Little bits of life

Living on the first floor has advantages. Privacy is one, so is the pleasant intimacy with trees outside. Luckily the large window in my lounge opens to a tall mulberry tree, and I get to behold nature unwinding and dolling up. I see rain washing the dirt away to leave it all pristine green. The saffron Autumn and the Spring bloom are beautifully intrusive as I experience the spectacles of renewal and rebirth from an intimate vantage point. The sight of green branches rustling against the glass, drooping under the weight of merry birds and Spring foliage, paints the illusion of being nestled in the woods.

It is fascinating how a limited view can so easily delude one into happiness. The pleasures of living are sometimes about knowing little and seeing little. Losing the grand picture, seeing things for what they really are, living a present unencumbered by an uncertain future or a regretful past allows one to enjoy the moment and the little things in life.

Why should happiness be a consequence of monumental events? Why can’t the trivial, the mundane, the little bits of life make us happy? I am a great believer in the power of small things. Little moments scattered all around waiting for attention, waiting to be summoned and experienced. A moment with a loved one, a kind word, a fragrant whisper, the first swallow of a long evening, rain out of nowhere, an unsolicited smile and sometimes, simply an instance of spontaneous gratitude to divinity. These tiny slivers of time have the magical power of filling our memory vaults, accruing happiness and serenity.

We all crave happiness. Some find it in money and some taste it in power. Some see it in beauty and some feel it in love.

Beauty is skin deep, but so is my sight. Beautiful, dark eyes rob without shame and strengthen my belief in the divine artistry. Some eat to be happy and for some, happiness is delicious abstinence. It is contentment to some, while others are condemned to remain unsatiated. Some find it in sanity and some discover happiness in madness. “There is pleasure sure in madness which none but madmen know,” Dryden wrote. And for many, it is the mundane routine that is most pleasing. Happiness comes in colours and we experience its hues as we age. A child experiences it in the lap of her doting mother and a man, in the warm embrace of his beloved.

Happiness. When you go hazy listening to the symphony of the scissors. When your eyelids become droopy with pleasure as the artist sensuously sprinkles water on your hair. The swarm of tiny water droplets land on the warm skin, only to lose their existence. And then, as the hand gently runs through the hair, the scissors follow it like a lover in tow. Head reclining, you experience that indescribable relief, as if all your worries have been sucked out of your life. When all you can hear is the symphony of the scissors.

Happiness is listening to Tony Bennett’s “The Look of Love”. The afternoon is warm, the room ethereally quiet and the mind taking a quite trip down nostalgia lane. When in a crowded room, you catch that special someone looking at you. The moment is fleeting yet has the power to scar for life. “Some people live a lifetime in a moment,” whispers Al-Pacino in the Scent of a Woman, as he takes Gabrielle Anwar for a tango. Happiness, when after endlessly wading through murky water, you hit that clear patch. When you are suddenly able to cut through the haze and see with stunning clarity. It is that epiphany, of knowing which bridge to cross and which to burn.

Happiness, when you call your mother to check on her and greeted with a shower of heartfelt benedictions. She is there is give and not judge. Happiness when you wake up to the early morning rain. It is like eavesdropping on God. No winding road to happiness. No mountains to be crossed, no oceans to be feared. Happiness is in the little turns here and there. Open your eyes, unchain your heart, embrace the ordinary, feast on the little and happiness will come to you. You just need to find your window in the house. As John Dryden, the English poet, so beautifully put it:

Happy the man, and happy he alone,

He who can call today his own;

He who, secure within, can say,

Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Published in The Express Tribune, March 29^th, 2016.

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