On Saturday mornings, I walk to my favorite coffee shop – on the way, I stop at an old smoke shop-plus-news stand. The owner and I now recognize each other – part of the knowing is not needing to engage in conversation. I spend 5-7 minutes deciding among the NYT, WSJ, the Economist, and the New Yorker. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks about my pick, but we don’t talk about it. I see his cat in her bed, she looks at me. We know. At the coffee shop, I order an iced al-mac latte and occasionally a croissant. They have too many regulars to recognize me. The anonymity, too, is freeing.
I set up camp in a corner – click a photo of the setup for #memories, and keep my phone away for once. The next hour or two are the most precious hours of my week – I read. I read, and I am. I read, free – free of the demands, expectations, and asks of me and my time. I read, not worrying about the things I need to do in order to survive – texts, emails, friends, gym, admin, life.
I disconnect – from the world and its liens on me. Or maybe, I connect? Is meditation connecting or disconnecting? I connect with the calmest part of my mind and soul – the part that feels the written word deeply, the part that connects the dots, the part that just ~is~. My instagram bio is “~the lightness of being~”. I recently realized that this Saturday reading – the disconnecting, the connecting, the calmness – IS that lightness of being. Sometimes I people watch – but I’m not really watching the people. I’m watching myself in their lives – the talking, laughing, running, existing. If meditation is about quieting the mind, about connection, about calmness and peace, about being one with oneself – then reading, for me, is meditation.
Ipshita Agarwal 