Winter had just set in, that evening it asserted itself profoundly to have Delhi in shivers and though I had ditched my car for the sanity of riding my bike to maneuver through that quintessential Delhi evening chaotic traffic, my pale blue hands, numb with the chill conveyed how idiotic my decision was. I immediately asked for a stiff Old Monk the moment I reached, I was sipping on rum and cola at a restrobar inside the deer park at Hauz khas Village and was joined by the friends who had hosted the meet up. Their son, a little cute kid of about three years and some wanted to see the deers, I wasn’t too sure whether the deers would just be here next to the restrobar’s hedge, we walked to the periphery and to my bewilderment the entire herd was there next to the wall gazing into the restrobar.
It just hit me, a thought, why were the wild right next to the watering hole of civilization, perhaps it was light, the light that wasn’t a norm in dark winter nights in the park which was left undisturbed. That restrobar was the only source of light in their neighborhood. Made me feel grateful for the light we have in our lives without much celebrations about its existence.
Something as ubiquitous as the daylight on a bright sunny day, something that we aren’t in a habit of praying for, thats just there and so it would always be and the haughty soul would just discount even a stray thought of gratitude for what’s a part of everyday living.
So is light, frame a day, a night without and you have the answer, need to be obliged for what’s given and we avail without much heed.
It wasn’t the light that lured the deers, it was the ” Paucity” and paucity sure is a giver, it’s a blessing in everyday life. Paucity is traumatized by our consistent maligning, man wouldn’t appreciate the goodness it brings, not many even understood.
My husband often narrated how good he felt seeing those meagre four hours of light on diesel generator at his Company Operating Base on mountains in wilderness, that was special after every taxing walk back to the COB from a Long Range Patrol or weeks out in deodar Forrest on an operation. He shook hands with paucity for a while, that paucity of a shelter, of comfort, of light, of cooked, spiced food, paucity of a damp cigarette, paucity of a basic stiff rum, of that hot water bath on arrival at the COB, he called that home, the home he had without mobile phone connectivity, without a Wi-Fi connection, without an electric line but paucity was omnipresent, generators provided that precious light and there was paucity of diesel, it ran only for four hours.
Man was wild, had no home, no hamlet no cities, no roads no technology, no vehicles to flaunt, fight for basic meal was the only chore. The city dweller I see everyday has all and yet not many I meet are indeed grateful for what they’ve been served for dinner in the comforts of their home. They aren’t gratified in the life they live, wouldn’t love to go back to the wild either. He’s got abundance and in abundance he’s lost his palate to savour what he’s been served, all his life the man ran from paucity for abundance and abundance killed his joy, his vitality, his frolics, his bliss, his elation. Abundance was an everyday killer, paucity just stood there maligned.
Abundance breeds cynics, critics, the fakes and the depressed, fortuneless, the poor knows nothing, he just savoirs what he is given, he owns paucity and that unknown to him is the source of his everyday joy! But then, he too would ditch her in quest for abundance.
Ungrateful, he won’t write a thanking note for what he has, abundance is a bliss, it’s an art to know how to live with it.