A Simpler Life

Have increasingly been thinking along these lines.
I have been born and bred in the city, always considered myself urbane. Elitist even?
Used to a certain way of life, without getting into clichés so to speak.
A pseudo intellectualism, a tendency to think cognitively, a world weariness that seemed at odds with the many things that one engaged in as a matter of routine.
All carefully cultivated, maybe. But that’s just the cynic in me.
Growing older and getting around more, I am experiencing myself differently these days.
It’s difficult to explain in words, now that I think about it. I’ll try, though.
Just that, it’s becoming a simpler world in my head, pared down to the basics really.
I see it in small things and big. In my growing disinterest in polite conversation. In meaningless jargon.
In engaging with people who used to speak only my language, read only my books, listen to my music.
I find myself curious about the many people I meet who come from such different places.
I want to know what makes up their day, the minutiae of their lives. I want to connect emotionally.
In a way that the chip on my shoulder (or maybe it was an innate shyness?) has never allowed me to previously.
There are other signs that are equally telling.

I enjoy my time on the field. Today, I find myself sitting in a small village where the phone refuses to ‘catch the tower’ and the datacard has stopped working. And I’m putting pen to paper after a long time.
I crib occasionally about the choices I have made – about the endless travel, the absence of a ‘normal’ domestic routine, the heat and dust of the unforgiving road. The other day I was waiting for my train to trundle in and mentioned to someone that all I wanted was to make myself a hot cup of tea in my own kitchen. Also, I miss being with family and friends – sometimes, I feel disconnected from their lives in a way that is difficult to catch up with in retrospect. And don’t even get me started on the difficulties of sustaining any kind of intimacy while living out of a suitcase.

But a few things make it alright.
Like waking up in the morning and seeing a peacock outside your door.
Looking up suddenly in pitch darkness to see the starriest night that you have seen in awhile.
Climbing up a small hill in the searing heat in search of ‘Dungerland’, only to find the most spectacular view of patchwork fields from atop.
Getting your hands dirty – doing ‘shramdaan’ - as part of your stay in an organisation.
Learning how to communicate without knowing the language being spoken.
Appreciating the value of a simple meal when the day has been long and hot. Hunger is the best sauce, especially when you know how hard won the meal has been for the hosts who serve you so warmly.
Feeling humbled by the people you meet – the manymany men and women who carry the burden of the world so lightly on their shoulders. And somehow, soaking in their spirit to help you soldier on on days when you feel like giving up. Remembering, always remembering some faces, maybe not so much the names – randomly, in the middle of the day, making you smile.

It makes you travel light, all of this. Even as you struggle, sometimes, with the unfairness and injustice of it all. It relieves you of your own sense of importance and makes you laugh inwardly at your own pretensions, so closely held over the years. And with that laughter, the load lessens and you realize that you’re just a cog in the wheel. Turning and turning to your inner music even as you remain entangled with the notes of many others. ‘Tis a simple life, after all.