Tag: life

Everyday, Again

Everyday, Again

Every morning, my alarm rings at 5:45 a.m.
Monday to Friday. Without negotiation.

And just like that, the day begins.

A familiar sequence unfolds — the walk, the newspaper, breakfast, work, lunch, more work, dinner, a little television, sleep. Alarm. Again. Life hums along in a rhythm so predictable that we barely notice it anymore.

The weekend arrives like a soft breeze — light, liberating, promising freedom. And just as quietly, it slips away. By Sunday evening, Monday is already knocking, carrying with it structure, responsibility, and the weight of having to show up again.

Days blur into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. And somewhere in this steady flow, life keeps moving — leaving us caught between who we want to be and who we must be.

And what do we long for?

The spark of something new. Unplanned trips. Impulsive decisions. Late-night laughter and midnight malts. A life led by desire rather than duty. A life where mornings feel like paintings and evenings read like poetry.

And in this hopeful pursuit of the extraordinary, we dismiss the life we already have. We call it ordinary. Boring. Routine. We grow impatient, irritable, restless — convinced that our real life is waiting somewhere else.

Routine, after all, isn’t glamorous. It looks like the same breakfast, the same walk, the same conversations. It feels unremarkable — as if life is on a continuous repeat.

And yet…

Why is it that we ache for routine precisely when it disappears?

A few days away from home, and we begin to miss our 6:30 a.m. cup of tea. That quiet, focused hour of work. The comfort of an early night. Even the most beautiful destinations slowly lose their charm. And after retirement, many of us find ourselves longing for the days when there was no time to think at all — when life moved us forward without asking too many questions.

So what is routine really giving us, that we only understand once it’s gone?

I found my answer looking out from a hospital window.

Outside, life was unfolding as usual. People rushing to work, arguing into their phones, buying fruits, laughing, hurrying somewhere important. In their utterly unremarkable busyness was an unexpected comfort: the quiet assurance that all was well. That their lives were moving as they should — without alarm, without worry, without urgency.

And that’s when it struck me.

Routine is not monotony.
It is evidence that things are fundamentally okay.

It means the world is not on fire.
Children are healthy. Parents are well. Relationships are steady. Life is quietly holding together.

Routine doesn’t just organize our days. It anchors us. It gives us direction. It gives us the space to plan, to hope, to dream — and to build anything meaningful: a career, a relationship, a life. It isn’t stagnation; it’s movement without panic. Progress without noise.

So the next time you catch yourself thinking, “Nothing special today,” pause. Nothing dramatic is happening. And that — quietly, beautifully — is what makes the day special. It allows us to trust in another tomorrow.

True, routine is simply okay.
And okay, I’ve learned, is a beautiful place to be.

From Nothing to Something

From Nothing to Something

“Gently… gently,” the potter murmurs, as if speaking to the clay itself. My fingers follow his lead — a press here, a soft release there. The wheel spins, the clay rises, and slowly, a tiny pot takes shape. With a loop of string, I cut it free and hold it up, smiling with the quiet wonder of having made something from nothing. Not perfect, not polished — but unmistakably mine.

Creation is like that. You begin with something raw, unformed. You work on it, and with time, it becomes something meaningful.

Creation is in sowing seeds and watching them push through the soil.

In nurturing children as they grow into themselves.

In turning a handful of ingredients into a meal that warms the table.

In arranging a room until it feels like home.

In filling a blank page with words.

In knitting a scarf or painting a canvas.

In growing an idea into a thriving venture.

In building relationships.

In shaping our own dreams into reality.

In each act, something shifts from nothing yet to something now. And no matter how often it happens, it never stops being wondrous.

We humans are, at our core, makers — not just of things, but of possibilities. This is our greatest shared heritage: a restless, hopeful urge to create, improve, and leave behind more than we found.

