Such an efficient waste!

"Do you run through each day on the fly? 

When you ask: How are you? Do you hear a reply? 

When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? 

You'd better slow down. 

Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last." 

- Anonymous 

While I was nostalgically pondering over the memories of my childhood, of the summers that I spent at my grandparents’ place far away from the confinements of Delhi, the thought struck me. These fond memories always manage to emerge without notice and then even going by the rest of the day seems difficult. Looking back at those days, surprisingly, I cannot recall any of those monotonously and ceaselessly performed routine tasks. Instead, what remains etched into my conscience is completely different. I don't remember if my Uncle’s car was washed and cleaned and if it had those stainless seat covers but I still remember the weekend escapades to the nearby hill station. I don’t remember if my Aunt dyed those grey strands of her hair but I can still feel the warmth of the hug that she’d embrace me with every time I’d visit her. I don’t remember if the backyard had those dried leaves scattered all over but the memories of running round the backyard chasing my brother on a hot summery afternoon is something I am going to cherish for the rest of my life. 

Why do we then wish to waste our lives emphasizing on things that don’t make a difference? Why are we so adamantly trying to pour ourselves into molds when all we need is to break free and follow our intuitions? Why have we coiled ourselves with irrelevant things while we whiz past our lives harboring feelings that are simply meant to flow? Why do we perform our routine jobs so relentlessly and assign such a great deal of significance when they don’t even make way to our memories? Why do we bother so much about folding our clothes in to neat piles when our lives perpetually remain in an utter chaos? Why do we bother so much about fixing up an appropriate place to meet those special people in our lives when all that we are going to remember is the conversation, the way we expressed in words what we feel? What holds us back when we simply want to contain our loved ones in our arms and tell them what they mean to us? Why do we think so much before visiting a friend who’s unwell and not simply drive to see him/her? Why are we virtually only a message/call away and yet emotionally so far apart? Why are we waiting for a terminal illness to remind us of the eventuality and inevitability of our lives, of our encroaching death? What will it take for us to realize that we are born to live not merely exist?

©Shweta Vora

May be we should decide for ourselves what really matters and what is an efficient wastage of time. What we comfortably condone is probably where the true essence of our life lies. For we may not remember if the cushion contrasted the color of the couch's tapestry, but we might never forget sharing a cup of coffee and how the heartfelt emotions were weaved into words..