Dear Readers, Just some random thoughts this week. More like the stream of consciousness. Maybe like what Virginia Woolf once said, I’m only trying to ‘loosen the ligaments’ in this piece. Hope you enjoy reading it.
Every evening, as you trudge up the stairs I watch from the window. A tiresome smile escapes your lips. We sip tea saved from the last trip to the Nilgiris, our souls soak in the calm of the Blue Mountains. You try to fit into the Rajasthani folding chair bought on an impulse ten years ago, for tea-times like these. The door squeaks as the wind slaps it. I remind myself to oil the hinges. The 4X10 balcony is all ears to our silent exchanges. Your head bent over the screen, a nonchalant nod when I tell you the tap’s been leaking. You type on the mobile in haste. I get a notification- complaint lodged. You swirl the tea in your cup and gulp it down like a bitter syrup. I know you prefer milk tea. A sigh escapes my mouth. The sun kisses the tallest towers across the skyline. This was the very view that had sealed the deal for us twelve years ago and we’d decided to share our evening teas right here, for the rest of our lives. My eyes devour the sight, even as your patience snuffs out. You rise up to leave. The half-finished tea in my cup gives me reason to linger on. As you walk back inside, your head bangs against the wind chimes for the umpteenth time. I try to stifle a giggle. I know that your endurance at the end of the day is like a dying candle. The chimes dance like bubbles in a cider bottle, their rhythmic beating competing with the highway noise. By the time I drain the tea down my throat, the city lights up. I leave the balcony reluctantly, even though I know I will be back before the earth spins just one more time on its axis.
There’s a certain kind of assurance in knowing that I’ll be back. Only about a year ago, I cringed at the idea of this repetition. Just like my sixteen-year-old who feels a vacuum going up and down life’s swing unlike the excitement he felt playing on a real one a decade ago. ‘Children grow up Ma!’ he tells me. ‘Or, maybe, they stop finding joy in little things,’ I say. To me, being stuck in a loop seems alright. It feels like letting oneself be in a moment and allowing its richness to seep in. I no longer recoil from the dullness, the monotony of everyday living. This boredom, I tell myself, is an invaluable part of life. It provides the succor to overcome impulse and gives me more time with myself. It also, if I may say so, is the quiet nudge that my brain needs, the one that nurtures my writing. Am I’m averse to adventure? I’m not sure, it maybe partially true but the solace of being in my own space is unmatched.
So, here I am, raising a toast to evening tea times in a 4X10 balcony. It’s the life I would trade the world for!
How about you readers? Do you love the familiarity of your days or you’d rather have an unaccustomed life? Tell me in the comments below and thank you for being here.