The art of doing nothing

Grandma goes up the terrace twice a day for her walks. I do not accompany her at 6 am, but I try to accompany her at 6 pm. And while she walks and rotates her hands and her neck this way and that way, I do absolutely nothing. This time with grandma has taught me the art of doing nothing. Sometimes, I bring a book with me, but barely read it. Sometimes, I bring my camera to take a few pictures of the coconut trees, the sunset, or the high-rise buildings under construction. But most of the time, I do nothing. I lie down on my back and take a short nap or look at the sky and the airplanes. Sometimes, I bring a bowl full of kalojaam or black berries with me. And while I munch on them, I deliberately try spitting out the seeds from the terrace in a projectile motion to see how far each one can go. I look at what's in other people's rooftops. Someone is growing bitter gourds or pumpkin flowers while the others have hung clothes to dry. I try to spot the different landmarks of the city- The Howrah Bridge, the Salt Lake Stadium. I try to identify the different kinds of birds, although my knowledge about birds is restricted to the crows, sparrows, and pigeons alone. I hum a tune or two, or think of some research ideas that I could pursue. But mostly, as grandma is working out and sweating it out, I take great pleasure in sitting with her and doing absolutely nothing. Because doing nothing for an hour everyday actually frees up my mind later on to do much more.

sunshine