Simply Being | Simple Being

Tag: comfort (page 1 of 3)

Unexpected Intimacy

It was a 11-hour flight. And I was determined to make it work this time.

I don’t do well on long flights. I tend to feel stiff and tense. Not me, but my body. Perhaps they’re one and the same. I cannot fall asleep, instead drifting endlessly between slumber and wakefulness. All this waking and sleeping makes for some lucid dreaming too. The idea of writing this also came about as a half-dream.

I was flying solo this time. Leg space was fairly good, and I managed to snag an aisle seat. My flight companion was a young light-haired boy, all skinny arms and legs and light freckles. He effortlessly squeezed past me, and settled into the window seat. I started to make myself comfortable too. Covered my knees and legs with the airline blanket, wrapped my beloved orange shawl around my shoulders, slipped on the eye mask… resolved to SLEEP. I also took a tablet of Jatamansi, a nerve relaxant herb that has helped me with sleep in the past.

It seemed to work. Six hours drifted by. I felt like I was awake but I must have been asleep. Is that odd? Sleep is a mysterious state, and it is hard to pinpoint where exactly you are in it.

A couple of hours or so later, I felt a nudge on my shoulder. My young friend had fallen asleep, resting his upper body on the arm rest between us, legs curled up. I was sitting up, my seat slightly reclined, and his shoulder brushed against mine. In a couple of minutes, I had fallen back into my wakeful-sleep mode. A little (or lot — who knows?) later, I straightened up, my knee bumping against his. I awoke to find him snuggled on the other side, knees drawn to his chest, pretzel-like. He was a slender contortionist, this young fellow. As I pulled my legs up, deciding to sleep on my side, my feet pushed against his body. The cabin was cold, and I felt a gentle warmth radiating from him.

All night long, we kept wriggling around in our respective spaces, trying to get comfortable without disturbing the other. My friend kept squeezing his lithe body into all kinds of semi-circular formations, and I tried to get somewhat comfortable so I could get some sleep… and through these mutual efforts, our bodies connected. He was scarcely awake (seemed to be a light sleeper) and I was all adrift too. I found this strange intimacy oddly comfortable.

Perhaps it was his youth that made him so unselfconscious and free with his body, an utter lack of physical awkwardness. He stepped in and out of my space with absolute comfort and ease, and even though I wasn’t all awake, I was charmed.

Winter Yearning

I am looking to find a name for this yearning,
that emerges on a late winter night,
or early dawn.

When it gets cold and chilly, and the desire for comfort commingles with the one for warmth and closeness,
Hands go forth searching, the fingers clasping, curled up into each other,
Bodies curve inward, fitting like two crescents, soft and curved, curled and shaped.

The comforter and quilt and warm woolen blankets all get merged and layered,
coming together, never pulling apart.

It is the state between sleep and wakefulness, it is a half-dream, a silent conversation,
It is home and warm breaths and half-murmured imaginings, am I dreaming or is this real?
Perhaps I am recounting a dream.

But now I am gone again,
and we drift off into this half-lit, humidified quiet, warmed and whirring heater space.

My Sweet Home

I love my home, I really do. But it wasn’t always this way.

When we moved in seven years ago, I was stumped. I had never lived in such a large house earlier and had no idea about decor, furnishings, interior design… all that stuff. So some parts of the house remained in darkness, metaphorically speaking. We simply didn’t know what to do with all those rooms. (Truth be told, ours is not a very large home, relative to the homes of our friends.) So we hung up cute Indian knick-knacks and tchotchkes all over, bought pictures framed from India, nailed little decorations up on the walls… but it felt like we (or I) were trying too hard. The house was not very happy, I’d imagine.

Anyway, long story short… we now have a lovely home. It is beautiful, radiant, shining and warm. We have faded couches, squashed cushions and pillows, walls that need a coat of paint (or two), yellowing blinds, a carpet that is in dire need of replacement. And the list goes on. But I love this place, so very much… with all its sunny corners, little piles of books on side tables, an overflowing bookshelf, brave house plants, brimming laundry baskets, cluttered bathroom, etc. I love our home because it is the space P and I inhabit with our bodies, minds, energies and intentions.


It is a place of sunshine, love, warmth and serenity. When I think of my home, the words that come to mind are comfortable, friendly, equal parts shabby and chic and classy, cozy, a delightful mess, a graceful sense of disorder. And that about describes me as well. Meaning my home is a true representation of my personality, a fair and unbiased one, an authentic extension of who I am.

It is me. And it is P as well.

A special mention of the kitchen, one of the oft-used rooms in the house, the site of many cooking experiments and preparations, major baking projects, minor accidents, spectacular spills and like… 🙂 Such a blessing to eat and feed home-cooked food… there is not one restaurant on the planet that can even aspire to delivering anything remotely close to that level of quality, taste, flavor, nourishment and satisfaction.