STAINS ON MY HEART

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It was around early May. A light breeze caressed the countryside and the day was fragrant with the sweet smell of summer bounties. We decided to explore the moorland and took the most twisted path there was. I was about 12 at the time, a city-bred child, but carrying around a rural soul. My young aunt led the way through thorny bushes and slippery trails. A couple of the neighbourhood kids, whom I’d befriended, followed us regaling me with stories from here and there. We reached the top an hour later, panting for breath, hungry and thirsty.

For a while then, we flopped on the yellowing grass, a steady banter making us break into breathless giggles every now and then. When we were all fagged out, we just lay there, silence covering us like a blanket. And just like that, I looked up at the sky and my soul stilled. I cannot really describe what went through my juvenile heart, but I was completely riveted. I lost all sense of time and can’t recall how long I stayed there; but to this day, I rate that as my most sacrosanct moment.

Later, we had devoured freshly picked wild mangoes, the juice running down our hands, creating almost permanent stains on our clothes. But looking back, the stains of memory left on my heart were clearly much more permanent. I wanted to stay up there longer, but the sun was dipping westwards and my aunt was afraid we wouldn’t make it home before dark.  So we hurried back. Even as I stumbled along behind the others, my mind was still in a trance.

Sometime during February of this year, when I was grappling with one of my dark days, the above incident popped into my head. I closed my eyes, trying to relive the peace I had felt on that hilltop. And sure enough, I felt it.  From that day onwards, I have been looking for and finding joy and sanctity in the most inconceivable places. It’s funny how we get caught up in the drama of daily life and overlook the central theme completely. If we look hard enough though, we always find what we need.

Last week, when I was visiting mom for a couple of days, I made the most of the lovely parks in her neighbourhood. I pretended I was 12 again, lay down on the grass and gazed at the sky, taking in the vastness and beauty of the heavens. It was beautiful. In moments like these, the mind empties itself of the clutter we carry around needlessly and all that’s left is peace and gratitude.

Some wild mangoes afterwards would have been perfect, but the store bought ones did just fine. : )

© Renica Rego

 

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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