The little girl -- my daughter -- is all over the place. Her eyes are shining in wonderment. Everything surprises her -- the Sun, the Moon, the Mother Earth, the birds, the fish, the insects, the men and women around, the grains of sand, the sands of time, Grandfather’s yawn, the doggie’s burp, the doorman’s sneeze ... ! She is laughing, giggling, clapping, crying, again bouncing back laughing -- all the time. Everything is a celebration. Life is a festival ! This has happened at a particular time -- whatever ago ! But this happens every day, in every child’s life. By this token, past is present -- and present is timeless, continuous ! For my little one, every moment is an occasion. So, occasional is daily -- full of surprises, full of emotional fill.

 

Thus a man engrossed in reading a book on a bench under a tree on a hot summer noon, is an occasion. A woman making her way back home on bicycle one late evening unmindful of the drizzle, is an occasion. A little girl walking back home from painting class, every now and then looking at the recent painting she has made, is an occasion. A boy riding a bicycle, a little girl playing with a doll, an old man in wheelchair waiting for the traffic to ease so that he could cross the road, two 7-8-year-olds learning chess moves from the coach, also are occasions -- to watch, to celebrate ! By this standard, there is nothing occasional, nothing unusual. Everything, thus, is daily -- yet full of possibilities, potential -- and poetry. It is about 5:30 in the evening.

 

One 3-4-year-old boy and his sister, a little older, are on a walk in the garden with their grandmother. Holding her each hand, they walk along, raising their curious faces towards her and asking questions, telling animated tales. The grand-ma is happy, smiling, patient. She answers every question most willingly -- enjoying the kids’ chatter. Her contentment spills from her being -- and lights up the surroundings in the park. A group of a few ladies is sitting on two benches by the garden path. All of them look approvingly at the threesome engrossed in a world of their own. Rare are such sights these days of perversely nuclear families. The threesome moves on, and out of the garden as evening shadows lengthen. It is time to relegate to home, they seem to think. At home, they will add one more leaf to the idea of being a family. And, to anybody who has the emotional depth, that also is an occasion -- though life is so daily -- full of occasions like these !