And we have carried this impulse across millennia. From shaping clay pots to building cities. From planting seeds in the soil to sending seeds into space. From stringing beads into necklaces to stringing satellites across the sky. From inventing the wheel to developing code that will power superintelligence.

And the wonder isn’t in the pot, the meal, or the invention — it’s in us.

Joy in my heart…

Joy in my heart…

My heart brims with joy as I fly down to my daughter’s home in Bangalore.

Joy in the happiness that will light up baby Arham’s face when he sees me.

Joy in our love as he wraps his thin arms around my neck in a tight hug.

Joy in his delight as I feed him small bites of chocolate pancakes.

Joy in our camaraderie as I sip my tea and he drinks his from a tiny cup.

Joy in the fun when we dig out dinosaurs and rocks from his sand pit.

Joy in his wonder as I act out the stories I’ve written for him.

Joy in my chats with Tanvi as we catch up on everything and nothing.

Joy in the conversations with Garvit as he explains the latest AI innovations to me.

And the deepest joy of all—witnessing the beautiful harmony of my daughter and her family.

Dal to Deo: The Leftovers Life

Dal to Deo: The Leftovers Life

Ladies and Gentlemen, let it be known—I am a proud consumer of leftovers.

And no, I don’t just mean food (though yes, I’m absolutely the sort who’ll turn yesterday’s limp sprouts into a cheela, rescue last Diwali’s dates one a day like a ritual, and combine three almost empty namkeen packets into one glorious new mix).

But my leftovers loyalty runs deeper.
Into bathroom cabinets. Into cluttered drawers. Into those mysterious, half-forgotten corners of the wardrobe.

When something new enters the house, the family does their little dance—sniff, dabble, grimace… and promptly abandon. And that’s when I swoop in.

That barely used bottle of Korean snail slime serum languishing at the back of my daughter’s cupboard? Mine.
The lemongrass shampoo my husband tried once and declared “too fancy”? Also mine.
The ergonomically perfect phone dock my son instantly decided was “too much effort”? You guessed it. Mine.

I am, unofficially, the patron saint of bits and bobs most would call remnants.
Soap scraps? Lovingly stacked and pressed into a new bar.
Hotel shampoos? Decanted into anonymous family-size bottles. (My kids once asked me what brand the shampoo was. I said, “Limited Edition.” The eyeroll I got? Predictable. But worth it.)
Partially used deodorants? Stored upside down in a wire basket, ready for one last roll!

But my pièce de résistance? The humble toothpaste tube.
It’s a full-blown ritual.

First, it’s inverted overnight like it’s in penance.
Then comes the flattening. The rolling. The masterful squeezing.
If it plays hard to get, I run it under warm water.
Still stubborn? Out come the scissors. A quick snip. A full excavation.
Because not even a whisper of minty freshness escapes me. Not on my watch.

Lately, I’ve been eyeing this contraption on Instagram—an absurdly priced roller that promises to squeeze out every last bit from the tube with elegant efficiency.
Tempting? Of course.
But really, who needs it?

I am the contraption.
I am the Finisher-in-Chief. Not because anyone appointed me—but because I volunteered.

Because nothing—and I mean nothing—sparks joy in me quite like getting the most from the least.

There’s a smug, quiet thrill in watching the last bit of bodywash drip into the decanter.
In using the patchwork soap bar I made myself, which now looks oddly artisanal.
In admiring my fridge full of neatly stacked Tupperware, with stuff that has been repurposed and relabelled into something entirely new.

Little things, yes. But each one? A victory over waste.
A tender nod to the women before me who believed that nothing was ever too little to matter.

We grew up hearing things like:
A thing saved is a thing earned.
If you look after the paisa, the rupee will look after itself.
And my personal favorite:
Wastage begins in the kitchen, and from there, marches straight to moral decline.

Back then, it was just called ‘not wasting.’
Today, it’s rebranded as zero-waste. Sustainability. Conscious consumption.

