On a rainy evening, having exhausted everything edible at home, I have this craving to eat some roasted corn... butta, as it is popularly called. Almost nothing equals this 'need' at the moment....however the, prospect of, having to get out of the warm confines of my home, the soporific muted television 'news' show, James Blunt - All Lost Souls playing in the background, getting drenched, having mud splattered over my legs, having a wet umbrella to deal with do make me think twice.... but I move along.
With this single goal in mind I resolutely head outdoors. Politely nodding to the pesky neighbor who raised an interrogative eyebrow, on seeing me headed out during such a downpour. Armed with an umbrella, and few notes in the pocket , I move along. As I climb down the flight of stairs, I come across at every crossing the facade that runs along the face of the complex in which I reside. It has a curious criss-crossed pattern, which I would like to believe was originally designed to help keep the stairway naturally ventilated.
As I moved along the stairwell, I felt the heavy moisture in the air, percolate my senses. The whiff of moist soil took me back to a simpler time. Moving along I reached the point where there no longer existed a roof over my head. Moving towards the misty rain, with every progressive step, I could feel the spray of rain water on me. With ill concealed glee I moved ahead. I had to struggle to get the umbrella open.... but finally managed to do it. As I stepped out, I heard a few squeals of laughter. Glancing by my side, I found half a dozen kids, playfully running around. They stopped to playfully shove each other and then moved on.... their clothes drenched in the rains. Simpler times, i thought again. As I moved ahead I saw a teenager patiently kneeling along his bicycle, coating it with a rust proof (do not recollect what it is called) oily substitute, that made the steel rods gleam golden, using a well worn toothbrush. Memories came rushing back. Memories of guarding my bike, like my life depended on it, the care that it received, the discussions that I had with my friends over the 'technicalities' of our respective bikes etc.
As I moved along I became acutely aware of the thumping sounds of a football being kicked around a makeshift ground near the parking lot. The wet concrete making the ball skid along its surface. I remembered the bruised feet that I used to come home with, post such rainy games. The tiny cuts and welts that I used to be painfully reminded of only when I took a shower after the game. I think those were very important games, 'cause believe me... I still remember the stats.
As I walked out of the gate, a sudden gust of wind rendered my umbrella spineless. I quickly readjusted my stance to brace myself for the repeat outburst, straightening out the umbrella in the process. It was quite a task, balancing the umbrella with one hand as I clamped my other hand over my pocket to prevent the money from getting wet. The flip flops that I wore were certainly not helping my act, as they squelched water, sliding dangerously on the moss laden path. But the wind seemed to be toying with these very plans of mine as it came howling in a differing direction, rendering my umbrella prey to its fury. Very promptly my shade went kaput!
Reminded me of the times when I used to very gregariously offer my raincoat to my friend as we alighted from the school bus.... thus ensuring that I was not deprived of the pleasure of getting drenched on my way home. Simpler times, truly.
By practice I ran to the confines of a nearby store... standing under its extended roof for a few minutes, thus sheltered. Post a few minutes, some unseeing hand, or long lost habit, made me reach out and let the rain drops that dribbled in a steady stream off the roof over my head, onto my hand. As I let the rain run in rivulets over my hand, I decided to abash all hesitations and step out.
Thus having had exposed myself to the wrath of nature, I trotted down the lane, feeling the rain beating down on me. I noticed that I was no longer dodging the puddles, but leaping across them. I was not looking down constantly, but glancing up, letting the rain drops splatter my face.
I walked along the pavement, under the trees, feeling the suddenly cold shower as the wind made the leaves shiver, rendering me subject to their cold residue. Walks with friends, paper boats in the rains, clammy hands on the lamp post... thoughts came cascading back.
Walking in this stupor along the next bend in the lane I realised that the corn dealer, the butta-wala, was not in his designated spot.... a twitched eyebrow is all the change I noticed in myself, as I moved along the few of the accompanying lanes looking at the familiar sights and sounds. The butta walla, suddenly took a backseat, or rather became a non issue as I continued in my endeavour to discover all those places, that for so longed defined what I meant, when I said, "I wanna go home". Thoughts, memories, instances, retrospection, people, places, events - - - smiles.... I continued walking....
As we crawl, walk, trot, sprint or dash towards happiness, we sometimes have chance encounters with joy. Makes us realise that while happiness might be what we wanted, joy was what we needed. Pause, and read again. Look around. The joys, are infact easier to encounter, because they come to us... happiness on the other hand has to be chased.
Happiness is so often defined by what we want.... the corn... that is what I wanted.... the inane pleasures that I encountered as I headed towards this alleged quintessential 'happiness', were the joys that I needed.
