Am I speaking to the millennial Indian?

I am writing this from the luxury of my comfortable couch in a spacious government allocated quarter in probably one of the most progressive cities of India.

Progressive enough so that movie theaters do not report the nuisance created by local political party hooligans when they vandalize over ticket prices and popcorn rates in order to protect their business (at least not paying any extortion right!).

I have grown up in a salaried middle-class family (the spacious quarter is under 6 months old following my father’s long due promotion which only happened recently).

I have not experienced abject poverty, have not been discriminated on the grounds of my caste (gender yes), have had family to rely on as long as I can remember and have also had access to very good education. I would not have once dreamed that I would be able to pursue education abroad, but it did happen. I have also achieved some form of a financial independence as a graduate student and university employee.

Do these things mean that I can never have a fair view of my country?

I have spent a sheltered and cocooned life so far, so what would I know of the bigger picture in my country? Why things happen when they happen? They happen everywhere so it’s okay. And why should I care? What will I affect even if I do care and what would I be able to do at most?

My best possible retort is – I care because I do.

I may not understand the pain of a someone with no roof over their heads, someone who has always been discriminated since birth, someone who was sexually assaulted and brutalized or how socio-political networks work in India. I haven’t joined any activist group and never led a protest myself.

But last I checked, being educated comes with a sense of empowerment, especially in a society as divided as India. It has equipped me to distinguish right from wrong, to know my rights, demand justice and exercise free speech using my public domain to create awareness. And the biggest of it all – to question? To question the society and culture I grew up in. To question the way things are, why they are and why things appear changed but are often an illusion?

I also care because I can.

Because heinous child rapes should not be made into something twistedly political. It goes against everything it is to be human. And I also believe that we still have humanity to hold onto.

Many people would never hesitate liking and re-sharing stories from “The Logical Indian” or other similar pages (no critiquing of the content there – it might be one of the best things I’ve ever seen on Facebook).  But how many would report spam on an extremist page or group they come across? Maybe they might even do that, but how many would risk publicly defaming them?

I did yesterday and obviously bore some mud-slinging along my way before I blocked the page and reported it.

So, I also did, because I could.

Worse of all, how many would come across that content ever? One disturbing cocoon is that of our circles – our families, our immediate society, our friends and most importantly, our social media. I am guilty of the fact that had I not seen a disturbing content by chance yesterday, maybe I would’ve still been passive.

Arguing with my father, who otherwise makes a point to like and support every other thing I share on Facebook, to justify the stand I took in my so-called “controversial” post (in his words). I had decried a fact check picture posted by a group called “Voice of Hindutva” on Facebook who seem to have taken it upon themselves to explain what “Hindutva” is all about. Apparently, it includes using biased media reports and twitter blog posts to create fact check about a child rape case (the fact checks having nothing to do with the judicial process of course). This particular page is a series of fact checks – twisted, falsified, sensationalized to the brink of inducing violence with several hundred followers. I felt outraged, as everything I am and stand for, including my religious beliefs.

This morning paper decried Hizbul militant group posting a list of “martyrs” on yet another social media page to recruit new trainees. Public lynching deaths are in the spotlight every other day – counting more than a dozen deaths since May alone this year. WhatsApp messages seem to be the source and there was an appeal from WhtsAapp in the English daily at my home today. But was that appeal only in the English daily or translated into regional ones? How many it did reach and how many cared to read? And despite everything how do people forget to be human? Are we all but matchsticks waiting to be ignited and become murderers to feel the satisfaction of taking out our daily frustrations (psychologists explained these as one of the reasons to explain mob violence mentality apparently)?

As a researcher, I am forced to question the technology too. What passes for social media content and who regulates it? Since most of the social media big firms are headquartered out of India – how would they assess things that are in a foreign language? India alone has over twenty official languages. Social media is readily available in several languages – but how well is the content regulated?

I later learnt that this is merely the tip of an iceberg of several hundred similar pages that I never see because my social circle media will not feed me them. It is too smart to judge my circle, likes, dislikes and what would interest me most. It will also keep away things that will most likely disturb me and drive me to drop social media all together. The detailed response from the Facebook support team (that revealed nothing) to my report confirmed this. They had deemed that the page did not violate the “community standards” they set and offered me help on how to best “avoid the content” that disturbed me! My friend who reported the page too got a same response from Facebook.

