What brings you delight?
In the years following the Second World War, there wasn’t much to be cheerful about. So in 1949, JB Priestly, a novelist and a playwright set out on a mission. He decided to write a collection of essays which were later published under the collective title “Delight”. Each essay is a detailed description of the everyday, quotidian, things that bring him pleasure. It begins with an essay celebrating the majesty of fountains, and goes to anything from waking up to the smell of bacon, to cozy planning next to a fireplace. I was so sincerely touched by the idea, that of course, decided to write a list of my own delights. Here it goes:
Being alone, when you’re very much not alone. This includes airplane trips, tube rides, solitary theatre outings. There is something about being a part of a crowd, yet preserving your own space and unknown identity that is rather delightful. Perhaps, it is what makes the first walk in a new city, so beguiling. You feel small, yet infinitely connected as you succumb to the coziness of being your own companion. You are offered a fresh beginning and a chance to see yourself through the eyes of a stranger. Your attention is aimed at everything and nothing at once. You can savour your chance to be a people ogler on the street, a thoughts catcher on the train, a fleeting iota in this magnificent universe.
Connecting the dots when looking backwards. All humans have an internal urge to find meaning. There is a small issue: it is not always for us to find. We are simply too limited in our ability to understand the laws of cause and effect. And yet, every now and again, when you least expect it, the cosmic order accidentally slips a cue your way and a black and white image suddenly turns into a Hockney painting, colour bright. At once, all of your decisions are stripped of their regrets, your hopes reaffirmed and the future jolly cheerful. And when it happens, it is indeed, rather delightful.
The last scene of Dirty Dancing. I had a hard time deciding between the “Time of My Life Scene” and the one where Jonny Castle metamorphoses from a self-absorbed heartthrob into a sensitive man. But it is the last scene that is iconic and for a reason. First of all, there is the song that won an Oscar, whose unfolding glamour never fails to give me goose bumps. Then there is the fact that their romance is no longer only yours to savour, the audience is finally awakened too and what a relief, indeed, that it is now official. Then, there is the lift. The lift that many romcoms have since tried to replicate but never quite to the same effect. Perhaps it is the fact that a man who lifts a girl like this in the air, says with his movement more than he ever could with words, perhaps it is because it so closely mimics the exhilaration of flying. It is like flying. Except is better. Because it’s flying in love. Add to that the cha cha, and you’ve got a perfect recipe for delight.
And since we are on the topic of movies, I feel I must add the “O Captain, my Captain” scene in Dead Poets Society when the students honour Mr. Keating and climb on their desks; the library scene in Atonement when Cecilia finally gives in to her attraction to Robbie, and when Colonel Frank Slade takes his Ferrari for a blind ride in Scent of a Woman. There are a few things that are more delightful than getting what you believe you deserve, and they include, watching your favourite characters do so.
The first kiss. Which is usually not very good, but that’s besides the point. You do not know each other very well. You know the ID stuff, but you don’t know the names of your parents, the positions of your odd moles, the way you sneeze. You feel like Christopher Columbus who has just discovered a new way to India. Rising on the horizon is an island, full of adventure and buried treasure, yours to uncover. The world knows not what you have found, life is brimming with promise and infinite possibilities. It is that brief moment after the beginning and before the middle, when you’re willing to get lost in the world of another and lose yourself that gives the taste of what it means to see the world through the eyes of love. And that is ultimate delight.
And from ultimate delight, to something rather more quotidian. Namely, the pleasure of being able to run to the loo and pee for what seems an eternity after you have held it for too long and your bladder resembles a full-blown helium ballon. Ah, only the Niagara falls would know the pleasure of such streaming waters.
Coffee. Most people who know me, would say that I avoid sugar. But in fact, this is only because I need to have something sweet every day. You see, the bitter taste of coffee offset by the sweetness of dark chocolate, dates or a caramel biscuits will be something I shall have every day until the day I die. It is thus, that I cannot have sugar at any random hour. Because my delight is when I indulge in the bonbons along with foam of my coffee. Long live Stevia.
And how delightful really it is to discover, that if one sits down to record his delights, he could go on forever. That easily, if the veil of bitterness is lifted, and children’s fantasy unleashed, one could find joy all around. In washing the dishes with a brand new sponge, in a train that stop right in front of you, in smelling the air after rain, in browsing five-floored bookshops. In accepting compliments, and finding old socks. In recycling and eating quinoa after a few days of bad diet. In meeting and greeting a new idea and serving its realisation, in memories from a distant lifetime and in Bradley Cooper. In putting your cold hands under your armpits, and in re-reading a special text over and over again. In looking up, out of the window, in the middle of the night, to see the magnanimous, amethystic moon and feeling that you’re part of something bigger. How truly, duly delightful.