Wanna hear a sure shot way to keep these little 'joys' coming? Notice how childhood was so closely related to them. There is a hardly a worry that a smiling child cannot wipe off. Remember those instances, those simpler times, those games.... remember your childhood... 'cause forgetting it, might make you loose the child in you.
Stay Smiling :)
With this single goal in mind I resolutely head outdoors. Politely nodding to the pesky neighbor who raised an interrogative eyebrow, on seeing me headed out during such a downpour. Armed with an umbrella, and few notes in the pocket , I move along. As I climb down the flight of stairs, I come across at every crossing the facade that runs along the face of the complex in which I reside. It has a curious criss-crossed pattern, which I would like to believe was originally designed to help keep the stairway naturally ventilated.
As I moved along the stairwell, I felt the heavy moisture in the air, percolate my senses. The whiff of moist soil took me back to a simpler time. Moving along I reached the point where there no longer existed a roof over my head. Moving towards the misty rain, with every progressive step, I could feel the spray of rain water on me. With ill concealed glee I moved ahead. I had to struggle to get the umbrella open.... but finally managed to do it. As I stepped out, I heard a few squeals of laughter. Glancing by my side, I found half a dozen kids, playfully running around. They stopped to playfully shove each other and then moved on.... their clothes drenched in the rains. Simpler times, i thought again. As I moved ahead I saw a teenager patiently kneeling along his bicycle, coating it with a rust proof (do not recollect what it is called) oily substitute, that made the steel rods gleam golden, using a well worn toothbrush. Memories came rushing back. Memories of guarding my bike, like my life depended on it, the care that it received, the discussions that I had with my friends over the 'technicalities' of our respective bikes etc.
As I moved along I became acutely aware of the thumping sounds of a football being kicked around a makeshift ground near the parking lot. The wet concrete making the ball skid along its surface. I remembered the bruised feet that I used to come home with, post such rainy games. The tiny cuts and welts that I used to be painfully reminded of only when I took a shower after the game. I think those were very important games, 'cause believe me... I still remember the stats.
As I walked out of the gate, a sudden gust of wind rendered my umbrella spineless. I quickly readjusted my stance to brace myself for the repeat outburst, straightening out the umbrella in the process. It was quite a task, balancing the umbrella with one hand as I clamped my other hand over my pocket to prevent the money from getting wet. The flip flops that I wore were certainly not helping my act, as they squelched water, sliding dangerously on the moss laden path. But the wind seemed to be toying with these very plans of mine as it came howling in a differing direction, rendering my umbrella prey to its fury. Very promptly my shade went kaput!
Reminded me of the times when I used to very gregariously offer my raincoat to my friend as we alighted from the school bus.... thus ensuring that I was not deprived of the pleasure of getting drenched on my way home. Simpler times, truly.
By practice I ran to the confines of a nearby store... standing under its extended roof for a few minutes, thus sheltered. Post a few minutes, some unseeing hand, or long lost habit, made me reach out and let the rain drops that dribbled in a steady stream off the roof over my head, onto my hand. As I let the rain run in rivulets over my hand, I decided to abash all hesitations and step out.
Thus having had exposed myself to the wrath of nature, I trotted down the lane, feeling the rain beating down on me. I noticed that I was no longer dodging the puddles, but leaping across them. I was not looking down constantly, but glancing up, letting the rain drops splatter my face.
I walked along the pavement, under the trees, feeling the suddenly cold shower as the wind made the leaves shiver, rendering me subject to their cold residue. Walks with friends, paper boats in the rains, clammy hands on the lamp post... thoughts came cascading back.
Walking in this stupor along the next bend in the lane I realised that the corn dealer, the butta-wala, was not in his designated spot.... a twitched eyebrow is all the change I noticed in myself, as I moved along the few of the accompanying lanes looking at the familiar sights and sounds. The butta walla, suddenly took a backseat, or rather became a non issue as I continued in my endeavour to discover all those places, that for so longed defined what I meant, when I said, "I wanna go home". Thoughts, memories, instances, retrospection, people, places, events - - - smiles.... I continued walking....
As we crawl, walk, trot, sprint or dash towards happiness, we sometimes have chance encounters with joy. Makes us realise that while happiness might be what we wanted, joy was what we needed. Pause, and read again. Look around. The joys, are infact easier to encounter, because they come to us... happiness on the other hand has to be chased.
Happiness is so often defined by what we want.... the corn... that is what I wanted.... the inane pleasures that I encountered as I headed towards this alleged quintessential 'happiness', were the joys that I needed.
Wanna hear a sure shot way to keep these little 'joys' coming? Notice how childhood was so closely related to them. There is a hardly a worry that a smiling child cannot wipe off. Remember those instances, those simpler times, those games.... remember your childhood... 'cause forgetting it, might make you loose the child in you.
Stay Smiling :)
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