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| Source: Pixabay |
Originally published at The Creative Cafe.
Fingers rummage through the riotous mess of bed sheets, pillows, a little human with his limbs scattered across three-fourth of the bed, and a large velvety blanket, for the 5.9 inch gadget that substitutes for not only the watch but also the household clock. The sun seeping in through the translucent orange curtains spread honey on the bed. Laze-infused eyes struggle to open. What is the color of extra bedtime on winter mornings? Honey!
The mobile emerges from somewhere. It’s December 24th, 9 AM. I remember reading ‘Neuromancer’ well beyond 1 AM last night, in the hope that a few more pages would help me connect with the strange despondent world of cyberpunk, where humans survive with lab-grown organs and instruments implanted within. Didn’t work. “What is it about the book that you dislike the most?” — Husband had asked yesterday. He’s a die-hard sci-fi fan. I could hardly frame a good reply. It’s difficult to put your finger on what you don’t like about a book (or a movie, or a dress…), to isolate a ‘bug’ that if fixed would set your experience right. “There’s no honey in it. All it tastes of is metal — shiny alloys of the future, or corroded iron bars.” — I now utter in silence, as the day finally pulls me up by hand.
First comes brushing of the teeth. Next comes a glass of warm honey lime juice. I’ve been having it for the last 4 months so that I could shape up by the end of this year. It is now end of this year, and I can’t take pride in my waistline. I check my weight and feed it into an online BMI calculator. 24.4. Bringing it down to 22.9 by Feb 2018 should be easy if I can program my eyes to see chocolate as fresh poop. And there lies the challenge.
I open my fitness app, increment my daily target of steps to 10k from 8k, and set out for a walk. Gotta take the bull by its horns! In the next 90 minutes, a grocery bag with cucumbers, apples and a watermelon finds its way into my hand, and a plain dosa gains access to my stomach. I barely cover 3.5k steps under a fairly strong sun. Not working. I return home miffed.
They have bathed the little human by now. Fresh and clean, neatly combed hair, chirpy as a sparrow and a 100 watt smile, he runs towards me with arms extended. Honey coats my tongue.
Honey.
H o n e y.
It’s the Christmas Eve. Also a Sunday. Honey rules the day. Enormous Santa-s, stupendous Christmas trees, elegant reindeer, sparkling bells and stars have adorned every mall around since the beginning of the month. The streets must be teeming with people today. I’m yet to put up the tree at our home. And I have a cake to bake, though two large store-bought plum cakes await the knife at the altar of our kitchen.
Sleep, unconquerable, world-drowning sleep steals the afternoon. Evening is stolen by homemade cakes and kachori-s, useful career discussions, and breezy, breezy chitter-chatter at a friend’s place some 20–25 minutes drive from ours. Pi, a cute curly-haired one-year old, tries hard to comprehend this intrusion to his home with large, staring eyes, and warms up towards the end. The other little human enjoys foraging through the house in search of more toys. 3 weeks of preschool life have boosted his social confidence.
Does happiness have a color? Oh yes, it’s honey!
The day ends. When do I put up our Christmas decor? When do I unleash the gifted baker in me — the one who baked a large chocolaty piece of brick earlier this week? Tomorrow? Tomorrow then!
Takeaways for 2018 –
- Ambling through supermarkets and having dosa in the name of morning walk amounts to cheating.
- Continuing with a book you don’t like may not make you like it. It may give you other insights though.
- You’ve had enough chocolates, pastries, and ice creams in life so far. Look up ‘control’ in your English dictionary.
- Make time for many more casual, laid back evenings with friends. Video calls don’t count.
- Feel honey. Savor honey. Let honey rule. Dip life in honey. Dip time in honey. As long life allows you. Hide a spoonful right under your aortic valve to cherish when life cuts off supply.
What else?
Nothing! Come, 2018, let me hug you tight.
