August 3, 2016


Shoulders to lean on.


Inspirational quotes and poems.

Songs I’ve been listening to the past 2 decades.

And recently, creating and colouring mandala.

After reading a lot about the effects of adult colouring books — well, I don’t have the habit of researching much if I love a thing at the first instance — I bought two copies of a mandala colouring book. “Refreshing Mandala Colouring Book for Adults-Part 1” for me and its part 2 for my son. He mimicks everything his mum does, so. I stared at the large book and the jute bag stuffed with my sketch pens for two days. And today, I plucked up the courage to start colouring. 

It was indeed complicate. Too many intricate designs. My short-lived attention span. Impatience. Dissatisfaction with any colour that I grab. I couldn’t help but be disappointed. I was getting angry. I had coloured only a quarter part of the page, and I was in tears. Disgusted and disappointed. I felt low and stupid. Here I was, putting all faith on yet another thing for my possible happiness, and I’m in pieces again. I allowed all the tears to trickle down my face and neck. After almost thirty minutes I calmed down. The tears had itself created prettier designs on the page. I put the colours back and grabbed some others. I heaved sighs and sighs of relief or disappointment and tried to colour more. Though I was starting to dislike my sketch pens, I did feel something good towards the book. I felt happy about having it. I turned the pages to find more and more mandalas waiting to be ruined by my colours and tears. May be I can even copy some onto walls. I felt much better later. The page was wet and incomplete.  And my mind was fresh and peaceful. 

If it weren’t mandala, it would be a song playing for the 27th time. Or a late night friend saying I love you for the hundredth time. Or a steaming cup of tea awakening every nerveends. Or an incomprehensible foreign movie whose characters tell you everything about life in languages your heart understands.

Things get complicated when you outsource happiness. Well, whatever works! May be I’m an infant. A few more steps and I’ll toddle and stumble upon more and more, until I discover my own unique sources of happiness within me. Until then, I need to survive.