The Routine

जिस वक़्त ने सितम की धुप दी
वो सुकुन की बारिश भी लाएगा जिस वक़्त ने
ख़ामोशी का अँधेरा दिया
वो तनहा महफ़िल में फिर दीप जलाएगा
जो वक़्त लम्हों में नहीं इंतज़ार में गुज़रा है
वो वक़्त कभी न कभी तो आएगा
उसे अपने अलावा और किसी की
ज़रूरत नहीं है--
कभी तो अपनी ज़िद्द से मुकर जाएगा
वक़्त ही है, गुज़र जाएगा

~ तनीषा

वक़्त ही है, गुज़र जाएगा

Alarm blares at 5:15. You negotiate for another 10 minutes in bed—just to process the fact you have to wake up.
You take 15. Late late late.
Pack your bag. Make your coffee. Rush for a shower. Dress up. Zoom out. Late late late.
Murphy’s law—there’s no rickshaw. Maybe you’ll miss the 6:40 to Gundavali. Late late late.
You actually make it. Run to the escalator—every minute counts. Late late late.
To save time, you run up the moving stairs because, God, they couldn’t be slower. You can’t stand still. Late late late.
You sprint for the metro like your life depends on it because if you miss this one, the next is 10 minutes away. You’ll be late by 10 minutes. You can’t be late late late.
The thought alone is exhausting, and the day has barely started. You haven’t even reached work yet.
But the rush? It’s already there. It’s always there.

You’ve been running all this time, racing to a destination you’ll reach when you’re meant to anyway.
Even if you get your first grey hair before that beer in Goa.
Even if your back starts aching before your first trek at Spiti Valley.
Even if lines form on your face before you get to marvel at Christmas in London.
You imagine how it would feel when you listen to others. You know the bitter sting of disappointment all too well—of not having reached that point yet. Wondering when will life finally happen to you?

Life will happen at its own pace. Some things before others. Most things you never even dreamed of.
But no one prepares you for it. No one tells you time will hurt—the time you lose, that is.
There’s a point in time for everything. After you’re born, they call it stages of development.
In preschool, it’s mastering skills. School turns it into grade levels. College calls it experience. Society calls it expectations. Otherwise, you’re late late late. And you can’t be. Why? Nobody knows. Why not? Nobody wants to know. But everyone wants you running up the escalator, because if you don’t, you’ll never make it.

So—live your life. Plan it. Note everything. Have fun, hustle. Make time for work, but also for self-care. Do everything you want to do—but at other people’s pace.

Or—hear me out—don’t. This sounds crazy, but don’t run up the escalator. Stay. Spare yourself the two minutes. Breathe. Life won’t end at 18 or 20 or 25. It starts every day. You’re not running out of time. You have this second. You’re not late; you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And maybe, just maybe, what you’re waiting for will happen as it should, whenever it should.

Meet life as you are. Accept it, and life will meet you too—maybe even with kindness.

No one prepares you for it, but time will hurt you. And time will heal.