But for me, this dal to deo life is more than a habit.
It’s heritage.
It’s therapy.
It’s love—expressed quietly through thrift, imagination, and care.

And you know what?

I kind of love it.

LOVE… What is Love, really?

LOVE… What is Love, really?

Valentine’s Day arrives, and love steps into the spotlight. Everything – yes, everything -from balloons and chocolates to cupcakes and even pizza, is suddenly heart-shaped. And for one full day (at least), love feels magical.

*

This year, like every year, Valentine’s Day left me grappling with the eternal question: What is love, really? Is it a sudden jolt, like lightning out of a clear sky, which leaves you breathless, dizzy, and utterly bewitched?

And then I wonder: Did I ever fall in love?

I’ve been married for 35 years to a man my parents introduced me to. Before I even saw him, I heard his voice – deep, confident, reassuring. Our first meeting was a blur of conversation; we talked nonstop, swapping stories, dreams, and laughter. One meeting became two, then three, families gathered, wedding plans took shape, and just like that, we were married. Decades later, here we are – still together, still devoted, still finding joy in everything we share (touchwood!).

Our children, though, “fell” in love in the classic sense, full of drama, excitement, and movie-type romance. When they describe love, it sounds like fireworks and magic – something grand and dizzying. And I can’t help wondering: What makes their love different from ours?

Sure, in our case, there was no chase, no drama, no stolen glances across crowded rooms. No love-struck confessions, no candlelit dinners, no carefully planned surprises or perfectly chosen gifts. But then, we dated with the quiet confidence of commitment. And like any young couple, we looked forward to being together, savoring every moment, counting down the days until marriage would seal our togetherness.

So maybe the real question isn’t What is love? but rather Why do we believe it only counts when it comes with fireworks?

*

After thinking it through for many, many years, I have come to the conclusion: It is not about falling in love – it is about being in love.

So what if our relationship began with mutual respect, appreciation, and commitment instead of a whirlwind romance? So what if it was a path of discovery, deepening over time through shared experiences? So what if it started with uncertainty and blossomed into something steady and enduring?

Arranged or not, love has a way of finding you. It sneaks up quietly, weaving itself through the fabric of everyday life – shared cups of tea at dawn, laughter over dinner, the chaos of raising children, and the resilience through life’s storms. It doesn’t arrive with grand gestures but settles in through small, unremarkable acts of kindness, patience, and unwavering warmth – until one day, you realize those ordinary moments are everything. Love isn’t just a feeling; it’s a sense of home – not in a place, but in a person. And it is in the years after marriage that love truly comes into its own, evolving into something deeper, something real.

For my husband and me, love has been a journey – one that, decades later, has brought us to a place where words are often unnecessary. It’s the quiet accumulation of a thousand little moments that, together, create something profound. It’s knowing each other’s quirks and embracing them, arguing without truly wounding, forgiving without keeping score.

It’s waking up every morning and instinctively reaching for his hand. It’s sharing inside jokes no one else would understand, reminiscing about past adventures while mapping out new ones, sitting through his favorite shows even when I can’t stand them. It’s reading in the same room in comfortable silence. It’s letting him have the last bite of dessert because I know he wants it but will still leave it for me.

In the end, it doesn’t matter how love begins—what matters is how it grows. It’s simply knowing, deep down, that life makes more sense with the other person in it.

*

So no, I didn’t fall in love in a grand, dramatic way – but love found me anyway, quietly and steadily, like sunlight creeping into a room, soft and unassuming, until one day I looked around and realized everything was glowing.

And after 35 years, that feels more romantic than anything else.

Our world of WORDS

Our world of WORDS

Language makes us human. When our ancestors invented language more than fifty thousand years ago, they forever sealed our fate on earth. They set mankind on a path of constant growth and development making us the most powerful species on earth.

Indeed. The power of words is extraordinary.

Words can inspire, words can demoralize.
Words can strengthen, words can damage.
Words can nurture, words can destroy.
Words can cheere, words can condemn.
Words can win peace, words can make wars.

