It’s the Simple Things That Ultimately Matter

Dear Reader,

You might have travelled far, and you might have gained bountiful success, but it’s the simple things that you will long for always. Think about it!

The little things, like looking at the sunlight as it filters through the trees in the morning; the heavenly feel of winter sunlight on your skin; the sweet smells of moist earth after the first monsoon drizzle; the flavours and aromas of home-made dal, rice and subzi; the comfort of lounging around in well worn clothes…

Tell me dear reader, aren’t those the things we really long for? If yes, then let me elaborate with something familiar… like eating out in fancy restaurants, for instance. At swanky eateries, a meal for two costs you an arm and a leg—not to mention dishes on the menu with names like, ‘Angel hair pasta with porcini essence or Tartiex-le- xrita con funghi!’

An elaborate buffet at a five star hotel with a lavish Indian spread has you with hundreds of dishes to choose from—Shahjehan, and his Mughal ancestors feature regularly in most of them. There is a Shahjehani pulao, chicken Shahjehani, paneer Shahjehani , Shahjehani biryani, Akbari kebab; and just so that Jahangir doesn’t feel left out—the Jahangiri korma. For a day or two you may get excited, wanting to try everything. But the Tartiex-le-xrita con funghi and large slices of the Mughal history on your plate soon begin to pall and you crave for simple, home-made food—ghar ka khana, just the way your mom cooked it.

There is something wholesome and comforting about home-cooked food, the kind that you can eat daily and that, even if you overeat, doesn’t play catalyst in making embarrassing noises. This is the food that you are close to; there is a pleasure in it that’s coded into your DNA. It’s so soothing that you feel compelled to call hours in advance of reaching home, to have it ready. You can slap it about into any combination you like, and even raid the fridge at midnight for second helpings. It’s that simple!

These choices made from the heart are pure and simple but we complicate them. Part of this complexity arises from the bewildering range of options that modernity throws at us. Like in the new era coffee shops or malls springing up almost every day in Indian cities. You go into one of these places wanting just a plain sandwich and a cup of coffee/tea. For a start, the waiters in these places are highly trained—American style!—to confuse you. I can recall [and I am sure you will too] countless conversations I have had like this one:

Me: Can I have a vegetable sandwich please?

Waiter: Would you like honey oat bread, whole wheat or multi grain?

Me: Don’t you have plain white bread?

Waiter: No sir, we have honey oat, whole wheat, garlic, sesame and multi-grain

Me: Okay, whatever!

Waiter: And what would you like in your sandwich? We have jalapenos, bell peppers, tuna, American coleslaw, iceberg lettuce…

Me: Just a plain sandwich, you know with tomatoes…

Waiter: What dressing would you prefer? We have vinaigrette, thousand islands, and Italian, mayonnaise, mustard and sour cream

Me: Just with butter

Waiter: Okay, and your coffee? Do you want a cappuccino, latte, or espresso?

This is when you begin to think of the pleasures of the regular hot filter coffee or masala chai, the kind you get at the corner of the road. There is nothing, believe me, that can compare to the feeling of sipping hot chai on a cold winter morning and feeling it slowly warming your gullet as it goes down. And who can tell enough the pleasure of dipping a biscuit in it, softening it just enough, so that it becomes nice and pulpy in your mouth? It’s that simple—but isn’t it paradoxical that we don’t realise this at first?

Clothes that feel comfy

Just as with food, we subconsciously feel superior about the clothes we own. You want to try the latest fashions: Indian terrain khakis look nice; and isn’t that Armani suit just the thing you need for the annual meeting? Plus, you don’t have a lime green shirt among all your linen shirts, do you? And now that you have got one, what you really need is a pair of trousers to match! Hence, you want to indulge in every new trend; for every season, occasion and the day of the week.

Consecutively, spend hours trawling malls and making sure your clothes match each other, and also your accessories. And just when you seem to have got it right, you see a trouser on the rack across, which looks even better.

Now all this new stuff, like the food, feels nice for a few brief moments, especially when your friend compliments you or when you admire yourself in the mirror. But I am sure you will agree that nothing can beat the comfort of an old, stained khadi kurta or the well-worn pyjama and tee that you wear at home. That’s the apparel which is comfortable and cosy. That’s the ensemble you want to get into almost immediately when you return from work. It’s not trendy, on the contrary, it perhaps has even a few tiny holes, but you don’t care. Given a chance, this is the outfit you would want to wear to work too!