The cocoon continues. And the spread of hate.

Even though I had no say in the fact whether I wanted to be disturbed or not. It was calculated for me. Easy-peasy!

In the Hizbul group admins’ words – social media is the most popular mass communication means today. The youth are most attracted to it and they are our hope.

Ah the youth! The millennials.

I had never been prouder for my generation than when I heard the famous economist Jeremy Rifkin speak of us at UBC,

“You watch these kids. They make you be careful of what you’re saying, thinking or doing.

They’ll make right what we have done wrong as a generation!”

The big hope for the world.

And being one, I sincerely believe for India too.

Maybe it is a well-known fact, but it had hit me only a while back over a discussion with my friend. We guessed that perhaps that time lag between the present generation retiring and the millennial generation taking over explained in part the slow pace of social reformations in largely traditional countries. For India, the social, political and cultural diversity brings with it a whole other set of challenges unique to itself. Still, I remember concluding that it should be a matter of time.

Then the Facebook post hit me like a slap. It was shared by none other than a person who was in an engineering class with me! Who had access to the same education as me! So should I conclude that education becomes inferior to social and cultural influences?

Maybe not. But when one can choose to feed oneself a version of reality, albeit so twisted, they probably begin to think that this is what is happening. A lie when repeated enough times and by enough people apparently can twist all reality beyond logic. And fuelled by the internet speed and access in India today (which I thought was a blessing when I came back) can spread like a wildfire in minutes!

All hail the new Digital India! Let’s share all that we can!

Let’s not use rational judgement anymore because who cares anyways.

And then we all will dance to ZING ZING…ZINGAAT!

Nobody will notice the gross dance moves there (or decry Sunny Leone tracks) because they’re catchy. But we will burn down the sets of Padmavat because they dared to have a full-clothed covered dance sequence featuring a queen/religious figure.

We will make video web channels and enjoy AIB roasts and TVF videos which explain everything that’s wrong. Who portray that we can’t do anything about it so let’s take out our frustration by mocking our society. Let’s also use English and Hindi curse words and expletives as the de facto language for all our “progressive” web content. Who dare speak an appropriate language lest we be taken seriously!?

After all it’s YOLO! Why so serious?

Jugaad karo (find a quick fix), kaam nikalo (get your work done first), chill maaro yaro (relax)!

What are we supposed to remember in this state of confusing things?

Are we supposed to remember Diana Penty’s amazing selfie in front of Gateway of India – “flirting” with Mumbai monsoon? (Big print more vivid)

Or are we supposed to remember that the woman who died due to railway overbridge collapse due to heavy rains and poor construction a few days back did not have her last rites done at home because the lane to her house was flooded. Four lakh rupees has been set as the compensation price (small print in the humdrum of daily news).

Akshay Kumar has done some amazing work in these years in socially-themed movies. I was very happy to see “Padman” and was gushing over “Toilet” only yesterday night.

This morning I see Akshay Kumar flaunting it in a misogynist advertisement for a men’s deodorant mouthing cornily “Kategi kya (Will you bite me? – the suggestive kind)?!”

 

(Image Source: YouTube; Indian Express)

So let’s give up, keep our heads down, enjoy while we can and not question the status quo.

It’s not our place (yet) and not our concern.

A senior who I worked with in my university messaged me immediately after he saw my Facebook post. (Which also happens to be one of my most unpopular posts so far, it vanished from the news feed much sooner than I wanted, and I wanted this to stay on top for once for bad – Facebook doesn’t let you pin posts to your own timeline apparently only to page admins!)

He asked me if I thought this would lead anywhere? He told me he had become ambivalent to these things and after unfollowing several such pages he had made the choice to ignore them and instead focus on sharing the good that comes out in a societal context.

My first big relief was that there was rationality left still! And I also appreciated those words that helped me regain some emotional control. But in my reply, I found the answer to myself.