As screenwriter-lyricist Divy Nidhi Sharma aptly writes:

शब्द हैं… अतरंगी, कुछ सतरंगी से… 
शब्द हैं... गुनगुनाते गीत गाते 
कुछ मस्त हैं, कुछ त्रस्त हैं, होठों पे करते गश्त हैं...
कुछ झूठ हैं, कुछ सत्य हैं, जादू भरे ये शब्द हैं!

Words are... many colored, some with the seven hues of the rainbow
Words are... humming, singing
Some merry, some distressed... swaying on the lips
Some false, some true... Words are full of MAGIC!

She then goes on to say…

जन्म से लेकर मरण तलक
सब खेल-तमाशा शब्द हैं! 
From birth until death
Life is a theater of WORDS!

Isn’t it?

Life is a story, Arham

Life is a story, Arham

Dear Arham,

What will be the first word you say, I wonder? Your mom’s first word was ‘Dadda’ and his happiness shot through the roof that day!

But there’s still some time for all that. For now, you love to listen your mom’s voice as she feeds you, soothes you, cares for you. I remember how attentively you, just four days old, listened to the story of the very hungry caterpillar as he chomped his way through pears and plums and pies. Of course, you didn’t understand a bit but the sounds were getting engraved in your mind.

You will be fascinated by other tales your mom tells you. You will love the three little pigs and their escapades; you will be enthralled by Jack and his magic beanstalk; you will listen wide-eyed when the big brown bear becomes a prince in golden armor!

For the moment, your own imitation games are on! You try to imitate everyone you see and everything you hear. And soon you will begin to use the same expressions and gestures when you play with your toys and cars and blocks, and as you grow older, invent characters and events and tales!

And you know what? This story making continues all our life. It is not just you little ones who make up stories. We adults spin stories too and these stories help us make sense of the world around us. Two people live together within the bond of marriage, hundreds of men and women work in a company, thousands of people commit themselves to a country, millions believe in a common God… all these bonds and relationships are stories ~ figments of our imagination, myths we tell ourselves to remain rooted in life.

And language has helped us pass these commonly believed stories from one generation to the next for tens of thousands of years. Indeed, it is storytelling that has kept us human and made us the most powerful race on earth.

Arham, this incredible journey of life – and yours has just begun – is nothing but a story.

REBOOT @50

REBOOT @50

With every passing year, our circumstances change, our aspirations change, our priorities change… and life? Life adjusts accordingly.

At 20, I was a student looking to complete my education, begin a career, get married. At 25, I was married with a baby girl and working with an international NGO. At 30, I had crossed over from the field of health & nutrition to hard core consumer research. At 35, I was a mother of two and had given up my full time job to work from home. At 40, I took up my passion for writing, wrote on health for newspapers and magazines and authored a book on nutrition. At 45, I set up a firm for publishing our in-house dictionaries and thesauruses.

At 50, my children had flown the nest, and it was just me and my husband at home… We spent more time with our parents and friends, travelled, ate out, attended plays & exhibitions, binge-watched TV shows… a refreshing change from the time-bound commitments of earlier years.  

It also gave us a lot of time to think. To think about ourselves. What did we want as individuals? As a couple? As a family? What direction did we now want our life to take? More importantly, how could we prevent ourselves from sliding into a comfortable existence with only memories and remembrances to bring joy? How could we ensure that we had something to look forward to every single day?

This thinking-through process was especially important for me. I had spent the last 20 years working from home in the mornings and then being with the children when they were back from school. Now I had the entire day to myself. How could I make my days more meaningful, more purposeful?

It was now time. Time to review, renew, refresh. Time to reboot.

*

Something the American talk show host Oprah Winfrey frequently talks about finds complete resonance within me.

Your life journey is about learning to become more of who you are, and fulfilling the highest, truest expression of yourself as a human being. That’s why you’re here.

