Most of the time, we are grumbling and complaining. We hardly pause to count our blessings. Lily speaks of the immense power of gratitude in this Different Truths’ exclusive.

“I feel a very unusual sensation – if it is not indigestion, I think it must be gratitude.” Well, Benjamin Disraeli did not say this laughingly! We are so busy complaining, about our socks not matching, that we completely forget that our feet are warm. Our capacity for taking things for granted is infinite. Whining and grumbling through life, moaning and bleating like sacrificial lambs, we turn the proverbial blind eye, to the huge reservoir of blessings that daily floods our lives.

Pleading to the lord, to fill up our Christmas stockings, we conveniently forget, that he has filled our stockings with legs! The ability to walk, run and skip, on our own two feet, is a blessing we take for granted. It is so easy to make a fuss and complain, about the excess salt, that your mother or wife accidently put in your stew, while it is almost a herculean task, to smile and tell her, that the cauliflower was spectacular and lip smacking.

Protesting, complaining and kicking up a storm, is second nature to most of us. The choral sound of deprecating another’s efforts is a norm, whereas, being man enough, to utter two measly words of praise and gratitude  are rocket science. You could be splendid at your work or creativity, but if you are not a grateful human, then you have missed the whole meaning of life.

Whimpering like a wounded puppy, or snivelling like the tiny tot, on her first day at school, is hardly the stuff dreams are made of! Dreams are made of a profoundly grateful heart that brims over with joyful indebtedness and gracious obligation, for the myriad blessings strewn in our path, every living day.

The lady, who leaves her son, ill in her house, to come and wash your dirty dishes, the father, who  checks  on your robust health, while he deals with impaired hearing, the friend, who worries herself insane, as you were not seen for a while, the internet that is like your bosom pal. But, the tree outside your window that unfailingly whispers sweet nothings, the jasmine that has been perfuming your life subtly, the shoes that comfort your aching feet, the luscious pear that you just bit into, the heavenly sight of the mountains that you are lucky enough, to be born to see! Ah, are they insignificant? These miniscule packets of bounty are the dynamite, the uranium, the plutonium of your nuclear-war fearing, miserable existence.

Therefore, let’s rejoice for the bed that we crash onto. It could well have been the cold floor on a wintry night or the hot desert sand on a scorching afternoon. Beecher was right when he said, “Gratitude is the fairest blossom, which springs from our soul.”

Tum kis liye chaunke ho, kab zikr tumhaara hai? Kab tumse takaaza hai, kab tumse shikaayat hai? Ek taaza hikaayat hai, sun lo toh inaayat hai…” (Why have you got startled?  I was not referring to you. I never had any demands from you. I never made any complaints to you. I want to persuade you afresh. I shall be indebted to you, if you lend me an ear…).

©Lily Swarn

Pix from Net.


Lily Swarn

Lily Swarn

Lily has published English poems in three anthologies. She was awarded Reuel international prize for poetry 2016. A postgraduate in English from Punjab University, she was awarded a gold medal for best all-round student and academics. She edited her college magazine and wrote middles for newspapers. Poetry blossomed after her young son's sudden demise. She writes in Hindi and English. Hailing from a defence family, she is settled in Chandigarh.
Lily Swarn