No I will not quit social media because I am shaken. I will not quit because Facebook is not equipped to deal with the socio-political influences it creates in societies the makers don’t understand. I will not quit because these things are too disturbing and take a mental toll to think about.

It is because I’m not afraid. I’m stubborn, obstinate and will use my public domain to influence whoever cares about me, my opinions and perspectives.

In a democracy even the irrational have the right to expression and this is one tenet that the social media follows religiously.

So I will use mine.

Even if I’m reaching a single person. Even if I make them think about it as a passing thought.

I will try to pass on the question and inquisitiveness and all the confusing things together so that who all see, will see that there is a choice. There is always a choice. 

And it is not only countering or ignoring what we think is wrong. These might well be two ends of the spectrum. I will choose to highlight the end that leads to countering.

We can resist, think, question, motivate, inspire or influence.

It all comes down to, see something say something. If the social media can bring the #metoo movement there is still hope.

As millennials we’re at crossroads of part hope and part apathy.

It will take courage to hold onto that hope, it will take effort and work. It will take bearing mud-slinging, resistance and shame by those who don’t understand. Maybe even people close to you, maybe even your family. It can drive you crazy and feel like beating a head against the wall.

But if there’s Manjhi the mountain-man, then there’s truly nothing possible.

I will feel like an utter failure to myself if I let the confusion engulf me and choose not to use my rational judgement. I won’t be able to bear my sight.

I can’t take this to the PM (although I’ve seen that a tweet suffices now-a-days), I respect the good that the government has brought so far, but it doesn’t still account for the fact that there are hooligans and criminals at large empowered through their political associations that he will not or cannot acknowledge. Also, I am not a legislator or a bureaucrat, so I run the risk of misrepresentation if I chose someone else for me.

All I know is that if those who feel empowered choose not to be stubborn and question things that are wrong and misleading, using whatever means they can, all hope will soon turn to apathy.

There are plenty, millennials and non-millennials alike, engaged in laudable and admirable social actions far beyond words and they are proof to why we should hold onto hope and keep the discussions and questions going. If we cannot help them on the actual field, maybe we can help them in spirit and acknowledgment.

I will keep the questions and discussions going to enable the right action. And this is my contribution.

For now.

Jugaad mat karo (don’t find the quick fix), next time zid karo (be stubborn)!

Snow

18th December 2016 will go down in my personal history as my first fresh snowfall ever. Also something (and someone) that inspired me to re-visit this side of mine after an eternity.

So what was so special about it?
It made me happy - when I needed it the most.
Staying away from family is hard, but coming back to loneliness and coping with it is harder. And snow made it just a tiny bit easier.

That morning I woke up to a soft swooshing melody (thankfully so unlike Vancouver's incessant pitter-patter) and opened the blinds to a magical whiteness. I was stuck to the window for a good 10 minutes before my fingers chilled up and I had to reluctantly withdraw. The snow radiated positivity and won over three dangerous elements that were ready to induce lethargy - the temperature outside, the warmth of my room and the fact that it was a Sunday morning!

Carefully treading on my sneakers (and I found out that Mumbai sneakers rock even in snow!), I set out to greet this white beauty. From the first crunch of the fresh powdered snow to the sight of multiple snowmen - I could barely keep my head in the big furry hood of my parka and kept gaping in every possible direction - much like an excited bird! Just like we appreciate light more on a dark day, despite the fact that all our mornings start with coffee - the coffee on a snowy day is definitely the one we all will cherish the most. The snow inspired a whole new liveliness in me despite the general depression of North American winters. I was suddenly thankful for everything - and mostly the fact that Vancouver public transit was up and running despite the fact that it was SNOWING IN VANCOUVER. More importantly, I was thankful for great friends who would brave the cold to come see me, for the festive feeling after getting free fresh hot scones from the local bakery, for the lovely and beautiful Christmas mass and wishing each other peace. The holiday lights were prettier, street choirs more musical and there were holiday sales (the latter did not help me in any way find snow boots - apparently I was too late and there was a shortage in the city!) all around. Also the fact that human kind is warm-blooded!