Oprah Winfrey

Inspired, I dug deep within me. I asked myself: What do I really want to do for the next 10, 20, and 30 years of my life? What gives me true happiness? What aspects of my life do I need to change? What flaws do I see in myself? How can I align myself more with the world around me? And the answers set me off on a path of self-actualization wherein I have done the following:

1       I have reignited my spark for learning.

I have become passionately curious. I am all eyes and ears for news on politics, economics, technology, business, health, fashion… I realize that being up-to-date helps me understand the world we live in, it empowers me to participate in conversations freely and knowledgeably.

To stay intellectually alive, I try to expand my knowledge every which way I can ~ meeting new people; reading newspapers, magazines, and books; listening to podcasts and talks; watching YouTube videos, films, documentaries and TV shows; participating in workshops and master classes… I now seek to learn from each person I meet, every interaction I have, anything I come across. So that I never ever become outdated.

2      I have become more social.

Nothing de-stresses more than the company of people we like and vibe with. I have reconnected with long-lost friends from childhood, teachers from school, colleagues of yesteryears. I now mingle with them regularly ~ heart-warming interactions over coffee or a meal or on whatsapp. I do more ‘together’ things with them ~ zumba, dance, mah-jong, movies, short holidays and such.

I have also begun volunteering within our community, something unimaginable five years ago!

3      I have taken charge of my health.

I have – with considerable success – shaken myself out of my comfort zone and begun to focus on improving my eating habits, exercising seriously, resting adequately, getting health checks regularly and whatnot. And believe me, the sense of satisfaction is beyond description.

4      I have tried to become a better version of myself.

I have finally begun applying the self-help gyaan I have been reading over the last so many years. (Richard Carlson remains my favorite author till date… his Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff series suggests simple daily changes for leading a more fulfilled and peaceful life.)

For instance, I am – slowly but surely – making peace with imperfection and becoming more tolerant; letting go and accepting others as they are; talking less, listening more; becoming more compassionate, more kind, more helpful…  Most importantly, I have become less rigid in my likes and dislikes and more open to change.

My self-improvement list is endless… but a beginning HAS been made. I now get along with the world more easily, more amicably.

5       I try to make every day count.

Every day is important and I try to include all that I consider essential in my day – work, fun, rest, exercise, socializing… so that when I go to bed, I can happily (and honestly) tell myself that the day had been meaningful and that tomorrow will be even better.

*

Given the improved quality of life and advanced health care in our times, I genuinely believe that the 50-70 year category is the new middle age. And this definitely merits a major re-think of our life as we turn 50.

Each one of us is unique. And the path we choose for ourselves will also be unique. But choose we must. So that the next few decades can be as full of energy as the decades gone by. With no regrets for the ‘roads not taken’.

The very fact that I have been able to identify my path fills me with great joy. The knowledge that I am moving along my chosen path fills me with an intense sense of fulfilment.

And I look forward to my next REBOOT@60!

I can do MORE…

“I could have done more.”

No person should ever have this regret at any point in life, especially in the later years. Not one of us should feel pangs of remorse for time lost, things not done, opportunities foregone, chances not taken. While we still could. But didn’t.

I am not a philosopher. Or an enlightened soul. I do not understand why I have come into this world; I do not know what will happen to me after I die. The only thing I know for certain is that I am alive. And that I want to make the most of my time on earth, that I want to lead a life that is meaningful. So that later when I look back, I can truthfully say to myself, “I made the most of my life.”

***

Life is a collection of days. And every single day is important. What we do each day, little by little, shapes our life. And we need to do as Robin Williams famously says as the English teacher in the 1989 American film Dead Poets Society: Carpe diem! Seize the day, boys! Make your lives extraordinary!

Yes. Every day matters. Every moment counts. Because it is only right here, right now, that things get done. The past is long gone, the future is yet to come… Only the present exists. The present is in our hands, the present is all that matters, and soon… the present too shall pass.

