I recall a faded blue calico-bound book by Bertrand Russell, which I read at college. It was titled “The Secret of Happiness,” or “The Conquest of Happiness,” and like most books I have read, I have forgotten what was written. I was happy reading it and Russell’s words soothed the sores of some unhappy moments I lived through then.
Unhappy moments? Oh, just ignore them. Those are puppy-love issues; mine took a twist when that ravishing girl took the Amul chocolate (A gift for someone you love) from me with love, and gifted it to her fiancé with even greater love. He was apparently sitting inside her house as I was mustering all my courage to spell out those magical three words…
Russell and his treatise on happiness flashed-back through my mind while reading an interview with a US rapper, and again watching the film adaptation of a Graham Greene novel. The essence of what Greene and the rapper said was the same: Happiness is boring. There is no story in happiness; hate, revenge, jealousy – they give the twists and turns to writing and living. Not happiness.
The rapper and Greene share what perhaps can be interpreted as “common wisdom.” While on rappers, have you observed that the most frequently used word in English songs is “babe?” The singers take out its vowels and consonants to croon “bab….,” “ba…,” or “b….,” to mean the same. Okay, I digress, but you must realise that I am seeking happiness, and it comes with the digressions we take.
The single most important obstacle to happiness during my “formative” years was a J Krishnamurthi quote: “The moment you think you are happy, you lose your happiness.”
How that plagued my psyche! One moment, I am laughing and suddenly, I remember that I am happy, and rue myself. It took a while to get over with it.
Then came the era of pretensions, which I haven’t outlived. That meant turning my back to the more popular entertainment avenues: If the masses accepted anything – a cinema, a novel a song – we, a team of think-tanks at college, of which I was only in the periphery, condemned it.
It took many more years to overcome that, and it was triggered in a small way by my friend’s father, a retired professor who had a chunk of scientific journals to his credit. His pastime was watching old Western flicks and out-and-out commercial potboilers in Hindi and Tamil. Seven songs, umpteen fights, car chases and all that we believed to be silly were mandatory for his joy. We watched the films with him and saw it in a different light. Suddenly, in their meaninglessness, we discovered a meaning.
He was demonstrating to us that being happy is simply the right one must accord to oneself to be happy. Happiness is unconditional; it is the joy of this moment. It is a tough catch and the least we can do is to try seizing it…
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