The reason for this comfort and fondness is simple: there is a sense of acquaintance about well-worn clothes, which feels like home or a good relationship. It’s made its adjustments to your body, it seems to know and fit every curve, its soft interiors tickle your skin like no designer suit ever can.

There is another thing too about it. You don’t have to keep up with appearances and you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to worry whether it’s right for the occasion, or whether it matches the accessories, or think about all those stressful things that go with your public face. These are the clothes that allow you to be you, just yourself the way you are. So you may own an Armani or a Versace, but what you really wish to be in is that five year old T-shirt. It’s that simple!

Since when did money need ‘managing’?

If it’s that simple; how do we end up complicating things? Take the case of our money.

We open bank accounts willy-nilly, and soon discover we have so many that we are confused which bank account has what. Does that sound familiar? As does the fact that we love stashing away small amounts of money here and there and big lumps of money everywhere. The relationship managers at banks are only too good at scenting these bits and soon—this might sound very familiar—there will be further bits in mutual funds, a small lump as gold, a big brown cover with bonds, another brown envelope filled with fixed deposits, recurring deposit receipts and so on.

This is the point when it gets insane. You wake up one day and start getting reminders for premiums from your banks. Then you start getting reminders for your reminders. You can’t figure out which bit is where and you spend the next few nights trying to track all this online. You log on and discover that you have forgotten the password to your account. [Only because you have got so many and can’t figure one out from another]. Now you begin recalling fondly about those days when you kept all your money in one treasure chest [or bank] and dished it out to yourself when needed. Your head didn’t spin trying to keep tracks of all those passwords and account numbers. You didn’t have to spend sleepless nights online figuring out your investments. You knew exactly how much you had. How I wish those days were back—with simple, uncomplicated ways of operating a bank? Don’t you?

Someone to come home to So, why do we still keep going back to complex ways when at heart we always long for the simple? Is it our minds or have our expectations increased? For we carry these complications over to everything, be it smaller things like clothes, food and money or larger things like our life and our relationships.

We marry with the hope to flicker romance initially. The woman has stars in her eyes and the man has a rose in his hand, and they both desire candlelit dinners. There is a rush of adrenaline, and the urge to spend as much time with each other, shopping and partying. You want to travel the whole world—the Bahamas, Rio, Istanbul, Paris, the Himalayas are all on your to-do list and you start packing. And when you are there, you just don’t want to look around, you want to bungee jump, paraglide, trek and shop till you drop.

Slowly, the years roll by and this begins to fade. You begin to realise that this isn’t really what you wanted and this isn’t really what you are. It’s simpler. Stepping into the doorway is like breasting an Olympic tape. You enter and almost immediately feel a sigh of relief, and a sense of peace. Ah! Home sweet home. The romance and passion fade too; for even that is in your head and is not your everyday self. At the end of the day, all you look forward to is a knowing that somebody is there in the house for you; somebody to sit and chat with, to laugh with, to watch TV with, and to discuss everyday things like the price of vegetables or the big feud you overheard in your neighbour’s house. Gone too is your urge for action-packed days [and holidays]. The bench on the lawn behind your house is more easing. And you can spend hours watching a long line of ants marching in a disciplined manner across the lawn. For those of you who have felt this joy, it’s a serious occupation. Watch the ants a little longer and you will always notice there are two and both travelling in opposite directions, along the same highway. They meet as they cross and you wonder: Are they just wishing each other good morning? Or perhaps they are kissing each other or telling each other a secret about where the next store of food is? Or are they talking about their holidays in the Bahamas?

I wonder to myself: What a pleasure it is to just sit for hours, admiring them and watching the world go by! Yet why do we associate our self-worth with the stuff we own? When what we really need is less of things and more of life!

A world with trees, filled with the smell of moist earth. And, of good home-made dal, rice and subzi.

And the contentment of lounging around in well worn clothes. And watching sunlight filter through the trees in the morning and throw warm golden pools on the ground.

Truly, is it that simple?

This was first published in the February 2013 issue of Complete Wellbeing.