The present is like the dewdrop… and will be gone soon, as if it had never been.

***

So then why do we spend so much time of the day lost in our thoughts? When our body works on autopilot? When life passes by in a haze?

For instance, did you note, as you made your way to work today, the freshness in the air after last night’s rain ? The lilies bordering the sidewalk? The trees dappling orange gold in the evening sun? The happy laughter of the kid next door?

This autopilot mode when we go about the day’s work unaware of the present is what Psychology Professor Dr Ellen Langer of Harvard University calls ‘mindless moments,’ moments when one is so trapped in thoughts that we forget to experience, let alone enjoy, what is happening right now. When we become a victim of time and our mind is everywhere but ‘here.’ When our thoughts are on what has been/could have been or what can be/will be. And we become so mindless, Dr Langer explains, we stop paying attention to things around us.

Can one enjoy the weekend if our mind is already thinking about Monday? Or laugh gaily with a friend if we keep remembering how she let us down last year?

Whereas we need to do the opposite. Because only when we are engaged with the external world and its sights, sounds and smells, and pay attention, at the same time, to our innermost thoughts, feelings and sensations, can we enjoy what is happening NOW. Only then can we hope to find happiness in life.

***

A profound concept. But difficult to follow as our monkey mind vaults from thought to thought constantly. And we have to wrench it to remain focussed in the present. So that we can enjoy every moment, relish it, savor it, luxuriate in it, delight in it.

Only when we let go and lose ourselves in the moment, can we enjoy it. See how it relaxes us, how woes and worries melt away, how uncertainties and insecurities disappear, how self-esteem and confidence return, and we can interact with others positively and productively.

***

Life in the moment moves quickly — and I try not to miss it. I try to pay attention to the ordinary things around me. I try to stay focussed on the task at hand. Consciously. With total involvement.

When I wake up, I peep out and take in the dewiness of the morning; as I walk in the park, I direct my attention to the loosening of my back and stretch in my muscles; as I hold my tea, I note the warmth seeping in from the cup; as I cook, I keep my thoughts trained on the cutting, chopping, stirring and serving; when I bite into my sandwich, I feel its texture and savor its flavor; when I write, I block off all external sounds and focus on translating my thoughts into words… When I notice my mind wandering, I repeat to myself, “Now. Now. Now.” And pull myself back.

And I try to carry this mindfulness through the day while watching my daily sitcom or listening to music or discussing plans with others or playing with our golden retriever or shopping or simply relaxing. I go along with the experiences ~ pleasant or unpleasant, good or bad ~ simply because that is what is present, that is all there is, nothing else.

And when I lie down at night, I let go completely. I feel my body sinking into the mattress and appreciate how good it feels. I breathe deeply. And realize that all the happiness is right here, right now, in the present moment. I tell myself: Today was a day well-spent. Tomorrow will be a new day, a day when I can do as much, when I can do MORE.

Solitude by chance

We are surrounded by people all the time. Even when alone, rings and pings of the phone keep us bound to the world outside. Moments of quietude are rare… and longed for longingly. I found my share of true solitude in southern Italy last winter. Unexpectedly.

Atul and I had set off to explore the Amalfi coast which is a series of cliffs that plunge steeply into the turquoise Tyrrhenian Sea. We drove along the mountain edge, the narrow road curving in and out, past small towns with their pastel-colored houses and piazzas, the blue sea on our right, deep down below us.

The coastline is dotted with numerous caves partially submerged in the sea. Small openings in the walls allow light to enter through the water and flood the cave with amazing shades of blue and green. The Grotto dello Smeraldo or the Emerald Cave, our first stop, is one such cave. A hundred odd steps took us down to the jetty from where a boat would take us into the cave. Winter being off-season, the jetty was totally deserted and the ticket man went off in search of the boatman.

