YOLO LEGACY

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We carry within us the wonders we seek without us – Thomas Browne

Once grandpa brought home a tiger cub; it was sometime in the late 1930s. He was walking home through the forest, spotted a lone cub, thought it was abandoned and decided to adopt it. Needless to say, he got a good spanking at home and was forced to return the cub where he got it from. That was how grandpa was until the day he died – impulsive, adorable and full of childlike curiosity.

Every summer, when it got too hot in the city, we packed our bags and went to live with grandpa and grandma. They lived in a modest home deep in the valleys of rural Mangalore in South India. That was our ‘vacation.’ It might not have been exotic but it was certainly enriching and well-spent. I adored grandpa and his idiosyncrasies that for me had hidden lessons like little wrapped gifts in a treasure hunt. He would wake up at dawn and lovingly sweep the front yard. That was the first thing he did and it was a metaphor for starting the day on a clean slate. As soon as I woke up, he would hand me a small brass pot and drag me to the well. We would draw water together, my small hands covered with his large, calloused ones over the rough rope. He would spend entire mornings watering the plants, admiring the flowers, tending to his vegetable and fruit patch, pointing out the ripe ones and urging me to pick them. This is how he taught me to care and work for what I loved; to appreciate the beauty around me, to have patience and enjoy the rewards when they appeared. Once he hacked open a huge jackfruit with his bare hands and we chomped through the entire thing in one sitting. In today’s lingo it’s called a YOLO day. A day when you indulge yourself because ‘You Only Live Once’. Grandpa lived and breathed the YOLO philosophy, though in a different way. It wasn’t about pigging out on a certain day; it was living life to the full every single day. He exemplified how to nurture the inner child and never let it die.

Grandpa's using headphones for the first time.

Grandpa using headphones for the first time.

On days that he chose to stay home, grandpa would sit on the patio listening to the news on his small portable radio. His sharp brain would absorb every bit of information and it was incredible how much he knew about world affairs. But most days, he would disappear, only to appear in time for our evening prayers. He would waddle down unconcerned down the dark, twisted path that led to our house in the valley. Grandma would keep expressing her disapproval about him roaming around in the dark, but he only just laughed all the time. Sometimes, he came home really late when we were already in bed. Then he would squat on the mattress beside me, turn up the oil lamp a little, recount real life stories in his booming voice and sneak me sweets under the blankets while I hung on to his every word.

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The way life has been pausing and crawling recently has given me new perspectives. Sometimes the rain falls around like it will never stop and quite suddenly the sun comes out and everything is so different. It’s like living in two parallel universes. There are days when all I want to do is wear my escapist garb and crawl into my own skin. On days like that a memory of grandpa and his toothless grin is enough to haul me back. And quite suddenly things become symphonic and perfect. Life breaks free from shackles and appears untethered and free. There’s a beauty in how relationships, past or present, are stitched together into our lives with invisible threads. How what seems so simple can gain so much importance. Grandparents are always taken for granted but someday when they are gone, you realize that they live in parts of you that you didn’t know existed. When you realize that, you quite suddenly fall in love with reminiscences of them, as well as parts of you that they still live in.

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Grandpa didn’t accumulate wealth and heirlooms. But he loved life, indulged his curiosity and laughed nonchalantly. Those are the qualities and lessons he seems to have passed on; a kind of legacy – the YOLO legacy, as I like to call it. What could be more precious than that? When I get excited about picking sea-shells from the shore, write my name on frosty window panes, lose myself in music or laugh out loud at inane jokes, I think of grandpa. On dark days when life seems to be pulling me down and I smile back at it, I hope he’s proud of me. He never preached but set us an example of how to feel wonder at the tiniest thing, how not to live a numb life and how to open ourselves up to the wonder of ‘us’.

