As I sat there staring at a blank canvas, trying to find an answer both intricate and broad, one which could encapsulate the profundity of my thoughts, I realized how stupid I was being. The answer lay in the simple things, the smaller, quieter moments.

For when a cricket match is happening live and, for just a moment, everyone forgets about class, color, race, gender, or creed and leans in on their elbows, braced for the next ball and unknowingly holding their breath, hoping for a six or a four, and finally embracing whoever is next to them when the shot is scored. Afterwards the entire country enters the streets pounding their fists into the air, lighting firecrackers, and welcoming the team home with crowd-surfing, cheers, and a whole lot of bhangra (dancing).

Or when you are travelling abroad and struggling with the language, slipping in a few native words here and there, only to realize the cashier was doing the same, and that you both maybe weren’t alone in an alien world after all, thus adding some color to a black and white life.

Or on a really hot day, when taking ice-cold showers every hour just isn’t cutting it, and every man, woman, and child takes to the nearby streams and cannon-balls in headfirst, with no care for waterborne diseases, or law-enforcement action — it is in these simple actions that I find clarity.

What unites my community? Cricket. Food. Bhangra. Kindness. A sense of understanding, culture, and belonging but above all, an undying love for life, and all it has to offer, in its cheap thrills or exorbitant luxuries.