I wandered down the last few steps and looked out at the sea. The sun was already high in the sky, shining down on the waves as they lapped gently against the rocks. I settled down on the last step, enjoying the pleasant warmth of the winter sun.

The water stretched endlessly before me, sunshine turning the blueness of the sea into molten silver. Time seemed to stand still. I sat there lost watching the play of the sun on the waves, barely aware of the faint sounds of cars on the road above. Immersed in the moment. Unmindful of time or thought. In sync with the sea and the sky and the sun… the elements coming together with my inner self, binding us forever.

I hugged the moment of complete solitude to me, wonderfully alive, filled with unexplained joy.

***

Back home, many months later, the memory of those moments comes unbidden to me… I see again the sea stretching in front of me, the waves moving, the light dancing… and I am alone once again filled anew with remembered calm and peace. With renewed energy, I turn to engage with the world over again.

an unexpected moment of solitude

PS: Would you like to share your moment of solitude?

In search of Happiness…

nicole_Happiness_Workplace

Idle curiosity last summer made me post on FB: Happiness is…

Because aren’t we all looking for happiness? The reason why we get up every morning, work, love, have a family, buy stuff, socialize, study, exercise, entertain, travel, play… As the Dalai Lama puts it: The very motion of our life is towards happiness.

My friends’ insightful responses made me pause, ponder, and explore further…

Sure. Great films, amazing food, meeting friends, good books, all leave that pleasant warm glow within us we call ‘happiness.’ Which makes life worthwhile. For me, there is no greater joy than sharing golgappas with my daughter or watching an Avengers film with my son or simply sitting with a cup of tea. Yet, these moments are brief, short-lived. Isn’t happiness something greater? Something that pervades our soul on a more sustained basis through life?

*

My friends definitely think so. They say happiness is a state of mind. A sense of well-being. An appreciation of life.  That it is in the mind and comes from within. And that nobody can come and give us happiness… we have to seek it… on our own. That happiness is a choice we make, a decision we take. AND. We can train our mind to learn happiness! We just need to be aware of where and how to find it.

Money did get mentioned as a prerequisite to happiness. Of course, money IS important; money buys us comfort, safety and freedom in life. However, falling into the more you have-the more you want trap can cause even more UNhappiness! So once we have enough to keep our heads above water, swimming towards happiness is entirely up to us. Otherwise, the not-so-fortunate could never be happy!

*

Going over my friends’ responses, I realized that happiness means different things to different people. All agree that happy people are content, satisfied and see happiness all around them… put together, their answers paint a rather happy picture of happiness!

Happiness is… making others happy

When we help others, support them, be with them, we are happy. Happiness means loving others AND telling them so. Genuinely acknowledging the support of family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, helpers, fills us with inner peace and confidence. Having people whom we can turn to for affection and understanding gives us the strength to survive health challenges better.

Happiness is… total acceptance

We Are What We Are. Happiness means being yourself. Accepting yourself as you are.

They Are As They Are. Accepting others, without trying to change them, is essential too.

It is as it is. This phrase brings out the essence of optimism perfectly.  All we can do is accept life’s quirks and carry on.

Sounds like a tall order but accepting ourselves, others and circumstances is, my friends say, the path to contentment and happiness.

Happiness is… loving ourselves

We are always busy. 24 x 7 x 365. When do we take out time for ourselves? To do what we like? Taking out time for our own self is the primal need of every human being. Being alone gives us breathing space, a chance to think quietly, to put our life in perspective, to be at peace.

Happiness is… being fit

When one of my friends commented that “happiness means being able to fit into old clothes” I am sure she was not jesting. Happiness means being fit – in the body and in the mind. And exercising does both.

Happiness is… getting the job done

Happy people do the things they like to do. AND. Enjoy things they don’t like to do too. After all, isn’t our sense of fulfilment the greatest when we accomplish something we didn’t like, didn’t want, to do?

