This Sunday morning the forces of nature (the sunshine) forced me into pre-mature wakening. This didn’t go down too well with my initial plan that didn’t involve an alarm. A surreal distant melody from a double bass made me forgive the morning.
For someone who lives in Germany, my German is shamefully bad. Hence any conversation I might overhear from the street are just bare sounds to me. Nevertheless the familiar silence of a holiday morning broken by the pitchy chatter of the kids dragging their bikes with tottering wheels created a pure distilled happy Sunday morning. The words ‘Sunday Morning’ swam in my head thereafter and dug out the song Beautiful Sunday by Daniel Boone from a memory.
In India, back in school, I used have these assemblies where all kids in the school assembled in the hall with teachers. On some days our school principal would play the guitar. That’s where I first heard this song; when I was so young that the word ‘love’ was as much of a no-no word for me as is the f-word now.
Then I grew into the teen who’d hide away in the school bathroom just to bunk that assembly. I grew into a teen who wasn’t shy of reading romantic novels only because they were THICK books but was still ashamed to admit to anyone that she relished every morsel of the mushy detail the book had to offer. To that teen-self though the meaning of love had finally begun to assume character.
On a day such as my beautiful Sunday morning, I HAD to grab a coffee and head out to any bench in the park that the sunshine would take me to. I try hard to give my phone a break on such trips; no incessant pictures, no music, no twitter, and only a tiny bit of texting. Just soaking in the medley of sounds, fragrances and sights.
A few yards away from where I sat a couple lay on the grass, snuggling. I should feel strange saying this but I thought they looked kind of cute. The contrast between me and the teen-me was overwhelming. If teen-me were sitting on the same park bench and saw what I saw now, she would ask herself why she didn’t have THAT or maybe outrightly resent it because she ought not like romance for that’s for frivolous people alone. Today, I am happier with myself because when I feel love now, it’s profound and not niched. I am free not to hide it only so I might not appear to be someone who is ‘not cool’.
Love has evolved for me – from a word to a weakness, then to a feeling and then to a consequence and to finally be understood as a reward.
Not far from where I sat, some veterans played chess and the others just watched. I wished to myself: that I could be patient like them and wait till I deserve things. You know what I sounded like at the very instant? Like my 18 year old self! Discontent with Now, and longing for have-nots.
Then, it felt bad to still be this way just when I had begun to feel I was beyond this. I got up and started walking back home. Then it struck me. I am yet to become someone else, just like me but better. The morphosis will occur repeatedly until I am too perfect to have to live anymore. This life shouldn’t be too difficult to live if all I do is to be comfortable with myself at every age.