The quiet defiance of gratitude

Sometimes, a single moment of thankfulness is enough.

In an increasingly volatile and fragmented world it’s hard to find moments of gratitude. I’m training myself to find joy in the everyday, in the ordinary. I’m trying to keep a gratitude journal—which is now down to one entry a day, from three. 

My husband works from Dubai. He was in our home in Mumbai for a week, to celebrate my birthday. He was due to fly back on March 1, when the US and Israel bombed Iran, on February 28. 

The Dubai airport shut down, and life got unimaginable… missiles exploding, debris falling, SMS alerts blasting in on phones to “seek immediate shelter in the closest secure building”, and people living in constant fear while panic buying from supermarkets. All things that crack open the reality of how fragile this world, this life, is. 

For me, suddenly war didn’t feel so far away from home. Geopolitics got personal, and right inside my living room. 

I spent the day reading, watching everything I could get my hands on, on the situation as it was unfolding. I’m not sure how good this was for my mental health because the jarringly opposing views on social media gave me much pause for contemplation and cause for a Crocin. 

And in the midst of all this loss, disruption and fear, I felt quite silly as I had that seemingly laughable task of trying to find one good thing to write about at the end of the day. Something to be grateful for.

“How do we find gratitude in the midst of despair? In the midst of fear and uncertainty?” I asked myself, as I stared at a blank page. The cursor blinked back at me, almost smug. Go on, it seemed to say. Find something. I dare you to.

It felt absurd. The world was on fire—literally—and here I was, expecting myself to jot down a neat little line about something lovely. The mind resists
that pivot.  

But gratitude, I’m realising, is not denial. It is not a refusal to see the smoke in the sky. It is a decision—sometimes a stubborn, teeth-gritted decision—
to also notice the cup of tea warming your palms while the world burns on your screen.

One of my gratitude entries was embarrassingly small. Just five little words swimming in a sea of white on a blank page—He is here; in Mumbai. 

Because my husband’s flight was cancelled, because airports closed, airspace shrank and plans dissolved, he was still at our dining table, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. The war felt close; the what-ifs felt close. But so did he.

Perhaps gratitude, in times like these, must shrink.

It cannot be grand or performative. It cannot be the kind that posts inspirational quotes in pastel fonts. It must be almost defiant in its smallness. 

And then, on a recent night, I wrote my five words.

It didn’t fix geopolitics. It didn’t quiet the headlines. It didn’t guarantee that flights would resume tomorrow.

But it steadied me. And for now, perhaps that is enough.

(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)