Shifting from the mundane albiet important snow joys, why else do I want to write a whole blog post about it?
As the first snowflakes settled and melted on my face, it felt as if I was back to the soft caresses of my mother's hand. I slipped and fell and it cushioned me much like my father trying to shield me from every major fall in life. And it made weird funny faces at me each time I encountered a new snowman - allowing me to relive my childhood with my brother.
It felt like family, it gave me a sense of home away from home.

There is nothing more magical than finding someone close to you, someone in whom you find solace, someone with whom you forge a connection without really understanding why - someone who lets you know that they got your back in a new turbulent phase of life on this other side of the planet. They make life just a little easier, bringing small cherished moments of smiles and joys and chasing the blues away as if they were never there in the first place.

After my encounter with snow - I realized that it is the perfect celebration of every unique relationship we have in life. Just like every snowflake is a unique creation in itself, snow resembles all the people in life who make us feel unique, special and loved. It can be soft, hard and slushy all at once much like anyone who can adapt any form to be there for us regardless of the situation. The impeccable white exterior with air gaps adding to the snow's fluffiness teaches us to strive for perfection while cherishing our imperfections at the same time. It can be an icy taskmaster teaching us to tread carefully in life as well as a soft pillow that heralds beautiful dreams.

 

It can be all that you like - definitely all that I like, cherish and look up to in my life (much like Lenka's "everything at once"). In the end, most importantly,  it starts making everything more Christmassy and is a gift in itself.

It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas indeed.

The light at the end of the tunnel

Imagination is one of the most powerful tools of the human mind. 

There is some scientific evidence saying that the mere act of imagining an icy splash of water on a sweltering day leads to a miniscule but significant drop in the temperature of the body. Imaginations are capable of tweaking some of the most powerful regions of our brain and the story just becomes more colourful from there. 

 This science trivia was just to drive home the strength of imaginations – and the consequent line of thought I have been postponing to jot down for a long time now. 

The first time I imagined this “tunnel” was on my very long and exhausting plane ride to Vancouver. Extremely uncomfortable, jet lagged, with nothing but darkness outside my window as my company, my mind automatically made the cabin, a tunnel from which I wanted escape. It could have been a correlation with my childhood fears of train tunnels as I distinctly remember getting agitated when the train used to cross a specifically long tunnel. 

And yet, the memory at the exact opposite end of the pole which was as distinctive as my fear, was the joy I felt once I could see the light again at the tunnel’s end.

There are many such tunnels in our life - the period of anticipation when we await results to an important exam, the exhausting and laborious wait a mother has to undergo before hearing her child’s first cry, repeated failure of experiments just preceding a big discovery or even the cycles of getting hurt innumerable times before we manage to find our soulmates. 

However, the one thing that can be the biggest motivator for getting us past the seemingly inescapable and arduous tunnel is imagining the light or happiness that we somehow know will come at its end. 

A friend of mine once remarked that, every smile has a price (or a tunnel) behind it and I set on a quest to counter him. I was still searching for an example and was having a difficult time finding one. The smile of a new life comes with the pain of the mother, the happiness after watching an old favorite movie may come with the price of hours lost to other urgent pursuits and even if someone were to say love, well, after a lot of thought, unconditional love is one of the rarest commodities and hence maybe an only exception. But it is something very elusive to find and so, statistically, does not count! And suddenly it hit me, 

“But if we are genuinely smiling at the end – who cares about the price?”

Not speaking from a karma-based perspective, and people all for “smart work over hard work” may disagree – after many rewarding experiences, I truly believe that as long as we pay the price of perseverance and dedication in all our pursuits, needless of how long our tunnels might be, we are always guaranteed the reward of smiles and the joy that comes when we arrive at its end.

Often people who have such a “can-do” optimistic attitude are scorned at and touted as weirdos who seem to be “in their own pretty place far away from the real world”. However, people who only try to see the harshness in reality, cease to live and only start existing. They see life as a taskmaster and react by toughing up and encasing their beautiful minds in an impenetrable mechanical cocoon that is just impervious to joyful creativity. 

I read a very beautiful account once which is one of the best examples of the gift of perceiving the light that will come after the dark. 

