Heart-aches and realizations are wondrous murmurs. Unscheduled, variously encountered, and harbingers of change inevitable.
Delicious and cloying is the inertia of rest. The warmth of the experience of a thousand languid mornings steeped like cats basking in the sun upon a tropical winter sunrise, seen from the cocoon of a sleep warmed duvet.
Vicissitude by definition evokes those snooze button mashing reflexes. Memories ooze honey-esque to lull and dull every modicum, twinge, throb and instinct for inevitable, necessary transmutation.
The Bengali transcreation of আরামকেদারা (aaram kedara) for armchair and supine bliss is more apt than the English suggestion of mere support for the upper limbs in contrast. The trouble arises in getting off an aaram kedara. That it's wonderful? Undeniable!
So is slowly ripping a band-aid off, one hair pain twanging follicle at a time, from a progressing laceration.
Unarguably inevitable and essential. Maybe not so exhilarating.
Just like shedding accumulated adipose, belongings, and task back-logs before a journey.
The first step that sparks of that journey of a million miles? Sweet chimera and delusion. It's rather unfashionable to dwell on the killing urge to sit right back. Straight after that step.
My landlord of the last eight years and I spoke of the chasm between the thought of change and the perspective of the hard deadline and it's sting of inevitability. In his acceptance into priesthood from laity he opined in wisdom, "...what if the armchair is just not there after I get off it?"
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