no philosophy, no poetry but, tranquility. Tranquility, that only lazy people afford. Laziness, that only the rich afford. Rich, who is content. Rich, who does not fancy that he needs anything more than he actually needs. I’m poor.