A poor rural boy in an Indian village had a big family living in a small thatched hut with a gaping hole in the roof. The boy saw his father struggle daily in their tiny farmland trying to make ends meet. He was his father’s favorite child, always spreading happiness and trying to help him rather than his other siblings who always complained about how the other kids in the village were much better off than them and remained forever dissatisfied.

Even on the days when they could barely have two square meals a day, the father always saw a smile on his son’s face. Once taking a break from the field, the father sat down to eat the dry chapatis and onions his son had got him for tiffin. The son was happily fanning him with a fan fashioned out of a leaves. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, the father finally asked him,

“My dearest one, what makes you so happy all the time?”

“My life father!”

“How is that possible when we lead such a difficult life? Don’t you crave the comforts your brothers and sisters desire?”

“Father!

I wake up to the gentle kiss of sunlight every day. When mother smiles after I help her fetch water and make fire for the stove, my day lights up. When I observe you work, I try to learn and be as good as you at farming someday. I have the soft mud to play in, clean water of our pond to bathe and so many friends in Mother Nature. The starry sky I sleep beneath lets me know that I will reach the stars one day and make you all proud.

Who can be happier than me in this world?”

The father was speechless and hugged his son dearly. For in his little one’s hope, he saw his own motivation to provide the best in his capability for his family.

It is true that life may not treat us fairly at all times – for many it may seem to be anything but beautiful. However, if we always strive to look out for our own starry skies, even the darkest of nights will light up at once, promising the joys of bright sunshine on the morrow.

The tale of a girl and her old friend

Who is a friend anyway?

•          Someone who can bring back joy on the dullest days – check!
•          In whose presence you feel lighter instantly – check!
•          With whom you share jokes alien to the world – check!
•          Who is, often, of the same age or generation as you – UNCHECK (from this day forth!)

I was one among those firm stereotypes who think that that the people we identify as our friends have to necessarily be from our age group for a correct wavelength match. Thankfully, I have been rescued from this misconception early on! And here goes the tale that brought it about:

Last summer, a girl landed all starry eyed in Canada looking forward to an amazing time. However, after battling jet lag and homesickness, she realized that she was alone most of the times work did not occupy her. Her fellow interns were yet to arrive and the other girls in the residence kept to themselves, studying hard to get out to their much awaited summer breaks. Brave as she was, she held on to hope. She had realized long ago that it was one of those beautiful emotions which can keep someone going, no matter how difficult the times.

And lo and behold! Hope made a silent entry for her as she struggled with the exit system at the university’s library one evening. Her hope’s form was tall but slightly bent and clad in a smart tweed jacket over a sweater and khaki pants with big leather shoes to go. He seemed like another one of those busy, old Canadian professors that roamed the campus. Except that he, unlike others, stopped to gently correct and not patronize. He patiently explained the right way to swipe the ID to get out of the building. The girl’s fiasco with the mechanism was a sure show of her newness to the place. Hope’s keen eyes from behind his big spectacles sensed it immediately,

“Would you mind if I walked you till the bus stop?”

All worldly warnings about strangers began reeling in the girl’s mind as she regarded his request. She also had in mind the rude albeit funny labels that accompanied conversation with senior citizens, like any other of her age. She was just about to make a polite excuse and go on when she got a proper look at his eyes. Sitting behind glasses placed on the bridge of a long and crooked nose, they radiated such warmth and kindness, that she agreed on with a smile.

“So tell me how did you come about here in Windsor?”

Then quickly added, “Are you liking it here?”

The girl smiled to herself on his keen sense of observation and began to wonder if her manner gave away too much of her loneliness. Though she was ready to pour her heart out, she started with the usual,

“The weather is too finicky for my liking! And that has made me a little sick.”

“But you’re a long way from home isn’t it? And I’ve heard that being homesick makes you real sick, real fast.”

The girl was skeptical about this and both of them shared a laugh as her eyebrows bolted up at the statement. But he insisted and said there was a scientifically proven nexus between homesickness and low immunity. The girl then proceeded to tell him all about her application to several international internships, the many initial disappointments and rejections and the final joy after being selected for the program that got her there.

