The standard of life…the cycle of life itself is a measurement. Not that I remember too much about the early days where measurements were hardly recorded digitally, a few aged snaps telling stories more than what happened actually, now like a fable. But life was all about school then, and measurements were really a benchmark for height and marks in the subjects, neither outstanding.

As I recall my college days and then the first job, the measurements had moved—who was placed where and who went on to the US for higher studies. Measurements to fit into society and family had made me, and surely others, re-measure their actual choices of profession to those that the family wanted. Measurements started when I was born, or before that.

Surprising how life has quietly progressed from then till date with this subtle yet powerful measure of title, house, location, cars, and so on and more. These are the finer aspects of life, but where it really hits is when we measure people. Measurement becomes a class, a category, a standard, and a cult. When it’s others, it hurts, but have you not at some point or another measured everyone in terms of their dress, language, ability, or money’s worth? We have all measured others while others have measured us. A basic metric to define distance or volume or those physical parameters, sometimes without a unit to define.

I have been measured when I went to buy a watch, a store which sold designer brand winter coats, where I was not attended to until I took the coat to the counter, and the restaurant where they made me wait for 10 minutes in spite of empty tables. Measured…we don’t like it, but we live with it. If life is all about these measurements, right from the time to get up to the time to sleep and the time to travel…we are in a measured world.

Have you cooked a new dish, learning it from a book or from an online blog? The key to success in getting it right is, from the quantity to the timing, all made to measure… Measurements.

The realms of life, however, have many things of unmeasured significance… I am someone who never went ahead with measurements while cooking, nor did I ever see my mother measure out anything while cooking. The hand was the scale most of the time, without even having a look. The time to cook was a feeling. The dish always tasted better, making me wonder why we cannot have a life like that of my mother’s cooking. Whatever vegetable was available, a pinch of ginger/garlic paste, salt to taste, a little of the spices, and the vegetable would beat the best of the hotel offerings. Yet, we liked the hotel food…made to perfection by measure… Measurements.

Can it be so simple to move away from measurements to an approach of taking it as it comes? Can we stop measuring our lives and others and move towards something more meaningful? Life is such a contradiction to our beliefs and our approach, and what would be meaningful will also have to be at a level to be measured…made to measure…Measurements.