My simple resolutions for the New Year
Precisely one day left to shake a firm and final handshake to the year 2018 and be dusted and done with it. With a vengeance unbeknown to myself, I am down to counting the hours when I have the retaliatory pleasure (if it can be called so) to show circa 2018 the door and kick it out as yesteryear Beckham would have done.
I referred to the retired football player since he was better known for his appearance (which as I write has done a trifle good to my spirits) more than his performance on the field, and because am out of the loop for far too long to know any other footballer!
As can be more than inferred, 2018 for me shall go down in my personal history as annus horribilis, but before you start shoving your feet into your sports shoes to flee, remain fretfree—i have not the slightest intention of boring you with my sob-sob saga. After all, who in any case, is sob-free? And so, no brownie-points for being higher up on the misery chart than the person standing ahead waiting for his turn at Nature’s Soul. (Do not know why the name popped up since I have only visited this place twice; guess it is about some names lodging themselves in one’s memory.)
This piece is about New Year resolutions, so enough of complaining, and now for sharpening one’s pencil to deal with the proposed subject before it becomes a case of “Man proposes and God disposes”, and I have, for donkey’s years, been left wondering why the disposed part, for the most, shoves the proposed bit into an untraceable grave.
There, I go again, whining. A full-stop to this bleating before I find myself at the end of this ream, and with no part of the Lord, with a wave of his hand, disposing, casting out the proposed manifesto... New Year Resolutions—most of us, before the clock strikes midnight, have drafted them in our heads or on a paper tacked to the wall in front of the bed for it to stare right back, but as this pen glides by, it comes to mind that the former two methods are passé.
Resolutions are posted into our phones, with a constant reminder ping to check in on us. So to run-by, the runof-the-mill list that one would believe has been doing the rounds for ages and no wonder it has a frayed, yellowed paper feel. Resolutions in random order, of course: To count one’s blessings, espy the glass as half full and feel privileged. To read the Hanuman Chalisa, or whichever prayer book, not with mechanical monotony post-bathing but having absorbed it steadily so one comes out, eventually speaking, a calmer and kinder person. To learn the art of de-cluttering, and begin to give away stuff that could be useful to a fellow human being or bring a smile to the recipient’s face; and be able to throw away useless things hoarded over the years for that “rainy day” and which, but of course, is not located when that day comes... Old electric wires, driedup pens, rusty pins, pots with missing handles, a frying pan with a bottom about to give way, heatwithered belts, T-shirts one will never fit back into, dusty boxes full of memorabilia one shan’t ever throw a passing glance at.
Need one go on? Give away, throw away, without lizard-like, whisking one’s tongue in and out, searching for reasons to retain the goods. Then there is the resoluteness of turning one’s back on whisky, wine, carbohydrates, mutton, parathas, ice creams, jalebis, gulab jamuns and ready-to-drink-juices, chips, peanuts. And so at the beginning and end of the day, there is no food on the plate unless seven grain atta roti and some oil-free, masalaabsolved sabzi passes off as food to be washed down with lukewarm water to cleanse the colon. All in the name of a healthy lifestyle.
This single-minded determination does not have a bone to stand on, so it hurriedly wanes away when one feels faint enough to faint. The said observation was an aside, so let it pass. Anger-management, yes! No Tuck Shop Accounts, meaning a no-loan policy for oneself to adhere to, so as to not, on a smoggy morning, find oneself knee-high in debt leading to mortgaging one’s property, ending up in penury. Could go on and on, till the tiny hours of the morning, but drafting a mile-long memo is of no avail.
How about, the most of us, making workable, with a fixity of purpose promises? Or one toddler-step-at-a-time resolves? The so far mentioned ones are attainable—save the starve yourself to look “fit” one—but involves a sure-footed process. (The anorexic fit look brings to mind, how, over the past couple of weeks, Hrithik Roshan and Kareena Kapoor have a commercial for amazing fashion at amazing prices streaming on TV. 80 % slash on attires, for a complete makeover, to ring in 2019. Whatever happened to, “Man maketh the clothes, clothes not maketh the Man”? Here both actors are looking so washedout with a micro-lean look. Where fled their good looks? Same holds true, to a greater extreme, for Kate Middleton, Prince William’s Princess. A waist-line that would put Scarlett O’hara’s 17 inches to shame. A thin plank of wood of a figure. New Year resolutions for them and the likes, puh-leaze start eating; if not for yourself but for the clucking bumper flock that emulates you!)
What about simple resolutions: To smell the roses, the lemon tree? To have supper together? To remember from the heart, to say thank you to one’s mother for dotingly deseeding a pomegranate to make freshly-pressed juice for your breakfast.
So here’s to a 2019, where “Health is Wealth”, and smile lines are not dismissed upon as Crow’s Feet...
What about simple resolutions: To smell the roses, the lemon tree? To have supper together? To remember from the heart, to say thank you to one’s mother...
Dr Renée Ranchan writes on socio-psychological issues, quasipolitical matters and concerns that touch us all