How long is a Lifetime?
A conversation I didn’t want to have became one I didn’t want to end.
Nichiren Daishonin compares a lifetime to a ‘single night’s lodging at a wayside inn.’
That metaphor, it feels too short. Impossible to believe. Yet again and again, I am reminded of how brief life can be. More so when I start dwelling on it.
Earlier this year, a relative came to our house. He is one of many who have been mostly absent from our lives. We are ordinary people living in our separate worlds that rarely collide except on weddings and funerals. Not even festivals.
We can be a pretty anti-social lot.
So, when my mother’s oldest brother turned up at our place, my first reaction was surprise and the second annoyance.
Why the need to visit?
We remain unremarkable as usual.
What is there to speak about?
Nevertheless, I sat beside him and smiled at the right cues. Introvert I am. Rude I am not.
He narrated old tales, and we remembered the charm of the Chandni Chowk haveli where my mother’s family grew up. We lamented the fading sense of community and how roads are not made for cycling anymore.
As he sipped his second cup of chai and described more of his adventures, I realized I didn’t want this conversation to end. Somewhere, as time passed, those initial polite smiles had turned genuine and I had grown fond of this old man who had come to visit his sister and her family for the second time in the past three decades.
He seemed equally reluctant to leave, and that made me happy.
My sister and I stood on the balcony to wave goodbye. He didn’t look back but walked away with a slight limp in his right leg. It was that image: of my uncle in his flannel-style jacket and sports shoes, slowly walking away from us, that stayed with me for some time.
What a beautiful soul. A soul I never took the time to understand.
***
I live in a bubble on most days.
Anybody who pokes at it inevitably brings out resentment.
Relatives are at the top of the list. Not because they are bad people. But because a majority of our conversations in the past have centered around marks, exams, salary, marriage, as if we exist to measure each other against the invisible ruler of achievements in our heads.
Family members have become strangers.
But experiences like these make me realize how ridiculous the bubble is. When it bursts, you see how similar people can be.
Emotional humans with unspoken frustrations against the outside world. Surprisingly unaware of the humanity outside of us—in each person we see and meet.
Yet, unique souls with stories to tell and lessons to share. And strangely fond of talking about ourselves, if someone shows the slightest willingness to listen.
Sometimes, when that similarity resonates, it brings a strange pain. It is the pain of knowing that I may never have the time to get to know all the people who came into my life once upon a time.
Yes, in some cases they did not deserve my attention. But in most scenarios, I decided they don’t have anything worthwhile to say.
And when those conversations do happen, and I make the effort to listen, it doesn’t feel as dull or difficult as I had imagined. They turn out rather pretty, igniting a hope which says, hey, humanity can be beautiful too.
***
Encounters like these make me go back to Daishonin’s lines. If it is a single night’s lodging, what kind of guest would I be?
One who hides inside her room?
One who carries meaningless grudges?
One who cares about nothing but her stay?
One who nitpicks and complains about every mishap?
Or one who seeks out companionship, makes friends and finds family, explores and discovers, talks and listens, rejoices in the colours around her, just to make that one night as memorable as it can get?
Thanks to that unexpected guest, I know my answer now!