If there is one thing that I envy the most about the olden times — to which I did not belong — is ‘thehraav’. For me, ‘thehraav’ implies divine stillness, where time, although running at its own pace, gives us the liberty to lag behind for some time in this race of existence.

The reason for being envious of olden times is the ease with which thehraav could be experienced; unlike recent times where it is deliberately sought (or perhaps not even sought). Perhaps, thehraav is innate to human life and in those days life meant “living” and not merely “existing”. However, whatever era it might be, thehraav being natural, can be experienced. All it takes is the will to stay still and immerse yourself in the moment without worrying about lagging.

Unfortunately, it seems to be easier said than done these days.

Well, a certain amount of mindfulness would make it seem quite achievable. Eventually, we might start experiencing thehraav even in the smallest of things/events of our life, just like those olden days.

As I am fond of reading since childhood, experiencing thehraav is inherently a part and parcel of it. The primary reward of soulful indulgence in books is nothing but thehraav, as I sync with the stories and the characters. The small and cosy libraries of my school and junior college made it all the more surreal.

Music is another very beautiful source of this divine stillness. In its plethora of forms (classical, semi-classical, western, folk, etc.), music unleashes a flood of happy and relaxing hormones and then we just have to soak ourselves in the stillness. Rather any form of art has the innate capacity to make us feel thehraav. Every individual should thus pursue some form of art for a breather from this suffocating rat race.

Additionally, some instances in our day-to-day lives compel us to notice, feel and live the moment; where time and situations seem to be passers-by we can afford to ignore.

For me, those instances range from enjoying the fragrance of the Son Champa flower, the smell of wet earth after the first showers of rain, relishing smooth and rich chocolate, listening to a long-forgotten favourite song that unexpectedly plays on the radio, hearing the horn of a train, getting a nice champi to spending time on the farm in my village at dusk and star-gazing at night while lying in the courtyard. These moments offer me a deep dive into the ocean of thehraav.

A recent vivid moment of thehraav that I would like to mention is a magical touch of a child. The sweet, little, 3-year-old boy was a guest at our home whom I had never met before. As I accompanied him in his exploration of our house, we went to the balcony. It was dusk time with a cool breeze.

Just as I picked him up to help him see around, his hand rested on my back. I became oblivious to everything around me and immersed in the magic of his touch. A touch so adorable and full of innocence and affection, that it melted my heart. The dusk and the cool breeze made the thehraav all the more memorable. Children are indeed magical.

As I pen down these instances, I can feel the urge to cherish the thehraav of life getting stronger. All the hustle-bustle around us due to work and competition is draining and exhausting us to such an extent that we have almost forgotten to live peacefully. Let us try to become mindful of our existence and switch off the auto-pilot mode of our life in order to embrace thehraav.