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Shin bump and muslin veil
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Is happiness any one thing? Of course not. Like an unopened book or an impending visit, happiness often lies in the expectation of happiness to come
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PHOTO: AFP
EACH UNTO HIS OWN Happiness has many faces, wears many expressions photo: afp
A friend called to ask: "Can one achieve happiness?"
"I suppose one can," I said doubtfully, "if one tries very hard."
He laughed. He had merely been checking his English, had wanted to know whether "achieve happiness" was correct usage. But even as I confirmed it I began to have doubts. Is happiness an achievement, a rank or a title to be attained, a trophy at the end of a race? Or does happiness suddenly bump against your shin like a stray puppy asking to be fondled?
The shin bump of delight is not a bad definition of happiness. Whoa. Did I just say "definition"? I'm shocked at myself. Next thing you know I'll be writing a bestseller called Knol-Khol Soup For The Soul or Don't Count Your Gooseberries Before They Fall Off The Tree. Don't worry, I'm not going to change my profession and become a guru who prescribes one-size-fits-all spiritual wear, or declares in a booming bass voice, "Happiness is the cube root of success and the denominator of peace." (If you use this brainless sentence as a T-shirt slogan I shall extract a small commission.)
You're not going to get any dazzling insight on happiness from me. Trying to put into words that elusive state of being is far beyond my feeble faculties. Besides, what makes me happy is not what makes you happy. There is no universal formula.
Most people seem to believe there is. Millions go in search of happiness like fortune hunters after buried treasure. They follow any map, any sign that might lead them to it — even a street corner sign, like the hoarding I saw in Ulsoor the other day: "50% off Happiness Sale". I'm sure many people trotted off to buy whatever was on sale and discovered to their chagrin that they were only half as happy as they expected to be.
I'm not much of a shopper, so I'm ignorant of the equation between happiness and bulging plastic bags. But I do know that on the blue moon I treat myself to a new top, it's not the buying that makes me happy but the looking forward to wearing it the next day. Like an unopened book or an impending visit, happiness often lies in the expectation of happiness to come.
There I go again, trying to pin it down with words. Describing it is more difficult than trying to catch the sunlight bouncing off your watch dial and skittering wildly across the walls. Hey, that just sounded like a rough description of it — happiness as a spot of light forever dancing out of reach. It is fleeting. One second it has you singing under your breath and the very next, you're irritated or angry or anxious or depressed over some inadequacy or inefficiency — your own or someone else's.
Of course I'm talking about happiness that is momentary, short-term. But there is the long-term kind, which is not a shin bump so much as a flowing muslin veil. It is a veil that envelops you yet barely touches you, that is delicate yet durable enough to withstand the buffeting of daily life.
I think the woman I spoke to on the bus a few years ago was wearing one of those veils. She supported her extended family on the salary from her government job, a job she was given "on compassionate grounds" after her husband was bedridden by a debilitating (and financially draining) disease. Old parents, an unemployed brother and two school-going girls — they were more than just mouths to feed; she spoke of them all with affection. Her brother who moved from one failed business scheme to the next hadn't contributed a paisa to the family kitty in his 40-odd years but he was "very jovial and loving". Her husband could move around a little bit now, she said, and he did the cooking. She looked at her watch and said with a fond smile, "He'll be wa-ai-iting for me to come back." The way in which she stretched the vowels in "waiting" seemed to say it all.
She should have been embittered. She should have been moaning. Where lay the secret of her composure? If she were the author of Knol-Khol Soup For The Soul she would use her experiences to coin saleable slogans like "Turn your troubles into challenges" or "Take control of your own life". But she had no such ambitions. Her secret was safe with her.
Many who search for happiness are searching for a way to take their mind off their unhappiness. Is happiness distraction? Is it pleasure? Is it contentment? Is it satisfaction? Is it success? Is it peace? When was the last time you saw so many question marks in one paragraph?
Aagli bidi. You can't pursue happiness with the grimness of a deer hunter going on shikar. Don't think about it too hard. Take a chill pill. Do the coffee hum, the bus stop shuffle. Count the seeds in your custard apple (my last one had 56). Those who promise to help you attain happiness with off-the-shelf formulae are not always to be trusted. What makes me happy is not what makes you happy. You've got to work it out on your own.
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ckmeena@gmail.com
C.K. MEENA
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