For One More Day

^ I read this book. I'm not planning on writing a book review. Somehow, the words 'touching' and 'beautiful' or even 'heart-warming' aren't enough to describe it.

Wistful, probably. At any rate, I found myself answering the question Mr. Albom asks, "What would I do if I had one more day with someone I’ve lost?”

I would have said my grandfather, without a blink of my eye, because my grandfather was the most  important man for me. But, I pondered for a while. My answer would be my grandmother. I would like to spend one more day with her, if I ever get to.

'My father once told me, "You can be a mama's boy or a daddy's boy. But you can't be both."

I would like to modify this a bit. I have always liked to be identified as my grandfather's girl. I have his temper and his ego to some extent. I can be scornful like he was. I have his practical bent of mind. I'm good at Maths.

To Patti (grandmom), I was always her girl from day one. But, to me, I became her girl only after my grandfather died. She had always been a significant part of my life, undoubtedly, but it took me a while to realize that. By then it was too late.

I could get away with yelling when she would bombard me with her childlike questions, which seemed so irrational and pointless to a teenager returning home after a long, yet useless day in college. Or when she wouldn't let me watch my favourite episode of "How I Met Your Mother" without having described her day.

I would promise to play carom with her each time she visited us. I guess I broke them all the time and she being the soft soul that she was, never minded my forgetfulness. Mere words were enough for her. During her last days, I told her I'd play Rummy with her. I never did.

She loved Bollywood movies and slapstick comedies. I can count the number of times we watched movies together. I was lazy enough to not walk to the nearest DVD library and rent a DVD for the weekend.

Almost 7 out of 10 times, I preferred spending time with my grandfather over her. Was that wrong? I don't know. I probably ran out of patience explaining stuff to her.

And yet she didn't mind. She swallowed my rudeness, my irritation and annoyance at her ignorance  about the so-called worldly things.

Because I was her girl.

For all those times I did not stand up for her, she stood up for me.

I probably didn't realize or I shrugged her away, hence that, was the one time I majorly let her down I suppose.

So if I do get one more day with Patti, I would spend it by playing carom, watching stupid movies, eating ice-creams, gossiping about our old neighbours, and answering her every question in detail. I would like to have that one meaningful conversation with her, that we should have had ages ago, but never did.

For one more day. That's all.

Upside down frowns

I am happy.

Happier than I have been in a very long time. This summer has probably been one of my best so far, and not in terms of where we, as a family, went holidaying, but in terms of how things have shaped up for me so far.

I must admit, the whole guitar and music scene has suffered a bit for me, considering I decided to pursue my recent-found love for photography. Yes, a Digital Single-Lens Reflex Camera. I joined the DSLR cult.

I need to figure out a way to balance both. And, a way to control my ADD tendency towards my hobbies. I have begun to multitask way too much. I know multitasking is good, yet, not really at times.

Hobbies can't make one happy, alone. Or maybe they can. I don't know. I haven't really made new friends as such. Just maintained the old ones, and probably realized their worth. However, I may have become familiar with people who were strangers a few months ago, to an extent where their presence has become a refreshing part of my mundane routine.

I sometimes wonder what happiness really means. When you're plunged in the depth of your worst nightmares  and when the world is an epitome of melancholy, happiness becomes an eclipsed entity, an idea that becomes so obscure that its existence is almost as good as gone. That's when one scrounges for it in every nook and corner, and probably assumes it lies concealed in rings of cigarette smoke or submerged in a bottle of liquor. Or maybe it could be stolen from someone and be unleashed through pure sadism and malice.

But at least you feel happy at the end of your pursuit.

 What about the time when you step out of a never ending dark tunnel and step into sunlight? The rays could be from a warm summer's sun or probably from that of a cold winter, but, it's sunlight all the same. It makes your path visible. It's a far cry from despair, and its bound to fill your heart with zeal. That's the sort of happiness which is well deserved. The kind of happiness that makes you want to gulp it, breathe it, and fill your lungs with.

Then again, happiness could mean reading Murakami's book one morning with a cuppa filter coffee and a plate of cheese sandwich. Or it could mean climbing a not so high hill, one rainy afternoon, with a dear one you meet after what seemed forever. Or it could mean just going to bed feeling content.

Who knows?

I'm scratching my head right now. It doesn't have a definition. Or maybe it has a multitude of them.

 I am happy :)