He played the perfect listener and was thoroughly engaged and fascinated by whatever she had to tell him. Despite not knowing much about her country, he bravely ventured with questions to gain more knowledge,

“Where do you stay in India?”

Is that close to New Delhi?”

And she laughed secretly knowing for a fact that it was probably the only place in India he knew about. He never let in a lull moment in their talk and after a long time in the age of e-communication, the girl sensed the pleasure of listening to and being listened to. He praised her achievements as if she were his very own granddaughter. He also told her about his experiences as an independent researcher in history, the time of life that he had in Los Angeles long back and his present work. Despite being years apart and far more erudite, he treated her as his equal and that set the factor of comfort in her demeanour with this apparent stranger. When they finally came to the bus stop, the girl pointed in the direction of the shiny, new engineering building and proudly told him that she had an office all to herself there. He smiled at her and confidently said before getting on the bus,

“I bet you’ll be seeing much more grander offices up ahead in your life.” And left off with a smile. For the first time in many days, the girl’s loneliness did not bother her.

As days passed and the girl started putting more hours into work, she never got home till late evening. She became very preoccupied with her project and loved her job. Eventually, with the arrival of other interns, she had a group of “conventional” friends. A thorough e-age person, she didn’t frequent the library either and so she and hope were apart for almost all of her time there.

But she found out to her delight that hope could sense a particularly depressing day and be there to “chat” her out of it. His next appearance was on a day in which none of her lab trails were working. She spotted him at the bus stop and nearly sloshed down her coffee to get there before he went away.

“Hello Aru-pama! How have you been?”

She gently corrected her name out and began venting out everything since their last encounter. They argued a little on how cold salads and simple sandwiches passed around for lunch there (her point) and why make food such a hassle (his point). When she told him all about her experiments along the restaurant street of the city, he was amazed that despite being a vegetarian, she had seen more of the gastronomy of his city than him. He jotted down all of “her recommendations” in “his city” and pledged to try them. The solemnity he associated with this promise made the girl laugh out loud and he left with a puzzled look on his face.

With just two days left for her departure from Canada, she was hoping for a real-life serendipity. Since hope neither owned a telephone nor believed in e-mail, she had no way to reach him. Also, she was too busy jostling between one send-off to another farewell meet to take out time to seek him out at the library. Her disappointment peaked on the penultimate day since she had somehow managed to be at the library for a printing errand and still could not find him. She was leaving sallow-faced and hating her shoes as she walked downcast. And then, she spotted those large leather shoes she was so desperately hoping for. Never had a pair of shoes held such beauty to her as those on that day.

“Aru-pama, you should try and keep a smile on your face – you will use much less muscles that way!”

And with this much needed quirky opening line, the girl cracked into a hysterical laugh. He was amazed at her reaction and asked if she felt alright looking around for help, the care-bear that he was. She giggled and said,

“Sir, you have given me my own serendipity moment.”

When she elucidated, he too shared her moment of hysteria and on-lookers spared looks for the crazed girl and old man outside the library.

The girl had always feared that due to his old age he would not be able to place her face from one meeting to another. She swelled with a selfish pride when she saw another young student approach hope and he tactfully deferred him and then confided to her in guffaws,

“I frankly don’t remember who that is and what conversation he was referring to. I’ll have to use some speech queues with that one,” and winked!

The girl had never before seen such an innocent attempt at winking in her life. That is how she promised herself she will remember her hope, her friend, Mr Glenn Campbell. A permanent smile on his spotted and wrinkled face and an infectious energy within his being much more powerful than any other “highs” people resort to for warding off loneliness. He re-instilled in her a belief that someone watches above us all and sends a medium to light a candle of happiness in the ephemeral dark and gloomy corner of life that chances to come along once in a while.

The girl sincerely hopes that her “hope” will read this, somewhere, sometime and remember her.

-          Aru-pama

Happiness doesn’t need a pursuit....

With all due respect to the movie from which I have heavily borrowed the title (it stands as one of my all time favourites), in the words below I will bring forward the small epiphany I had a few days ago.

