Now who was the bloke who famously uttered, "the true tragedy of a routinely spent life is that its wastefulness does not become apparent till it is too late"? Sure, there are couple of things about this statement that can be disputed.
For one, is a 'routinely spent life' a tragedy? Why, I would rather have that tragic experience any day, if the alternative is a 'not-so-routine' life of adrenaline-pumping excitement. 'Wastefulness?' - Is not in the long term everything wasteful, as in the long-term all are very dead? Even so, for many, the so called wastefulness does become apparent before it's too late but they are simply unable to do anything to alter the course life has chosen to take on its own!
From my routinely spent life so far, I have tried to pick out a few moments, a random selection of memories. Memories that keep coming back, memories that never fail to light up the mood. Memories, not of wastefulness, but of the joy of life!
Like the memory of that moonless night spent in the sea-shore with a few friends in a Mahabs resort, a few years back. The din of the roaring waves, the black limitless expanse of the sea, a star-spangled sky, heady breeze hitting the face and velvety sand. For this setting to be romantic, the company of a girl is not a necessity. Loneliness can be the best company. If that is demanding a bit too much, a couple of friends will do.
Like the memory of the visit to Darjeeling two decades back for two bone-chilling days of January. Again with long-lost friends. Two days of misty mountains, the fleeting glimpse of Kanchenjunga, meeting with an elderly director of the mountaineering institute who had actually summitted Everest, the hospitality of a kind family, the ride in the toy train, the group photo with the TTE, the overnight ride in the 'rocket' bus from Calcutta to Siliguri....
Like the memory of dark evenings at Kasba Kalibari. The secluded hill-top temple an hour from Agartala. The dancing priest performing aarti to the background of conch and cymbals. The watch-tower enveloped in perpetual darkness. Comfortable arm chairs in the sit-out. The coke bottle in hand. Again a good friend for company. The sight of trains crawling across the Bangladeshi plains far down the hill. The barbed wire fencing, no-man's land on the other side, BSF jawans going about their business...
Like the memory of popcorn smell pervading Fame cinema's lobby in Calcutta's South City Mall. Of the Sunday morning 9 o'clock shows. Of the company of the best of Hollywood and Bollywood for the next three hours. Of the small coffee-corner in a nook inside the book shop in the mall. Of the temerity to spend an entire half-a-day inside the air-conditioned confines of the mall with just Rs.70/- (60 bucks for the morning show and 10 for the brew) buying nothing but happiness....
Like the memories of countless Saturday night shows in Chennai with another movie freak. Of heading straight to the K.K.Nagar house of a friend at midnight, after the show. Of unending discussions and arguments till day-break. Of the 2 a.m. tea at the road-side stall...
Like the memory of the picnic at a resort near Vasai a year back, with office colleagues. Of the gallons of liquor consumed. Of the swimming pool. Of the animal farm nearby. Of that memorable ride back in the Virar fast....
Or like the memory of 15th July, 1996 on a humid Wednesday afternoon at a Coimbatore hospital, when someone handed over 2.50 kilograms of a bundle of joy to my hands. Of brittle bones, long limbs and a terrified face. Of an inexplicable pot-pourrie of emotions....
Life may be routine. But it need not necessarily be one of wastefulness. Life may seem uneventful but still full of events that, looking back, never fail to make you want to get into a time-machine and travel back to those memories. Life may be quiet and calm. No disturbance. Just routine. Mundane. But during the course of each such 'wasteful' life, there do come several missed calls. It is up to you to spot the missed calls and call back and connect to happiness! Ignore the missed calls and you end up ignoring life itself.
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