The Serious Business of Play: Finding Joy Between the Lines of Life

The Serious Business of Play: Finding Joy Between the Lines of Life

Do I play in my daily life? The honest answer is—yes, though not always in ways that announce themselves with whistles, scoreboards, or applause. Play, to me, is no longer confined to playgrounds or board games; it has quietly evolved, slipping into the crevices of routine, disguising itself as simplicity, and often arriving uninvited yet most welcome.
In childhood, playtime was a declared hour—sunlight on dusty grounds, scraped knees worn like medals, and laughter that rose without self-consciousness. As adults, we allow that hour to be swallowed by duty, deadlines, and the solemn belief that seriousness is a sign of maturity. Somewhere along the way, play was demoted from a necessity to a luxury. Yet life, I have learned, becomes unbearably heavy when play is packed away like an old toy deemed childish.
Today, playtime speaks to me in quieter dialects. It is the unplanned conversation that wanders from the profound to the absurd. It is humming an old Mukesh song while fingers absent-mindedly find their way across a harmonium or keyboard. It is the gentle teasing exchanged within the family, the shared smile with a grandchild who sees magic where adults see mundanity. In those moments, time loosens its grip, and the soul stretches its legs.
Play, for me, is also intellectual and emotional. It lives in words—when I toy with metaphors, juggle idioms, or let history and mythology dance with present-day realities on the page. Writing, when freed from expectation, becomes play. Reading without an agenda, revisiting a familiar book, or allowing the mind to wander through philosophy without the burden of conclusions—all these are forms of play that nourish rather than exhaust.
There is a philosophical truth echoed across cultures: the child within never truly leaves; it merely waits to be acknowledged. Indian thought speaks of lila—the divine play of the universe—suggesting that creation itself is an act of joyful expression. When life is seen only as struggle, we reduce existence to survival. When play is allowed back in, life regains balance, rhythm, and grace.
Playtime, therefore, is not an escape from responsibility but a companion to it. It restores proportion, softens edges, and reminds us that not every moment needs to justify itself with productivity. A walk taken without counting steps, music listened to without analysis, laughter shared without reason—these are quiet rebellions against a life overburdened with purpose.
In my daily life, play says this to me: Pause. Breathe. Delight is not a distraction; it is a sustenance.
And so, even now, amid responsibilities and reflections, I choose to play—not loudly, not always visibly, but sincerely. For a life without play may continue to move forward, but it forgets how to dance.