The bliss in yielding & letting it be

Sanjeev Trikha

Life, said to be the most beautiful gift of God, is like a relay race. Its beauty lies in the manner in which the runners run it. The handing over of the baton at the right time and still being in and enjoying the race plays a crucial role in making it seem like heaven.

Looking back and sailing through my childhood, youth and the present stage, a very soothing and pleasant transition cajoles the heart and soul and oozes out the beauty for which life is known.

As kids, our reins were in the hands of parents who guided our behaviour and navigated us through the ups and downs of life. We remain thankful to them for effectively moulding and crafting our character.

Then came the stage where we subtly found the steering wheel of life in our own hands. Making our own decisions independently, choosing the desired paths and setting up our targets nurtured a sense of pride in us and in the hearts and minds of our parents, too, as such powers stood effortlessly transferred by them in the right way at the appropriate time.

The race of life is on with batons blissfully getting handed over smoothly. The lockdown provided us all with an opportunity to live together with the children working from home. During this time, I found the baton once again getting transferred to the next generation.

Suddenly, I experience that what I have to wear, eat, when to sleep and wake up is decided by the kids. It is a hearty and out-of-the-world feeling when my daughter despotically decides the volume of salt and sugar intake in my food and when my daughter-in-law scolds me for skipping my fish oil capsules and vitamin D doses, and the son decides the code and portfolio of my bar and barbecue. However, everything does not go as per my taste, yet getting dictated this way brews and breeds heavenly satisfaction and contentment.

Recently, I visited a doctor for the treatment of a minor skin ailment. On his enquiring about the recent changes in routine, I proudly told him that I am now being navigated by the next generation. The kids monitor the salt and sugar intake, my morning walk schedule, my wardrobe, and I blissfully yield to such diktats.

The doctor at once concluded that the ailment was only due to this yielding. He advised me to get back to the old ways and tell children not to interfere in my affairs. He seemed to pity me. Dwelling in the ecstatic divine pleasures of such yielding, I had to say to him candidly that I would prefer living with the ailment than clinging to the baton and losing the charm of the race called life.

I will now have to stop as my one-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter has noticed my slippers and is dictating me to get into them without any delay. Needed or not, I have to follow the command. Blessed are those who have to yield this way.