Look!

Ever since I told my story, I have been receiving so many messages about how many people found hope and I am truly grateful for all the goodness I have been surrounded by. It’s truly heartening.

I set the timer. Two minutes, it was.

It was Day 9 after my surgery and the first day back home. As advised by the physiotherapist, I started with some basic exercises that would help me recuperate. Walking is absolutely essential is what I was told and so there it was to become a part of my daily routine. 

There are three stages to a medical procedure – the pre, the surgery and the recovery. Each of them holds their own significance. While the middle isn’t wholly in the patient’s control, the first and third solely are. 

I paced slowly in the hall, one end to the other consciously focusing on my breathing pattern. Our living room has windows on both sides and as I reached an end I would deliberately look outside. It’s not the most scenic of views but to me it was symbolic of nurturing hope to get out of the adversity.

Overlooking one side of my home, there lived an aged lady with her family. Their house had a small portico which also doubled as a walk way for passers-by. With gunmetal grey hair, timeworn skin, a tiny hunch clad in cotton saris in the Maharashtrian style she had slightly unsteady but well managed movement. I must have seen her many times before but don’t specifically recall much. On this day, there was something about her that I was drawn to. 

I saw her pick a huge flower pot from the ground all with one hand and place it atop a higher shelf. That image stuck in my mind. I stood still for a while there. Here, I was – instructed not to lift anything.

Over the days, my exercise regime continued and I unfailingly watched her.  It became a regular. Sometimes she would be washing clothes, hanging them, at other times sweeping around, cleaning the verandah, pouring water into buckets and various other domestic activities.  

Any other time, I wouldn’t be much amazed because I have seen my grannies totally by themselves till their last day. But in the current situation, it was different. I was drawing some strength simply watching her do her daily chores. She seemed to perfectly be going about her routine and I too soon wanted to. I too wanted that when I have grey hairs to be all independent and strong for myself. Unknowingly she was helping me build my grit. 

Much the same as those young nurses in the ICU whose agility and quickness used to irritate me in a manner that I wanted to become energetic and get back on my feet. They going about their regular errands filled me with enthusiasm to get up and get going.

My heroes weren’t those people who everyone wanted to click a selfie with neither were they signing autographs or avoiding paparazzi. They were but ordinary souls going about their everyday duties and without even their knowledge giving hope to someone who needed it the most. 

Inspiration arrives in a moment’s notice, if only we are receptive. 

Slow down. Look around. Notice. Our self-help books in flesh are all around and each has some nugget of wisdom to pass on. 

“All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions.” – Leonardo da Vinci.