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No pain, no gain
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Drunk on fizzy happiness, we are feverishly building little cocoons insulated from every kind of pain
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Ingrid Bergman in that unforgettable classic, Casablanca. The greatest love stories have all been tragedies.
TWO TEENAGERS were standing by the ice-cream kiosk outside Plaza on a Sunday evening, wondering which English movie to see. Plaza was showing Ray. "Should we go for Aviator?" asked one, and the other replied: "That is also sad." They dithered on the pavement, caught between a rock and a hard place. Both films of their choice lacked the cloying Hollywood finale they were looking for. Too-oo depressing, ya.
I resisted the urge to give these two boys an impromptu lecture right then and there. Didn't they know that the greatest love stories of the world have all been tragedies? That the greatest works of literature speak of suffering and loss? But how would they know? Pain is quite unfashionable these days. Everybody wants to be happy, happy, happy. Have bella and more bella for Ugadi. Eat fun food, drink fun colas, read only happy news. Happiness is being measured, analysed, and sold across the counter. One can of optimism, please. Fizzy, that's the way I like it. I've opened the can now, but why does it look so empty?
In the olden days people used to say that suffering builds character. No pain, no gain. What a bunch of killjoys they were. They would not buy even a needle without weighing the pros and cons. Moaning about the future, they forgot to taste the pleasures of the present. Nobody taught them how to take shortcuts to success. Today's generation knows how to sell itself. Highlight strengths and play down weaknesses. Accentuate the positive. The clever salesman puts up a board that says "pre-owned cars" instead of "used" or "second-hand". Must not tell unpleasant truths. Must deliver them gift-wrapped and sugar-coated. "Made redundant" and not "kicked out". "Golden handshake" instead of "You're so useless that it's cheaper to pay you to quit". What do you call a man with a heart of stone? Emotionally challenged.
Pain is the least popular emotion. It can be physical or mental, and like most of you I have known both since, over the years, the aches that once were centred on my heart have travelled down to my knees. But are they so dissimilar, the pains of body and mind? You might have heard of the scientific experiment done decades ago when a subject was psyched into believing that a red-hot piece of metal was about to be applied to his bare back. His back was touched with a piece of ice instead. And a burn mark appeared on his skin.
They say pain is all in the mind. This is probably why a nagging ache during the day grows intense at night because when you lie down you're giving it your undivided attention. You can imagine you have a pain (the psychosomatic kind) or imagine a pain has vanished (which is how a placebo works). To be fair, doesn't a person who experiences imaginary pain really feel, I mean actually feel it? Unreal pain can be as acute as the real, so ultimately there is no difference. Anyway there's nothing more infuriating than being told, when you're in the throes of agony, "Oh don't make such a big fuss about it, it's all in your mind."
There are those who invite pain upon themselves: masochists, body-piercing slaves of fashion, boys entering manhood through tribal rites of passage, and devotees whose worship involves self-inflicted pain. But pain is usually an unwelcome visitor. We curse its arrival, little realising that we need it for our very survival. Doctors recently discovered an extremely rare medical condition: the inability to feel pain. Some are born that way, their bodies incapable of sensing any pain whatsoever. This is not a blessing, as you would imagine, but a very precarious state of being. A knife can gash your arm to the bone but you will not feel it, and by the time you notice the blood you might have lost a large quantity of it. Your flesh can catch fire without your knowledge. You'll need someone to watch over you all the time so that you don't endanger yourself.
Yes, pain is our alarm system, alerting our bodies to enemy attacks. Pain itself is not the enemy. But that's how it seems, doesn't it? We as a society are growing increasingly intolerant of pain, whether it's our own (which we try to dispel) or another's (which we try to avoid). We strive to optimise our comfort even as we insulate ourselves from the wants of others. That's how we end up with heartless slogans like "Mumbai into Shanghai" (they're getting shanghaied all right, those hardworking millions whose homes are in peril). That's how we end up with highways that fly over poverty and cosy middle class enclaves that shut out the unpleasant world.
By the way, have you scrutinised those huge ads that sell exclusive townships? I read the small print in one of them. You live in an "I" pod, with everything you need (from tennis court and swimming pool to school, bank, mall and movie house) enclosed within walls as high as those in a prison. Should your children be forced to travel to a school outside the township, their buses will be protected by "trained gunmen". Those exact words.
Living in a bubble gives you the illusion of a pain-free world. Until the bubble bursts.
Send your feedback to
ckmeena@rediffmail.com.
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