In this age of self-care and frantic search for inner peace and purpose, the opportunity of finding transformational experiences is not rare. Even a tenously connected soul like me must have gone through several life-altering experiences over the years, or so I would like to believe. And yet, how much do we actually change? Two post cards, yes, those tiger-headed ones, unwritten, and looking at me occasionally, and intentionally, from the mess of my work desk, got me thinking.
A little less than a year ago, on a Sunday afternoon, we had found ourselves in the company of two women, Deepa and Anahita, in a lively auditorium of the Bangalore International Center. BIC has been our to-go destination for free and free-spirited events, offbeat designer sales and uncategorizable experiences. And the occasional ticketed stand-ups too. That afternoon, as Deepa talked about her money-less cycle trip from Delhi to Pondicherry, in the middle of Covid, and Anahita transported her story on the wheels of Kabir's songs, something seemed to shift inside me. At the end of the programme, as people gathered around the performers for close-by banter, they kept handing over these India post post cards with their names and addresses written on them. I collected one from each.
Not every life we see being lived needs to be emulated. But if something moved you, you felt a connection, and did nothing to strengthen it, it is a debt of the heart. These empty post cards are the tip of my debt iceberg. Life has given me so many openings, and yet I have refused most of them in my vanity, hidden in a pretense of busyness, or some over-arching principles of propriety or challenged them to reveal a greater purpose.
Letters have always been ready with their addresses written. All I need to do now is pick up my pen, write and post them.
Kommentare