Things I didn't know I was looking for till I found them
An idea for a column. An email from a reader. These are the two top things that came to my mind today as I thought of unexpected joys and breakthroughs. To be honest, I am always looking for an idea for my next essay, my note to readers. What will be exciting for me to write, and be like a fresh, cool breeze on a hot afternoon for those who read the words? Whatever I write, I am always surprised, reassured and overwhelmed by emails, tweets, comments and DMs I receive in response to my words. I remain in awe of connections that get formed between people who don’t know each other, or feel they would have little in common if they did. Solidarity is how we extend healing to others. Sharing stories is the strongest currency between human beings.
Today’s column is a list of things one doesn’t know one was looking for till they appear before us. Like ice-cream in the fridge when one is looking for something meetha to eat after dinner. Guavas on the branches of the neighbour’s tree, which are spilling over across the boundary wall. Opening a neglected drawer in a study table and finding photos of my children when they were younger. The lost partner of your favourite socks. Videos of puppies on your social media feed. My own pair of bathroom slippers in a home full of casual chappal thieves. Everyone in my home has nearly the same shoe size and we are lenient about what we wriggle our toes into as we go about our day absent-mindedly. At this stage in my life, I can add this to the list of fortuitous occurrences: meeting a middle-aged friend who doesn’t repeat anecdotes. Who keeps the phone on silent and forgets about it. Who knows how to make exciting Instagram reels. Who is okay to interrupt a post-lunch chat with a power nap because God knows we need to compensate for the sleep-deprived years of our youth. Something to put my aching feet on after a long day of being responsible and respectable. A few lines of poetry in an old notebook used mainly for work notes. A few green parakeets among hundreds of pigeons feeding bird seed on a traffic intersection. Songs your parents used to listen to when you were a child. Memories so vivid, you wonder.
Your copy of Catcher in the Rye. The brown envelope with the letter from LIC, an organisation that still doesn’t send an email when one’s claims are due. The unclaimed cheque one had used as a bookmark and then forgot which book one was reading. A PDF of a book you always wanted to read stored in the Documents folder of your laptop. A window seat in a train when one is travelling alone. A dupatta in one’s bag that can serve as a headrest. Sweet children who spend the journey trying to get you to play peekaboo with them. Moments of clarity. Expressions of kindness. Fragments, miraculously intact, of a fractured innocence. The sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. A cloudy day in May. Fog on your doorstep after a night of intermittent rain. Someone gracefully overlooking your silly mistakes. Teachers who are expert listeners. A day when the news features stories of justice. The triumph of a people united in advocating for the rights of each other. An act of governance that reminds us that democracy works when we want to make it work. An act of care from someone in a position of authority.
I wrote a short list on Twitter one slow afternoon and invited others to respond to the prompt. Cold water on a hot day and hot soup on a cold day, a friend tweeted back. Antacids in infrequently used handbags. Metro cards in an old wallet. The radically personal voice of Japanese women authors. The responses kept flowing in for a while. Laughter, wrote another person. Your own voice, emerging from hibernation and rest. Dreamless sleep. Watermelon, chopped in bite-sized pieces. Golden gooseberries arranged in a luscious bunch in early summer. Listening to the ghazal, “Aaj jaane ki zid naa karo” in Farida Khanum’s voice. The scent of autumn, the nip in the air as the ‘thanda meetha’ mausam begins. This column comes to you as a writing prompt, dear reader. Let my list lead you to yours. May this be a weekend of finding things you didn’t know you were looking for, till they suddenly appear before you.
— The writer is a filmmaker, author and teacher
