Take A Sip

*** This story does provide some Indian background of an Indian household. I wanted to give some context to what a few things I mentioned mean.

Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham is a hit Hindi movie from 2001 that is a rom-com.

Kheer is a north Indian version of rice pudding.

Nani is the north Indian way of referring to one’s mother’s mom (grandmother on mom’s side)

Dal is an Indian lentil dish.

Chole is an Indian chickpea dish.

Malaysian paratha is an Indian bread that is served with dishes such as Dal and Chole.

Gulab jamun is a traditional Indian sweet.

Kuch Kuch Hota Hai is a hit Hindi movie from 1998 that is a rom-com.

    I sit there, with my cozy blanket wrapped around me, watching Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, listening to the soft pitter patter of the rain outside my window, glancing at the brightly lit up Christmas tree in our living room, and filling my mouth with each bite of the warm and fresh kheer my Nani had made for me. We had just gotten back from a trip and I was refreshed to be back at home, all cozied up. I look at my parents sitting on either side of me, my mom singing along to each song played in the movie, and my dad concentrating on sipping his coffee just the right way. I feel the snow-white fur of my dog as she rubs against my knee. Everything seems so perfect and completes my idea of a winter wonderland just the way I wish for it to. No effort. No needs. No thoughts. Just my perfect wonderland, here on the lounge chair in our living room.

    What if it's only perfect because there are no thoughts? No distractions. Nothing to keep me busy. Nothing to feed my emotions or ego. Just bliss. I think my dad sipping his coffee is just that, bliss. He has no intentions at all. That one action he commits every ten minutes or so makes him the most fitting idol of achieving real bliss. Not the bliss we get from watching movies like The Notebook or any rom-com. The kind of bliss that takes the littlest action yet is completely fulfilling.

    Every day I watch him, he sits on the same corner of the brown leather couch in our living room, putting all his items on the little cramped side table to the right of him. He always has that very same white mug with blue and green stripes on it in his hand, filled with warm black coffee. No milk, no sugar, no creamer, just plain black coffee. If you think about it like me, as his daughter, you’d see think just the kind of coffee he drinks represents how simple he is, how he doesn’t ever need things like kheer, or movies like Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham to entertain him or give that winter wonderland feeling. He is and lives in that feeling all by himself.

    I watch as he takes his slow sips of coffee, each one with so much focus and enjoyment. He doesn’t let a single sip enter his body without him fully admitting his joy of it. Every sip deserves that “ah” moment. The moment you get when you take your first bite of the fresh mashed potatoes that are your favorite on thanksgiving. He gives that moment to every sip. He doesn’t get tired of the taste or carried away with other worries or anything else going on around him. He just sits there and sips. He sips in his blue sweatpants and old green sweater, occasionally looking out the window with his wide-eyed expression. He’ll sit there with his slouched shoulders, deeply focused on his coffee.

    I sit there on the brown lounge chair to the side of the couch he’s on and move on from my kheer to the dal and chole accompanied by a Malaysian paratha in front of me. As I take a piece of the paratha and scoop it into the chole, I think how? How does a boring old coffee in “the most beautiful time of the year” give that feeling instead of watching the new Christmas movies that came out a week ago on Netflix, or decorating a tree with ornaments, or going to a nearby Christmas in the park? How can someone get that same feeling that takes all of that and more from a simple, boring old coffee?

    I can’t think of anything to do but question it. I question why that coffee is meaningless to me when he somehow finds tons of joy in it. I think it's because I wish for my winter wonderland through things. I wish for it through the warm hot cocoa in front of me, or the gulab jamun we recently brought from the local Indian store, or the tree filled with sparkling ornaments and presents underneath, or watching a classic like Mean Girls to Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. The difference between me and my father is he is that feeling, him sipping his coffee is that feeling, and him living his life is that feeling. He doesn’t expect the same sweets I do to give him that feeling, or the traditions, or the activities, or the movies. He breathes and exhales that feeling, every second of the day.

    I think holidays and winter are all wrapped and gifted to you with a title that raises your needs and wants to expect that feeling to just fit you right from those things. I think the kind of person my dad is, and the kind of person I wish to be and become is the person who erases those things but not the feeling. Never the feeling. They keep that feeling with them all the time, every day, hour, and second. And they don’t expect that feeling, they are that feeling, and they become that feeling, with or without knowing or wishing.

    My dad has made that feeling reflect on all his life without the things. I witness it every day, from the plain pajamas that he wears over and over again just for his own comfort, not anybody else’s. I see it through how he talks, not talking for those things or anyone else, but for him and his winter wonderland feeling. I see it through his coffee. That old, plain black coffee that I am almost sick of seeing by this time. But that coffee lives by its own feeling, just like my dad.

    That coffee isn’t like me, it doesn’t need those things, it's fine being boring and simple and plain. It's fine. It’ll always be fine. I see my dad sit there and sip his coffee every day. Do I get annoyed by it sometimes? Yes. Do I constantly question it? Yes. Will I continue questioning it for the rest of my life? Yes. I do think that I will never fully understand how simple my dad is just like that coffee, and why he just is.

    I am now sitting here on this same lounge chair watching him and one of the classic movies playing at the same time, taking a bite of the things that give that feeling, and wrapping myself in a blanket that gives me that feeling. The only difference is, now I know what that winter wonderland feeling really is. It’s to be like my dad, to be that feeling, to need not even that plain black coffee to keep me going. It’s to be it, to breathe it, and to keep sipping with that enjoyment, not letting a single breath go without me fully admitting my joy of it. All I need to experience that bliss is to take a sip.

    *this writing piece was awarded 3rd place in a writing contest