To write like the wind is caressing the paper is what I want to do. Free flowing and refreshing. Word after word after word -like a row of soldiers, dancing across the sheet in perfect synchrony. The pen is light and the words, effortless. No thesaurus by my side and no list of things-to-do hanging over my head distracting me.
The sky above me is so blue and the air has a reassuring smell of familiarity – of the sea and the fish. Life is rushing by me like everyone is in a hurry to get older, richer, busier. But that isn’t how I like my life to be. I hate to run. I would rather take a lazy stroll in a garden while there is still daylight, eat a cucumber-cheese-tomato sandwich, peel an orange and luxuriously pop each piece in and just stare at the grass, the flowers, the children.
I like cooking non-hurried food. The pressure cooker isn’t the answer to life. I like roasting and sniffing the spices turn from a sandy shade to a golden brown. Sit at a restaurant and taste the prawn masala fry slowly to decipher what went in it. Take a bite, speak, talk, discuss, savor the flavor and digest the moment leisurely.
Must we buy a house in the hills? Where the life is slow and moments come more easily. Memories are made at a barbecue in my backyard. The cold wind turns your nose blue yet you are perfectly warm on the inside. Cities can make you cold, routinely, mechanical.
There is a pot hole near my house. On and off, it is filled by some random water. It isn’t monsoon. One day a dog was sitting in it like a king. His head was titled towards the sky. His expression seemed to be that of pride. He looked like a delight in the muck. How often do these sights arrest me? Not often. Very occasionally now I see the clouds turn black or the flower sprout from the bud. It’s my excuse – no time to sit and stare. But it’s hardly an excuse. One makes time.
Happiness finds me. I delude myself with fake misfortunes and shut it out. Truth is I am a lucky one. With love, life, like minded friends. Sit at a coffee shop, do a night in, just talk. Shut out the internet, the wi-fi, the television, the distractions. Soak in the cloud of joy just suspended all around me. Making time is an art, making excuses is easy labor. I would like to be an artist. I’m abandoning excuses. I am going to do things I like to do.