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UNBROKEN

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We’re not broken just bent, and we can learn to love again – Pink 

My earliest memory is of a three year old me, sitting by the window in the fading light, waiting for Dad to come home. I never went to bed without saying goodnight to him. He always brought home a little present for me – a small bag of grapes or oranges or a bar of chocolate. Maybe it was the goodies I used to wait for, but I like to believe that we had a strong bond, one that can only be had between a father and daughter. This might be the reason the memory is so vivid in my mind. It was also the best time I had with him; because around then Dad got a job in Kuwait and what we were building one brick at a time collapsed like a house of cards. At the time it was difficult for me to understand his sudden absence from our lives. Like any child, I felt betrayed and confused. At times like these, though it’s no one’s fault, lives are affected beyond repair and the ramifications leave tangible footprints that can never be erased. Time will fill up the deepest gash, yes, but there are always scars. It took me a long, long time to fill up the emptiness, erase the misery and genuinely laugh again.

All these thoughts resurfaced and floated around in my head a few days ago. My thoughts are never in sync, but even then it was strange because I was in a happy place and it was a happy time. My husband and I were celebrating 21 years of togetherness. We had woken up early that morning and like two fuzzy headed lovers, cruised along the highway humming love songs and smiling for no reason. There was a light drizzle, the verdant mountains sprawled lazily and the world seemed incredibly beautiful.

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We got to our destination and checked into a quiet, cozy little room that overlooked the lush greenery and the sea beyond. It wasn’t a swanky place, in fact, it was way too simple, but there was an old world charm to the austerity. As if life was deliberately made unadorned and effortless. We arranged our few things, freshened up and stepped out. The ocean lay just across the road. We ambled along to be met with a gloriously forsaken looking stretch of pale gold sand spread out in both directions, the water gentle and playful in its kissing of the shore. I sat there for what seemed like an interminable time.

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Later in the evening, when the tide was higher, we went back. The day had been replete with moments that deserved a place in my mental scrapbook. It was at sundown, as we sat looking out at the sea, waiting for twilight that those childhood memories came gushing back to me. It was baffling at first. But then I understood. The bricks that had collapsed all those years ago had been picked up over time. Slowly and surely, they had been placed one upon the other; and now life stood weathered but sturdy. All of those early years spent in a state of incompleteness had somehow led me to this moment years later. A moment that felt so complete that nothing could make it more perfect. This is how life comes full circle. When I look back, nothing looks like a coincidence. There is a coherent pattern to how every second moves from one to the other.

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That night we lingered over our meal and talked of random things. We got a little drunk and sang songs in our Spartan room. Without even realizing it, my gash had filled up, my scars had faded and I was unbroken and beautiful. That’s what I like about life. It takes away a lot from you, but if you’re patient and understanding, someday you are blessed with an abundance that takes your breath away.

UBUNTU

It is said that the poor are the most generous.  I don’t know if that’s entirely true, but generosity does seem more profound when you have little and yet give. I was raised in a modest neighbourhood.  We were probably the most well-to-do family as compared with the rest, and believe me we weren’t doing that great.  My next door neighbours were a family of six – mother, father and four sons.  They had a meagre income and were always struggling to make ends meet.  Even then, I remember bowls of steaming food arriving for us before they had eaten themselves.  I especially looked forward to the festivals.  That was when the best food was served.  There was not a single festival when they ate without sending us food first.  The other neighbours were big-hearted too; so open-handedness and simplicity was a staple we grew up on.

Now when I’m getting attracted to the concept of minimalism, it’s probably me going back to my roots.  If you have experienced the beauty of a simple life and simple emotions you will understand this better.  If you haven’t, you’d probably want to know what the fuss is about.  At the end of the day, all we ever want is peace, happiness and good health.

My friend just forwarded me this very beautiful story.  An anthropologist proposed a game to a bunch of African tribal kids.  He placed a basket of fruit under a tree and asked them to stand about 100 metres away from it.  Then he announced that whoever got to the basket first could have all the fruits.  As soon as he said, “Ready, steady, go!” guess what the kids did.  They held on to each other’s hands and ran towards the tree together.  They then divided the fruit amongst themselves and happily relished the meal.  When asked why they did so, they replied in unison, “Ubuntu”.  Ubuntu in their language means: ‘I am, because we are!’

When I imbibe this philosophy of ‘Ubuntu’ fully and honestly, I would have crossed an important milestone in my journey towards minimalism.

© Renica Rego