The Yogurt story

The first time I saw her when she handed back my little note pad that slipped from my handbag. The next time at the porch by herself, looking into emptiness and the other time, with her hairs shaved off her head. Since then, I saw her almost every day and we began to exchange those looks of acquaintance.

            At the extended stay, I barely got to see the same people around but for this skinny lady, probably in late forties. I somehow sensed that she is not in a good shape. Whatsoever, we became so common to each other, it's as if we communicated speechless.

Last Sunday afternoon, I found the bathroom in my studio locked from the inside. Turns out, I have casually mastered the skill of locking myself out of the room. I did this countless times and with a lot of ease ever since I checked into this place.

            She came over to help, as she saw me helplessly making numerous trips to the front office. This time, by a matter of chance, I took a closer look on her only to see that she was pale, unhealthy and had blood oozing out of bruises on her neck. Her nails were filled with dirt and she smelled like a cigarette. She walked right in and tried to unlock the door, in vain. While the episode ended with an alternate arrangement made by the front office, I thanked her for the attempt to help and we introduced ourselves briefly, namesake.

Two days later, she came on my mind in fact, the only one I think I knew in the neighborhood, as soon as I thought of giving away an unopened yogurt to someone that could use it before it expired. I swiftly walked by the stairs to look for her and there she was in the usual pose with a cigarette in hand. The moment I said hello, she replied as if she were eagerly waiting to begin a conversation. And when I asked her if she would like to have it, she readily accepted the offer and invited me into her room.

           There was an awkward silence for a moment; we did not know what to talk. Hesitantly, she started and her eyes welled up with tears. She talked about her financially and emotionally broken state. She is suffering from a great loss and is by herself, deserted and all alone. The need of the moment was not yogurt, but a listening ear, few words of encouragement, a little bit of companionship, a sense of being cared for and she sure got it, courtesy of a soon to expire yogurt!! I felt a purpose to my presence at that moment and it was satisfying.

           It’s not easy to be alone, especially in distress, stranded in life with not even a single ray of hope. One may not solve problems, nor offer solutions, but who knows, during those “Who cares if” times, a word as small as ‘Hi’ could make an ocean of difference. It still matters on the receiving end, even if it were for a moment! It counts.

Next half to go!

At two different occasions during a calendar year, I make it unexceptionally important to look back in retrospect. These occasions come across indicative of a new beginning, yet, ironically, they bring an un-equivalently opposite feeling of joy as well as sorrow.

At the first occasion, there is an excitement in anticipation of a new year, and a new hope to see what is in store as the future unveils itself in time. Setting small-term objectives to achieve personal excellence and checking off the list of achievements made over the past course of time, undoubtedly gives a sense of satisfaction and a refreshing spirit to welcome the so called beginning of a new milestone. For some reason, this doesn’t come very personal, not at least to me. Along with zillion other people on the globe, I am happy to see the onset of just another year, which too will soon become history.

There is this other occasion that is personal and to me in particular, comes a little after the second half of the year had begun. Besides coming during the next half of the year, it brings a demanding need of seeking a purpose to the rest half of my life; a poignant reminder of progression towards eternal sleep and a painful review of an unproductive past. Advancing age deeply questions me of the very existence and it’s purpose and of accomplishments worth counting; often accusing me of lack of planning and discipline. I stand guilty, confessing a rather blank record of the list of things I wanted to do before I had lived for a few decades. In the yester years, this was one of those days that was much awaited, with the countdown having started literally months in advance, not even weeks. And today, I am here, trying to make every possible but futile attempt to at least pretend to have forgotten about it! Time just flew past and left behind a very sad realization of the fact that there is so much remaining to do in so little time!

I wonder if these thoughts are subjective to myself alone or if every individual is inescapably subject to them. As a matter of fact, it is humanly impossible to not contemplate life more often than not.

A close friend of mine has a pretty simple yet a scary logic that reduces the remainder of life into a little more than one thousand weeks. Makes sense; the idea of breaking it into functional, dysfunctional, productive and non-productive pieces in time and diminishing to a quantitative four digit whatsoever, does put things into perspective. This presentation of life in a conceivable amount of time dramatically influences one’s perception of life and enforces action towards living life in its totality.

I have been grateful to God and I still am year after year, for adding blessings to the journal of my life but at the same time there is this seemingly intense pressure haunting me day and night about my failures, some of which can never make up at all in a given life time. Those innocent moments of childhood, that hearty smile, that peaceful laughter, that undisturbed sleep which has now been lost into pretentious scenarios of today’s life is never going to come back. At this point, as I look at the ceaselessly ticking clock I once again realize “time and tide wait for none”!