What is Happiness?

What is happiness?

This question has often perplexed me and I found myself mulling over it a little more than usual over the past couple of days.

Ok, let’s start with a list of things that make me happy. First and foremost comes my daughter and I am not just saying that to be politically correct but watching her grow, spending time with her and just marvelling at my own creation  brings me joy untold; it’s a genuine feeling that fills me up from inside and makes my heart want to just burst.

My next source of happiness comes from work that makes me feel productive. When I pull off an event successfully, conduct a training program that lands me excellent feedback, see something I wrote in print or even get my guests to rave about the food I cooked for a party it gives me a real high. All the effort, the slogging, it all seems worth it after that bit of appreciation.

Love makes me happy! I was brought up in a close knit family and I grew up close not just to my parents, by the way I am an only child, but also to my grandparents and the extended family even though we always lived as a nuclear family. When I got married I was certain I would want not just my husband’s love but also that of his family. Loving others makes me happy too so the fact that I have a warm relationship with not just my side of the family now but also his seems to release some happiness hormone in me!

Having my own money makes me happy! I grew up appreciating the value of money, we never wanted for anything but ours was an ordinary life where treats like eating out were few and far in between. My Mother was a housewife who always wanted her daughter to have a successful career. She was the most powerful influence in my life and I was left rudderless when I lost her- I was just twenty. In direct contradiction to her hopes for me to have a successful career came also her imploring me not to become one of “those women” who left her children to be looked after by someone else. I probably never thought about the contradiction then and now when I would like to know more it’s too late she is not giving me any answers. Coming back however the pleasure of earning, saving and spending one’s own money that’s definitely linked to happiness. Now comes the question ‘How much money?’ How much is ever enough? When I had a full time well-paying job I compared myself to my peers who passed out of the same Business School and felt under paid – NOT HAPPY! Then I started working part time and had to take a 50% pay cut along with the cut in hours, that made me – UNHAPPY. Finally I quit that job and started freelancing which meant that assignments are sometimes hard to come by and that certainly doesn’t make me happy.

So in life at every point of time there seems to be something to be happy about and something to be unhappy about. Right now I am in a phase where I get to do the Number 1 thing that makes me happy – spend time with my daughter which means I do a little less of the other things on the list which inevitably makes me slightly unhappy. So I guess all of us have to ride that see-saw through life with one leg on either side trying to balance between being able to do the things that make us happy and others that don’t. So here is CHEERS to not tipping over or at least picking yourself up and getting back on that ride called life if you do!

The Boy who didn't like to Bathe

Gandhu Bandhu never liked to bathe.

Every time his mother yelled “It’s time for your bath Gandhu”

Gandhu ran.

And when Gandhu ran, his mother chased after him.

He ran over the bed and under tables, around chairs and in between lamps.

At first, his mother would be close behind his heels, she would stretch her hands and almost catch a bit of his shirt or a clump of his hair, then Gandhu ran faster and Amma got slower, till finally Gandhu escaped with a triumphant cry of victory.

Sometimes Amma tried something new, like lying in wait for Gandhu and pouncing on him when he least expected it.

At other times she tried to offer him sweets or bribes to make him have a bath.

If all failed, she scolded him or warned him about the wrath of his father to see him unbathed.

Mostly nothing worked. Gandhu merrily evaded all his mother’s ingenious efforts to entrap him.

Finally on the 23^rd of March it had been 12 days since Gandhu had his last bath.

A ripe odour clung to Gandhu, announcing his arrival wherever he went. Gandhu, fortunately or unfortunately, had a blocked nose so he couldn’t smell a thing and if anyone complained he went to Amma’s dressing table and sprayed on a liberal puff of her perfume.

But what Gandhu hadn’t realised is that along with the sharp odour, slowly this skin was disappearing under a thick layer of dirt. There was the mud from after playing football, a bit of the curry that had spilled from many lunches and dinners, some paint from that picture he had so beautifully painted.

So on the twelfth day of not bathing when he went to his Amma and asked her for lunch all she said was “Go home boy and ask your mother for food”. “Amma, YOU are my mother” said Gandhu but Amma just gave him a puzzled look, crinkled up her nose and walked off.

Then he went to his Grandpa in the garden and said, “Appu can you push me in the swing” and Appu said, “Who are you? This swing is only for residents of this building”. Appu was a retired Naval Officer and very strict about order and discipline so Gandhu didn’t want to risk asking him to peel off the dirt to reveal himself.

Gandhu was feeling sad now so he turned to the one person he know could cheer him up “Ammuma please tell me a story” he said to his grandmother. To his utter dismay she replied, “Little child who are you? Are you lost?”

Now in total despair Gandhu went running to his Dad who was just walking in from office, “Dad you recognize me don’t you, this is your son Gandhu.” Dad too crinkled up his nose and gave him a quizzical look. Gandhu? Is that you? Well it sounds like you but it doesn’t look like you. I can barely see your nose, or your eyes or your ears or anything at all actually.

“Dad what should I do? No one recognizes me, not even Ammuma.”

Dad thought for a while “Well there is one solution”

“Tell me, tell me” said Gandhu as he jumped up and down in a mixture of fear and excitement.

“We could try giving you a bath, but an ordinary bath just won’t work anymore. We will have to soak you for a bit in hot water and soap and then scrub you with a really big brush and end it with five minutes under the shower until we are absolutely sure that all the dirt is washed away”

“I only hope the skin doesn’t get washed away too” mumbled Dad as an afterthought

What followed was a lot of soaking, scrubbing, polishing and drying. Let me tell you it wasn’t the most enjoyable experience and a lot worse than if he had just had 12 baths in 12 days.

So the next time Amma said “It’s time for your bath Gandhu”

Gandhu said “Ok, Amma but I want my water pistols along” but that’s another story.