Every time I come back from a holiday, a part of me stays behind. Still looking for more. Asking for more. Away from the drudgery of routine. Liberated from the reins of discipline. Bereft of any responsibilities.
This part of me is still untouched. Untamed. By the tyranny of any social protocol. It has a strong will of its own. That knows no boundaries. That urges me to take long naps in the middle of a working day. That provokes me to dance on the streets. To swim naked in the lake. To watch the sunset when I should be toiling through my tax returns.
Photo Credit: Mona Singh
Essentially a part of me is always on a holiday. Or at least seeking to be. And after years of struggling to keep it on leash, I have found a pursuit that condones such socially unacceptable behaviour.
It's called writing. It's not the kind of writing that brings any fame or money.
It's the kind of writing that purely makes me feel fulfilled.
Writing to see the world differently
I write. For the pure joy of writing.
I write. For the eternal suffering that comes with creating anything new.
I write. For it brings me closer to myself. And to those around me.
I write. For experiencing the beauty of solitude.
I write. Simply because I want to.
Tucked away in a corner by the window. Wrapped in my favourite furry blanket. Sipping steaming hot coffee. Punching away. Sometimes drivel. Sometimes meaningful nonsense. On my laptop. That's my idea of pleasure. Or a micro-vacation in my mental space.
And like any good vacation, writing breathes fresh air into the dreariness of my routine. For it's not just about romanticising the enormity of mountains or the depths of beautiful valleys. It's about enjoying the mundaneness of the most banal tasks I do day in and day out.
Finding joy in the mundane
Brushing my teeth. Cutting vegetables. Wiping the dust off the furniture. There is a certain meditative quality to doing these repetitive tasks. For they provide a perfect façade to unplug from the outside world and connect with the inner one. A perfect rough draft for creating something new.
Photo Credit: Mona Singh
Sometimes it's the deep sense of nostalgia that comes from the smell of orange peels left in my hands. Sometimes I notice how the flavour of my cooking changes with the music on the radio. And almost every time I take delight in the feeling of lightness that comes after clipping my nails.
These are perhaps very subtle experiences that can easily go unnoticed. Especially when we are caught up in the sheer repetitive nature of these activities. Or the dullness of their motions.
But when we start to experience. To feel. To touch. To smell. To be mindful. Of everything however inconsequential. Or mind-numbing. There is always something new to be discovered.
Or as the Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist Rainer Maria Rilke said: If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place.