It was at the convocation at the host University of my Summer Internship, in a foreign land that I had one of those moments of truth which strike you so powerfully in the essence of their overwhelming simplicity. I had been invited graciously by my lab phD scholars who were receiving their degrees despite knowing me for just 1-2 weeks. I was supposed to be accompanied by a visiting faculty from India whom I knew somewhat.  But due to some delay on my part, I ended up going alone to the venue and try as I might, I couldn’t locate sir there. As a result I had to sit alone after waving to the scholars and waited for the ceremony to begin. Leafing through the convocation booklet, I felt really stupid to have left work at lab for this ceremony; all decked up in my formals and yet had no one to talk to. Just then my eyes caught something and that reminded me of why I wanted to be here in the first place. The sight of so many happy faces of families and friends cheering up their loved ones, pride shining in their eyes, filled me with happiness. This was maybe my first attempt at trying to be happy for someone else and yet I discovered that it filled me with an equal happiness.

It may seem incredulous at first. How can one hope to find happiness in a hall full of strangers? Well I did successfully. Maybe it helped me imagine my family and friends at my graduation two years from now. Maybe seeing grandparents, frail as they may be, trying to put their strength into cheering up their grandsons and daughters, helped me realise that families are same regardless of whichever part of the world they may belong to. Maybe seeing the huge international cultural consortium that had gathered at the venue, Indians, Chinese, African, Arabic, English alike, built in me a new respect for Canada’s tolerant and welcoming educational culture. Maybe the selfie taken by a student with the provost that made the hall ring with laughter gave me some mischievous ideas myself! Barring my two lab scholars, all those who graduated were strangers to me, yet being a part of their achievement, in that hall which had smiles written all over, made me realise the biggest thing of all- that happiness in indeed contagious. 

At the start of any day, we do not mark it as a quest for happiness, yet when we have time to sit and contemplate, the moments we clearly remember are those that brought a smile to our faces. The joke of a lab technician, a stolen look at your lover’s photo and maybe a hurried shy conversation during work, the rainbow in the soapy bubbles of the dishes you are cleaning, a great big sale you chanced upon or maybe a free lunch (and here I would emphasize that there are indeed free lunches in the world as long as you have true friends!). We did not go looking for these moments and yet they filled our hearts with happiness.

Happiness is not worrying about how one can be happier. It requires letting go of all preoccupations and preconceptions that cloud one before the start of any day. One’s mind has to be truly devoid of all disturbing thoughts and have a welcoming embrace for absorbing the myriad forms in which happiness is present around us. 

A friend recently remarked,

“You think a lot altogether and it makes you look troubled, but when you laugh, you look like a baby!”

I was taken aback; it was the first time someone had described my laughter in such a manner (nothing against babies but I don’t like to be called one!). But upon retrospection I realized that it is not just me. However troubled we might be, all it takes is a great big laugh, full of happiness, to transform us for a moment into innocent babies. Nobody recognizes and expresses happiness better than babies- that I give them. It is the beauty of happiness, the innocence of it that brings out the baby in us momentarily. It is this baby that we so tirelessly seek, failing to recognize that it resides within us, just bursting to come to surface.

Happiness may have several albeit even twisted versions- the psychopath finds it in his next successful kill, a mother finds hers in her child, a homeless may find it at a roadside fire on a cold night. Yet I feel that this is the only feeling that in essence is pure- at that moment you are just happy and nothing else. You can be affectionate, possessive and weak in love, you can be spiteful, rebellious and arrogant in hate and you can be mourning and frail in sadness. But when you are happy, you are just that. It may be called as being joyful, cheerful and many other things, but they all are not different in themselves.

If a time were to come when, just for a few moments, everyone on this planet would feel their own moments of happiness at the same time; it would be one of those rarest flickers of time in which humanity would be united. Such is the power of happiness. We have oft heard about the ancient religious scriptures telling us that it was a waste of time to run after material things and men foolishly embodied them as happiness. What I now conclude from here are my own sermonic words – stop looking for happiness, only then can you truly find it and thereby it doesn’t need a long and hefty pursuit.

“If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands,

If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands,

If you’re happy and you know it and you really want to show it,

If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands!!”