It was low-tide in the mall and I was watching a pair of gnarly old goat dudes watch a pair of boutique-girls eat a pair of over-stuffed burritos, when I re-cognized that life, although the ultimate spectator sport, can be pretty graceless sometimes. Amidst these mall-humans, crustaceans and mud-slurpers alike, shuffling from lottery kiosk to bench and back, were very few instances of grace. Me included (my pants-fly is broken, I have underarm hair growing on my neck etc.). But why's it so important, I wondered? And then I realized I'd been thinking of it for a while, that everyone thought of it, at some base level, and that us crabs had served that day by lowering the flashpoint.
In it's brief flares of existence, grace seems to die when pointed at. Seems to vie against the spectacle. Seems to fly only in the periphery of pedestrian focus. All efforts are either to attain or channel it. Grace is a 'realizer' of sorts.. In the imperceptibly narrow space between an idea and its accordant action, grace grows. It actually imbues an action with idea. Harmonizes the two. Very few other words conduct this sort of metaphysical fluidity. It almost appears as if we have a dearth of "good" words.
What is grace? A skill? Or a state of flow? Can it be commodified? Can it sustain happiness? Can it be quantified or given a measure? Is it somehow a signifying agent, flickering around material like semantic lightning? How do we recognize it, appreciate it, accelerate it? Are we all looking to live in a state of grace as imagined? I obviously have no answers, nor would I assert them if I did, but I'm sure it lies at the heart of the perennial question of questions: What makes for a half-decent Bollywood movie?