Open the window of your Life

For 25 out of the 30 years of my corporate career, my workplace was centrally air-conditioned.

My cubicle was a part of a large community of cubicles set in a vast hall, the size of a football field. The design of the work space was such that the large windows at the edges of this ‘football field’ were tinted and sealed shut rendering the work space soundproof and completely insulated from the outside world. Even on the brightest of days, we worked with artificial lighting. Sitting in the cubicle, there was no way of knowing if it was day or night outside or if we were in the midst of a raging storm or if the city was basking in happy sunshine. Later, when I was senior enough to be working out of a cabin, the story was no different. I was cut off from the outside world for similar reasons.

I came out of corporate life 4 years ago. Nowadays, I spend a part of my work life in the social sector in the area of providing Life Skills to young people.

At this new workplace in Bangalore, after almost 25 years, I get to sit next to a real window – I mean the one that I can open and close at will. For most part of the day, I work with natural lighting. I sit on the first floor.

Looking out of the window, I can see a couple of tall palm trees, their leaves reaching up to my window. The trees are always swaying gently in the Bangalore breeze. When it rains heavily, I keep the window open to enjoy the sound of rain drumming loudly on the roof of the next-door house. It is a pleasure to watch the palm trees sway from side to side, almost dancing with joy. I am an incorrigible rain lover and as the rain lashes the city, I keep the window open for as long as I can even if there is a risk of mild flooding. There is untold pleasure in experiencing the rain this way even though my desk is at the receiving end of some rain in the process. So, what!

There is a lot of bird activity outside the window. I get to witness chirpy meetings as well as loud disagreements. Occasionally, a cuckoo raises a racket just under my window. I suspect it loves its own voice. It is a bird that visits me often, probably with the same complaint. I am pretty sure it is a complaint judging from the tone and urgency of its cries. Is it complaining about the vanishing greenery in the city or about the poisoned lakes or is it inviting me as an arbiter to resolve a serious dispute? I am not sure. Given that I am very willing to help, I do feel helpless for not being able to understand the nature of the problem.

Once in a way, I also spot a couple of parrots sitting on the palm tree at my eye-level, turning their heads and looking at me quizzically. I wonder if these parrots are doubting my credentials as an arbiter having learnt of my limitations from the cuckoo.

As I work on the organization’s 5-year strategy paper, particularly in the area of Risk Factors and our plans to mitigate them, I am suddenly drawn to an activity outside the window. I see a squirrel on a cable wire running across two buildings, a good 70 feet above the ground. I am just assessing the risks of its adventure when I see another one running on the same wire coming in from the opposite direction. To add to the complexity, the cable wire is twisted at two places. I wonder how the squirrels are going to handle that. I set my work aside and watch. This is certainly a riskier enterprise than what I propose to put on my strategy deck. The squirrels race towards each other and as they come face to face, one of them leaps over the other, flies in the air for a bit, lands on the wire again and continues its pursuit quite effortlessly. The other one leaps over the twists in the cable and continues likewise. I heave a sigh of relief. Returning to my slide deck, I drop two risks from the list of Risk Factors – things are not as difficult as they seemed a few minutes ago.

The devotional music from the nearby temple and the daily azan (call to prayer) from the neighborhood mosque help me get in touch with the Almighty at regular intervals. Occasionally, the temple plays loud music that rises and falls with the flowing breeze. Sitting at my desk, I can see the different moods of the sky through the day. I wonder if I reflect the mood of the sky or is it the converse? I quickly abandon my fanciful imagination.

Since this is a residential area, vendors roam about selling their wares in their unique ways. Some are vegetable vendors who reach out to home makers in the neighborhood with their unique and loud cries. I can hear bargains being struck after a protracted negotiation between the vendor on the street and the lady on the third floor of the adjacent building – she is certainly a shrewd negotiator.

An old man pushing a cart laden with colorful plastic items finds few takers but, nevertheless, he advertises his wares rather loudly. He is in tatters but that does not deter him from displaying a wide toothless smile on his weathered face. I spot the never-say-die spirit in him.

In the afternoon, it is time for the nearby school to disgorge its students into the street. From the window, I spot a blur of colors and hear a medley of sounds – playful shouts, hundreds of running feet, arguments and classroom battles that have spilt into the street, car and two-wheeler horns, bicycle bells and loud instructions from cautious mothers.

This is my window into everyday life. It offers me a ringside view of the beauty and celebration of Life, its magic, abundance, challenges, struggles, and sacrifices. I get to see a demonstration of the boundless optimism and extraordinary grit in ordinary people.

Is the window of your Life fully open or have you insulated yourself from all its richness that is readily offered to you? Through this process of insulation, are you making your life more serious than it ought to be?

Think about it.

 

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