It’s December, and 2025 is already inching toward a conclusion, which also means, regardless of our present age, a year has been deducted from what’s been assigned to us for this lifetime. And that isn’t quite fine and dandy, especially at the age I’m at, when most of it is already behind me.
Time has ticked by so very fast and still ticks on relentlessly. But it’s a juncture where I ask myself: Did I actually live those bygone years that are now beyond retrieval, or was I just “alive”?
My life, like everyone else’s, is unscripted and unforeseeable, with plenty of things waiting in the wings, dragging me in every direction. But if one stops and ponders, does life ever let up? Will there ever be a time when one’s duties and obligations are “done” or “finished”?
I’m more than certain that even when it’s my time to bid adieu to life, there’ll still be that kameez needing repair; an overdue dentist/doctor appointment; a grandchild’s upcoming birthday, graduation, marriage, or parenthood date; reading specs lying atop an unfinished book; Netflix paused on two simultaneous series; and plenty of other things that seemed ever so important—yet, in hindsight, will reveal how little they actually mattered in the bigger picture.
This planet will, of course, with or without me, keep rotating. They say the axis has tilted a bit more, and the sun will rise and shine as it must, though it’s losing some of its heat.
But today, while I’m still here, I’ll take a deep and meaningful pause and reassess the life lived thus far. Did I ever give myself the free rein to appreciate the precious gift called life, meant to be an unpredictable yet exciting adventure?
Most probably, like everyone else, I squandered it in a flurry of unhelpful thoughts and mindless actions. Life was meant to be experienced in all its entirety, in every facet, moment to moment—here in the now, in this and every second.
I don’t think anyone—whether the busy-as-a-bee multitasker or the unrecognised at-home moms who keep homes liveable—hasn’t questioned the more meaningful purpose of life.
The wise say the question is moot because existence, however brief, is the purpose itself.
Life passes by in a flash before we realise how fortunate we are to inhabit this magical human body, living in a world of abundance. Our purpose was always to enjoy all of this with gratitude, love, and joyful exuberance.
To live a life of love—for ourselves and for everything and everyone around us. Everything else we do is secondary: a distraction from real living, yet necessary for sustaining life.
There’s nobody who hasn’t chased peace and serenity, even though they were always within us—our inherent nature—smothered by the din, chaos, and pace we chose to live by.
Wasn’t opening our eyes this morning a miracle? A blessing of another 24 hours to do something—something simple for the day, but not something that should rob us of the joy of waking up.
Let’s allow ourselves to soak in the grace and miracle of yet another ordinary day, where anyone who calls us beti/beta, patni/pati, dadi/dada, nani/nanna, or dost/sahaelee went about their day without mishap or disruption.
Isn’t that, in itself, an extraordinary reason to feel joyfully alive?