Each of us needs to devise our own mechanism to achieve the completion of daunting tasks. For me, the thought of having a cup of tea at the end of a gruelling task is the biggest motivation for carrying on!

Happiness is… ‘Is-ness”

Is-ness: An apt term coined by a friend for living in the moment. Because the present moment is the only moment we have. The only moment we have to be happy.

Living in the present keeps us focussed, helps us concentrate better on the job at hand. This is the ‘flow experience’ described by psychologist Csikszentmihalyl ~ the experience when one is totally involved and immersed in a task to the exclusion of all thought other than the work at hand. The resulting sense of achievement, ecstasy, serenity is surely happiness?

Happiness is… finding a meaningful purpose in life

Perhaps this is the most important aspect of happiness: recognizing the things which give meaning and purpose to our life, and then, doing them wholeheartedly.

For me, this means carrying out my role in this world to the best of my ability ~ my role as a daughter, wife, mother, sister, colleague, friend, neighbor, citizen… and above all, as a human being. And enjoying every moment of it. Without the fear of not succeeding in it.

*

The most striking revelation for me was:

There is no way to happiness – happiness is the way.

We all set out to achieve a happy life ~ a good job, a great relationship, a bigger house ~ firm in the belief that happiness awaits us in the future…  As a friend points out, happiness is not something in the distance, to be achieved over time; it is HERE, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. So smile, laugh and live life to its fullest… THAT is happiness.

 

PS: A message I received on Whatsapp seems apt in these unprecedented corona times: Happiness is viral. Go infect someone.

MOMMY DIARIES ~ Jab I Left

It was with a heavy heart that I boarded the United Airlines flight in fall 2012. I was returning home from the US, alone, leaving Tanvi, my daughter, to begin school at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh.

The last two weeks had been hectic: settling down in the apartment, completing formalities at the University, browsing stores in neighboring Walnut Street, exploring the city with its quaint bridges over the rivers… The day I left, we had a typical American lunch at our favorite diner ~ burgers and fries with Coke. For a mother-daughter pair who chat all the time, both of us were unusually quiet… Soon I was boarding the blue Shuttle for the airport and Tanvi was waving me goodbye. As I turned my head to look back at her, a blinding thought flashed through my mind: Today. Today, I am cutting the umbilical cord. She is on her own now.

I cannot say I was sad. There was no reason to be sad; rather, all the more to be happy. Our daughter was moving on to a new phase in life, an important milestone for the family. Yet, I sat at the shuttle window, silently. I could hear others chatting around me but felt no inclination to join them… At the airport, I sat, reading, waiting for my flight to be announced.

The flight was quite empty. There was only one person at the window seat. I settled down comfortably for the short flight to New York from where I would take an Air India flight to New Delhi.

*

I noticed her when the air hostess came with the drinks. The girl at the window seat, a young American about my daughter’s age. She had been sleeping fitfully since take off… now, she looked at the drinks trolley and refused. Something in her expression made me ask, “Would you like a drink?”

“Do I have to pay?” Obviously it was her first flight abroad. As we got talking, I learned that she was going to France for a two year course in the Arts. The first time away from family. The first time in a new country.

Instinctively, I warmed to her. The uncertainty I had sensed in her came to the fore as we chatted. New school with unknown people… how much time would it take for her to settle? She wondered. I realized the extent of her insecurity when she showed me the address she would be staying at, uncertain how she would reach it… I was glad I could guide her. We chatted all the way to New York becoming more and more animated as we talked about our families and our countries, her education, her Arts course in France, her career prospects…

I could see her tension ebbing as we spoke; for my part, I was surprised how easily I had come out of my melancholia, how soon my dejection had disappeared. Helping her, a girl embarking on a journey abroad just like my daughter, even in a small way, had been oddly comforting.

*

At JFK, I caught sight of her as she walked towards her gate, quite confidently I thought. Turning, I moved towards mine, a warm glow around my heart, happy and secure in the feeling that my daughter would be just fine.