(Morning walk encounters)
Every morning, since the last one week, I have made it a point to take a brisk walk lasting for about 45 minutes. It’s a fitness exercise, yes, but it has also been a way to rejoice the rush of life that walking makes me feel. My intent has also been to feel the sun on my face, observe the flowers, trees, clouds and the sky, and essentially free up my mind. With my air pods plugged in, and my phone belting out songs from my ‘walking playlist’ that I have painstakingly curated over the years, it is an experience of a kind to see the world around like a film with a beautiful background score playing out.
I encounter different people as I walk, but it’s the elderly that catch my attention. As a writer, old age fascinates me. Years ago, a regular reader of my blog shared with me that they could see I liked writing about old people. I suppose the tendency and urge to portray them (and portray them with as much empathy as I can) comes from having observed my grandparents with whom I had lived and grown up with for years together. I saw and heard about their trials and tribulations and was a witness to their age-related physical and mental turmoil; and now, even though it has been tough to accept personally, I am watching my own parents ageing too. The inevitability of growing old as part of human life intrigues me. What goes on in their mind, I often wonder.
Going back to my daily walks, by the time I step out, it’s usually the elderly that I see. They walk about slowly. I see some of them sitting under the shade of a big tree near the temple, some silently meditating with eyes closed, another on a phone call, and yet another listening to some religious discourse on their phone. I see some taking their little grandchildren on strollers, while some sit and watch them play in the park, with endearing smiles on their lips.
Today, I ran into an old lady. She was walking in the direction opposite to mine. I smiled at her because I had seen her do a walking routine over the last few days, albeit not at a close distance. But this morning, once I smiled, she said that she had been seeing me regularly in recent days and struck up a conversation. She told me she was 89, and that she lived alone. I told her that this was amazing and that she indeed was an inspiration. She smiled and said that she liked to be independent; loved to walk around, do her things on her own. “I am not very religious,” she said, “but I do like to pray.” She asked me about my children, and exclaimed, “Oh, so grown up?” when I told her about them. Then she spoke about her great granddaughter who is three. “Everyone says she is like me!” she said with pride. “How wonderful!” I responded. I knew the feeling. And then, she held my hand for a few seconds, put her other hand gently on my head and said, “God bless you.” I was touched, and I felt good. I didn’t want to ponder over it and reason out this good feeling. I just wanted to feel it, this joy that came of out a conversation that lasted five minutes. We wished each other a good day and walked on.
As I continued walking, I spotted a man, well-dressed, perhaps in his sixties, carrying a digital SLR camera, with a big lens mounted on the front. He was there capturing the many-hued blossoms that had sprung around all over, including the pink ones I happened to take pictures of, just a few days ago. As a gentle tune played in the background, I took the scene in and thought about the power of human connection, about how wholesome conversations with people and how merely observing them enjoying what you enjoy, makes you feel connected to a larger whole. My morning walk today, it seems to me, has had its intended effect. I am filled with gratitude.