<p>The day before his grandfather had to leave, my son had started to ask, “Why does taatha have to leave? Taatha, won’t you stay a little longer?” No reason why taatha couldn’t stay would mean anything to that young heart.<br /><br /></p>.<p> He was trying hard to understand the parting. Finally, a few hours before my father-in-law had to leave, my son forlornly muttered, “I don’t like taatha because I'm always scared he will leave.” <br /><br />Our battle with the fear of loss never seems to cease. The fear that a relationship may fall apart, the fear that an opportunity may never fructify or, the fear that a loved one will depart, are all causes for pain and grief. We seem to struggle with this angst almost all the time. These fears, though mostly unfounded, perhaps stem from the innate human desire for permanence and our refusal to accept change from the routine. <br /><br />Rather than savour the joy in the passing moment, we seem to most often dwell in the uncertainty of the following moments. Looking back, sometimes I regret that in my family’s deep concern for my ailing father and our sorrow over his imminent departure, we unconsciously obstructed a real and present opportunity to make the most of his final days in our midst. <br /><br />Surprisingly, human propensity to grieve in anticipation over doubtful losses and remote failures seems to manifest more easily than its wont to celebrate life and existence. Lore from Hindu mythology is laden with tales of grief in the anticipation of loss and defeat. The mere thought of Rama’s exile drove King Dasaratha to despair in his queen’s chambers. Perhaps, every tale of love and devotion that we have heard is replete with characters brooding in the anticipation of loss. <br /><br />Recently, when we had friends over for dinner, the usual misgivings of stressful lifestyles and brutal working schedules were being discussed. In the middle of the conversation, a friend asked another “Tell me, is it your job that’s troubling you or is it your fear of not performing at that job? Have you given that a thought?” The quick retort of the other is what surprised everyone at the table. “It’s actually my constant fear of failure that’s stressing me out the most” he said. <br /><br />This, perhaps, summed up our conversation that day and set me wondering whether we must allow an uncertain, ambiguous future to ruin the certainty and assurance of the present. The time that we spend shadow-boxing with our imagined suspicions and fears is, in fact, invaluable time lost in not seeking pleasure or summoning the courage to live in the moment.<br /> <br />Benjamin Franklin in his timeless wisdom rightly said: “Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight.” We may never be able to control the extent of time that we spend on this planet. What we can do, however, in that fleeting period is of course within our means and undoubtedly worthy of immense joy and relish. <br /></p>
<p>The day before his grandfather had to leave, my son had started to ask, “Why does taatha have to leave? Taatha, won’t you stay a little longer?” No reason why taatha couldn’t stay would mean anything to that young heart.<br /><br /></p>.<p> He was trying hard to understand the parting. Finally, a few hours before my father-in-law had to leave, my son forlornly muttered, “I don’t like taatha because I'm always scared he will leave.” <br /><br />Our battle with the fear of loss never seems to cease. The fear that a relationship may fall apart, the fear that an opportunity may never fructify or, the fear that a loved one will depart, are all causes for pain and grief. We seem to struggle with this angst almost all the time. These fears, though mostly unfounded, perhaps stem from the innate human desire for permanence and our refusal to accept change from the routine. <br /><br />Rather than savour the joy in the passing moment, we seem to most often dwell in the uncertainty of the following moments. Looking back, sometimes I regret that in my family’s deep concern for my ailing father and our sorrow over his imminent departure, we unconsciously obstructed a real and present opportunity to make the most of his final days in our midst. <br /><br />Surprisingly, human propensity to grieve in anticipation over doubtful losses and remote failures seems to manifest more easily than its wont to celebrate life and existence. Lore from Hindu mythology is laden with tales of grief in the anticipation of loss and defeat. The mere thought of Rama’s exile drove King Dasaratha to despair in his queen’s chambers. Perhaps, every tale of love and devotion that we have heard is replete with characters brooding in the anticipation of loss. <br /><br />Recently, when we had friends over for dinner, the usual misgivings of stressful lifestyles and brutal working schedules were being discussed. In the middle of the conversation, a friend asked another “Tell me, is it your job that’s troubling you or is it your fear of not performing at that job? Have you given that a thought?” The quick retort of the other is what surprised everyone at the table. “It’s actually my constant fear of failure that’s stressing me out the most” he said. <br /><br />This, perhaps, summed up our conversation that day and set me wondering whether we must allow an uncertain, ambiguous future to ruin the certainty and assurance of the present. The time that we spend shadow-boxing with our imagined suspicions and fears is, in fact, invaluable time lost in not seeking pleasure or summoning the courage to live in the moment.<br /> <br />Benjamin Franklin in his timeless wisdom rightly said: “Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight.” We may never be able to control the extent of time that we spend on this planet. What we can do, however, in that fleeting period is of course within our means and undoubtedly worthy of immense joy and relish. <br /></p>
