Subsequently, a dramatic black-and-white photo, accompanying his insightful quote, appears on my laptop screen, which feels like it could solve everything, if only I were a better organised person.
“Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless, like water…” it says. This usually happens mid-morning, when I am at the height of my un-mindfulness, unshapeliness and clinging desperately to the last of my pre-lunch coffee.
The suggestion to “be water” sounds poetic until one tries applying it to daily life because water, after all, has terrible career development skills, with no five-year plan, no LinkedIn profile, and no sense of urgency.
It simply flows!
Still, the idea of “being water” is tempting because I have realised that water has remarkable emotional intelligence. It does not overthink, does not doom-scroll and it never wonders if it should have phrased that email differently, three years ago. Water adapts. You leave it somewhere, it figures things out, without any resistance, drama or manifesto.
Bruce Lee put it perfectly when he said: “Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless, like water. You put water into a cup, and it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, and it becomes the bottle. You put it into a teapot, and it becomes the teapot. Be water, my friend.”
Right! When Bruce Lee called someone his friend, I doubt that person could have drummed up the courage to refuse him anything, be it becoming earth, water or air itself!
However, being water in modern life is harder than it sounds. Take social media, for instance, where one is expected to have strong opinions on everything, from geopolitics to pineapple on pizza. In such a situation, water would just quietly absorb all the views and then evaporate before the comment section turned violent.
Personally, as a freelance columnist, being water feels less like philosophy and more like a job description as one day I am writing about culture, the next about technology, and by afternoon I am wondering how I ended up researching something I did not know existed, until 10 minutes ago.
My mind is not permitted to be rigid and my thoughts flow wherever the assignments take me, hoping they stay coherent and don’t spill all around in the process.
Meanwhile, the whole “empty your mind” part sounds peaceful, but my mind, when asked to empty itself, immediately produces a shopping list, a half-remembered song lyric, and a sudden urge to reorganise everything except my actual life.
Water does not appear to have this problem because water does not multitask. It only exists, which feels wildly aspirational. Even at home, water sets better boundaries and does not apologise for taking up space. Pour too much and it simply overflows.
Moreover, there is a certain watery wisdom in, well, water, because it does not cling. Nor does it chase but just quietly fills the space available, and more importantly, knows when to leave. The rest of us are left holding the empty containers, long after the water has evaporated, insisting the pots still have some potential.
“I am learning to become water” I tell my spouse as I sit in meditation this morning.
“Becoming what?” he asks.
“Water, she said water,” our daughter enunciates.
“Water, water everywhere,” my husband laughs.
“Nor any drop to drink,” I quote wordlessly.
Read Nickunj Malik’s last article: Sasurji turns 90
