A taxi engine roared in motion on the mountain road of Kasol. Gently rushing past the tender verdant and picturesque scenery, I felt giddy and warm despite the cool breeze flowing my hair against the car window. Reminiscing the geological marvel of hot springs in Manikaran I had joyfully embraced, I mentally danced in delight. Quite contrary to my fuzzy ecstasy, the cabbie was in the mood for songs of bitter love. “Tu pyaar hai kisi aur ka, tujhe chahta koi aur hai–” from Dil Hai Ki Manta Nahin played on the scratchy car stereo.

The song, almost serendipitously, transformed into an irritatingly buzzing sound. My romantic detour to North Indian hill stations came to a halt as my room appeared to shake to the tunes of my raucous alarm clock. I almost groaned in defeat, disappointed that the Hindi cinema-esque sole venture to the mountains was a mere dreamy fantasy. The sun was just ushering in, casting rays of dawn all over the city. It was a Monday, and an early morning—which usually meant running after class schedules, assignment deadlines, and cacophonous academic commitments. That day, however, was the last day of the mid-semester break. Last day at home before exams and bedlam started. Maybe, the day could be spent in the most conveniently meaningful way.

After a quick shower, I donned a Zardozi embroidered pastel Kurti with Salwar from my mother’s closet. As I went to retrieve the pair of Kolhapuri sandals brought vivaciously from Surajkund from the shoe rack, my mind leered back to the abandoned stickers-laced laptop and a sticky note filled with a to-do list. I shook my head, determined to drive away the hyperventilating tasks from my head. If not Kasol, then some other escapade was definitely mandatory.

The city hadn’t stirred fully awake yet—betel leaf stalls and vegetable hawkers glistened freshly on the sidewalk with familiar residential buildings in the background. There was a soothing air of tranquility, almost prompting me to realise that the city, despite its constant ongoing metropolitan tumult, can sometimes be a place of normalcy and relish.

The morning light transformed the entire landscape into a pale gold dust mote. My footwear slapped lightly against the concrete in a practiced rhythm. I took a deep breath and yearned to smile, however, a nagging pit in my stomach kept emerging. It signalled towards a very familiar feeling—one which constantly reminded me to go back and study or engage in something productive, and not to be ‘idle’ like this. I pursed my lips and shook my head to get rid of these distractingly anxious thoughts.

My insides fluttered in relief as the usual half-dilapidated chai-stall appeared around the right-hand corner of the crossing. Less than 50 meters away from the stall, a modest Kali temple caught my eyes. The temple had been no less than a tutelary deity’s abode to my family half a decade ago. It was a place of enacting holy rituals for my father, and a place for practicing spiritual meditation for my mother. The temple did not mean anything special to me, or so I thought. I wasn't particularly religious, however, respecting the beliefs of people I loved in my vicinity had prompted me to visit this temple far too many times in the past.

A lofty sense of nostalgia swept over my senses. In the last few years, life took up a turmoil; optimising tasks, achievements, and work grew too crucial for us. Praying to the Devi’s shrine felt like an obligation back then. Today, it felt like borrowing time.

The rusted iron gate was half open, painted green many monsoons ago, now flaking. A single, small brass bell hung from a metallic chain, swaying softly with the wind. After removing my sandals, I rang the sonorous bell lightly and stepped into the courtyard premises. Not a priest, but a seasoned woman wearing a faded magenta saree, with her pallu tucked tight on the side, was peeling garlic on a jute cot by the Ashoka tree. I continued on my path, determined to pray and meditate. I bowed my head in front of the majestic Kali idol, and sat down on the cemented floor, fluttering my eyes close and trying to concentrate.

After a few minutes, I walked backwards; my breath slowed down but my mind still raced with a myriad of thoughts. I let out a small sigh as I sat myself down on the steps of the antechamber.

“Are you new here?”

The voice made me startle. I blinked and looked at the source, my breath faltering as I mentally tried to phrase my answer. The woman in the nauvari saree eyed me with an unreadable emotion.

“Not really, I live nearby. It has just been a long time since I came here.”

The woman smiled, her sunken eyes lighting up as she did so. “My daughter works in IT. She comes home twice a year, brings gifts and money I don't need.”

I frowned slightly. What was she saying? I thought she would do some generic small-talk about my career, my education, my plans, and so on like most middle-aged people did.

“She urges me to earn my own money too. She says it's the most important thing today, for women.”

I shifted sideways on the stairs and folded my legs again. “I cannot agree more with her, being independent has been my mantra ever since I gained consciousness.”

The woman threw the discarded garlic peels openly on a steel plate. If a strong breeze came, these light peels would easily create a mess. She didn't seem to bother about that though.

“Yes, true. She used to love knitting, my daughter. Wasn't very good at it, but it was her hobby. Now she has forgotten all about it."

I pursed my lips. "Work must keep her busy. Now she's earning for family, including you. Isn't that more important? Standing on your own two feet as fast as possible?”

The woman shook her and let out a chuckle. “I used to peel faster, you know, these garlic cloves. Used to think faster meant better. My fingers got swollen, it was during Sharad Ritu, this tree was shedding its leaves. I started peeling slowly again, and it felt nice. I wasn't rushing after an achievement, I was thriving, at my own pace.”

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and shifted. “But… there are limited ways of earning money. These ways demand all our time. And money is necessary- to not depend and to have choices.”

“Yes.” The woman looked at me, her eyes looked tired yet experienced. “As necessary as breathing. But if you only breathe to earn the next breath, you forget what air feels like on its own.”

The words hit as a hurricane in broad daylight. My identity, was it so focused on working and hustling that I had disconnected myself with life? There was another question that bothered me. I stood up and remarked to the seemingly omniscient woman, “I don't know what I am without work and struggling to achieve something.”

The woman finished peeling off her last clove. She smiled serenely. "You don't need to find out just yet. You're you, a living, breathing human being. Go slow, and discover. Who knows? You might end up loving your identity outside of being busy."

I couldn't help but smile as I let out yet another breath I didn't know I was holding. I climbed down, wore my sandals, and turned around to bid the woman thanks and goodbye. She smiled as she started gathering up her paraphernalia.

“Take care. Remember, you're more than your commitments.” I grinned and thanked her. She blessed me and walked outside the temple premises.

On my way back to my home, I was reminded of the earnest Kaafi of Bullah Shah. He claimed that he didn't know who he was, outside of the natural and societal parameters. It resonated with me, at that time, more than ever.

“Who is this Bulla shah Bulla! I know not who I am.

Nor am I union, nor grief, Nor am I intrinsic in the pure/impure Nor am I of water, nor of land.”

I didn't know who I was, either. However, I couldn't wait to find out. My identity was more than being consistently burnt out, and it was possible for me to be at peace. Because, if peace depended on everything going right—it's not peace, it's control.

The steel water bottle rocked against my phone in my purse. For the first time, I defeated the urge to check updates on the device. It lay untouched. I walked freely, and my shoulders weren't slouched down anymore.