One of my senior colleagues delivered a timely reminder of one truth — we don’t take any good or bad decision. Because no decision is good or bad until we get to the result that decision leads to. And given the fact that no one sensible can predict the future, you can only judge a decision in retrospect. So don’t get paralyzed. Just take the decision.
I felt very close to the rain today. I don’t like to get drenched in a downpour. Or to get damp in a drizzle. As a child, I used to sit at the edge of the veranda and watch the rain play its games. I did that again today after a long, long time.
The clouds gave way to a slight drizzle and eventually burst into an angry downpour. I slumped into the swing chair in the veranda and grinned as the wind lead the stream of raindrops as part of their lovely waltz. I instinctively stretched out my leg to the rain in the hope that nature’s playfulness on show rubs onto me.
It did; I felt calm, devoid of the stress that I had become so habitual to recently. I experienced a general sense of clarity within, but I wasn’t thinking about anything specific. A numbness of mind that moves you meaningfully? I wish I could better word this paradox.
My recent lifestyle of the bustling metropolis had made me ignorant. When it rained, I hide behind glass with the raindrops furiously colliding against it. But then they dejectedly glided down. Not today. I let them touch me, heal me today.
I went casual shopping today. I didn’t dress up as I would normally do whenever I go out in my hometown. How I look as I go outside does not matter to me much these days. Anyway, all I had to shop for was some groceries and a few ointments.
The way I looked today was fine for the larger town I have settled in. Rather the shabbier I dress up, greater the respect I gain from a store owner. Or so I believe. This theory fails royally in my comparatively smaller hometown.
As expected, I was consciously ignored by the store owners and the attendants. I, then, asked for a specific item, a Himalaya – a well-known Indian brand – face cream. I returned the Himalaya face gel asking for the cream variant. And it is then that they called me “sir”.
This incident repeated itself at another store. My shabby attire made everyone attending in the store to ignore me. I then asked for a lip balm of from Nivea. I returned the strawberry flavoured one he hesitantly handed me and asked for a variant that’s especially for men. It is then that they called me “sir”.
I have realized over the years (and from the sheer amount of effort my dad puts in dressing up just to go out of the main door) that it matters here how you present yourself outside – especially in shops as a customer. However, if a shabby looking attire makes the store owners and attendants ignore you, the specificity of your wants makes you special.
Ever since I travelled back to my hometown, I have not been able to keep up with my routine. I’m not sure of the reasons, but things have been tricky.
One reason I believe is my mindset. For years now, I have been travelling to this place, to my other home, only on vacations. I would take long leaves, be off work and spend some relaxed time in the city where I’ve spent the majority of my early years. I feel I’ve grown accustomed to the air here and now I associate it with relaxation. Hence it has been extremely difficult to do anything else.
I’ve been sleeping a lot more. I’ve been eating a lot more. I’ve been slacking a lot more. I can do my office work, that doesn’t seem to be affected. But every other routine task is. I was waiting for things to naturally get back to normal. 2 weeks in and I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening.
So I am forcing myself now to get back into the routine. Time to bring the diaries, the journals back. Get the diet, the focus apps out. Reset those snoozed alarms again. Close eyes for those mindful 2 minutes. Stare regularly at the blinking cursor.
I need to stop treating the weekends as special. I stay up late on the night before, ergo I get up late. I am getting more lone time, I convince myself. I have now realized that’s not the case. The late nights can give me some hours when all are asleep. But I enjoy the early mornings much more.
I am fresh, I can sit and relax with calmness surrounding me. No one’s awake. Not in my house or on the outside. The only “noise” is the crickets in the dark, busy with their routine; that calms me.
I get to hear the nature wake itself up to the rising dawn. I need not plug my ears to shut out any distracting sounds. Every sound is stimulating; I read better, I write better. As someone who gets distracted by the slightest of the noises, that’s also the best time to get into a meditative state, something I am trying to do daily now.
My habit of treating weekends as different from the regular work days has been ruining the routine that keeps me freshest throughout the day.
I always wonder what drives the journalists that sit in their air-conditioned newsrooms to go on a monologue. Questioning every other person, related to every news that has happened today. Or yesterday. Or in the last week. Or in the last year. The freshness, the relevance of the news they are reporting on, commenting on does not matter to them. What matters is their perceived notion that a journalism degree gives them a right to question, to mock, and these days, even scold everyone else.
They scold; absolutely pointing and shouting at their “guests”. Of course, even these “guests” know they are only here for getting scolded. There are those guests that get all the attention, all the respect. And then there are the remaining asses warming the chairs in the studios. Many only get to talk for once or twice. I wonder do they themselves care. Or are they just picked randomly from the support staff?
It is tiring to watch the debates on the news shows. Or the monologues that precede them. I’ve anyway long stopped watching any form of news for that matter. These anchors, though, need to remember that they are anchors, not judges.