IN QUEST OF HAPPINESS

I am going to make this my Bible......

EIGHT CLUES TO HAPPINESS BY- KHUSHWANT SINGH

Having lived a reasonably contented life, I was musing over what a person should strive for to achieve happiness. I drew up a list of a few essentials which I put forward for the readers' appraisal.

1. First and foremost is GOOD HEALTH. If you do not enjoy good health you can never be happy. Any ailment, however trivial, will deduct from your happiness.

2. Second, a HEALTHY BANK BALANCE. It need not run into crores but should be enough to provide for creature comforts and something to spare for recreation, like eating out, going to the pictures, travelling or going on holidays on the hills or by the sea. Shortage of money can be only demoralizing. Living on credit or borrowing is demeaning and lowers one in one's own eyes.

3. Third, a HOME OF YOUR OWN. Rented premises can never give you the snug feeling of a nest which is yours for keeps that a home provides: if it has a garden space, all the better. Plant your own trees and flowers, see them grow and blossom, cultivate a sense of kinship with them.

4. Fourth, an UNDERSTANDING COMPANION, be it your spouse or a friend. If there are too many misunderstandings, they will rob you of your peace of mind. It is better to be divorced than to bicker all the time.

5. Fifth, LACK OF ENVY towards those who have done better than you in life; risen higher, made more money, or earned more fame. Envy can be very corroding; avoid comparing yourself with others.

6. Sixth, DO NOT ALLOW OTHER PEOPLE to descend on you for gup-shup. By the time you get rid of them, you will feel exhausted and poisoned by their gossip-mongering.

7. Seventh, CULTIVATE SOME HOBBIES which can bring you a sense of fulfilment, such as gardening, reading, writing, painting, playing or listening to music. Going to clubs or parties to get free drinks or to meet celebrities is criminal waste of time.

8. Eighth, every morning and evening, devote 15 minutes to INTROSPECTION. In the morning, 10 minutes should be spent on stilling the mind and then five in listing things you have to do that day. In the evening, five minutes to still the mind again, and ten to go over what you had undertaken to do.

I can add one more to this list.

SAY "DISAPPEAR" TO ANGER, HATRED AND VENGEFULNESS. Once upon a time I used to consider these feelings as great driving forces of life. Not now anymore. They are suicidal. Shoo them out of your system.

TRUIMPHING OVER TVS

I squirmed in my seat. Dr M looked determined. There was no way I could deter him. He explained that the test was beneficial for me and would reveal much more than was discernible otherwise. He, in short, insisted on a TVS - Transvaginal Ultrasound of the Pelvis. Till now I have always had Transabdominal scans. There were many a justifications(excuses??) which I could dish out in favour of the latter. I was unmarried, never exposed to sexual intercourse and above all suffered from a psychotic fear of any form of vaginal intrusion (probe in medical terminology)- be it an impassive clinical examination.

However, this time. no amount of argument or convincing could make Dr. M change his mind. I requested an LA. He looked aghast. "An USG under LA! You have already had a surgery. What's there to fear now?" "You can do anything when I am not in my senses" I relented to be a little permissive. His face changed colours from pink to red to crimson to various hues of purple. "Aise thodi na hota hai!" he blurted. For once, I had the pleasure of seeing Dr. M completely off guard. His confident composure, the patent of professionals, cumbling down like sand dunes.

I remember the last time I had got a Pap Smear done. The gynaecologist had given me a disgusted look and told me to keep my mouth shut as I was in the process of bringing the whole hospital down with my persistent screamings. An once-upon-a-time-white, rubbery curtain separated me and my sister. She held my hand (moral support!) underneath the opaque sheet. I clasped her hand so tightly that my rings dug into her palm leaving hideous marks on the soft skin. I lay spreadeagled on a make- shift stretcher-cum-bed howling in pain, shame and wholesome fear. The doctor, struggling to take a smear, kept on soothing me until her patience gave way to disgust and anger. "What nonsense! I am just doing a test and not raping you," she shouted at last not able to keep her cool any longer. She shared the room with another gynaec, as an OPD arrangement, who kept on examining patient after patient, without any sign of being disturbed, by my constant, more than the usual level of loud implorings of "leave me alone". That day I realized how unemotional and dispassionate doctors could be!

As Dr. M wrote down the three obnoxious letters on the prescription, I feared history might repeat again. This time in Dr. V's chamber in front of the mute USG machine.

I think my sister, after her previous experience, dreads the idea of extending moral encouragement to me on 'such ocassions" and God knows "such ocassions" are no more rare in my life now.

Dr. V headed a well-known radiological centre, in a well-to-do locality, which was filled with professional and dangerously detached looking nurses and assistants. They had a mechanical approach and an unsympathetic air about them. I was sure my hesitation would seem a waste of time and an unnecessary fuss (even sub-normal behaviour) to them.

As I waited for my turn, I could feel the beginning of the jitters. My palms were gradually growing colder and a slight shiver wracked my whole body intermittently. An one-liner devotional song kept on repeating interminably somewhere in the background. I tried to concentrate on it. Failed. I decided to hum a catchy tune of a contemporary Hindi Film song. I did for a while. But the song lasted for three minutes, the wait too long......................in fact, never ending.

It was after a nervewracking one hour that my turn came finally. Dr. V had two slices of chamber (one big room partitioned in two with similar interior/arrangement) with two monolithic USG machines hogging maximum space and two scrawny wheeled beds almost cowering next to the partition/wall. She shuttled from one room to the other scanning patients with bursting bladders.

Inbetwen one such shuttle service, she had smiled a hullo to me while sizing me up at the same time. She was short, fragile and very smart. Grey-haired and bespectacled. A sort of diva (may be an inappropriate expression in so far as her profession is concerned, but suits her persona very well as she is petite and fairy-like and does not one bit look like an authority on radiology) in her domain of competence.

I was ushered in by one of those robot-like assistants. After the initial intro, I added a quick supplementary, "Dr. M has specially referred me to you Dr. V; this is my first shot at TVS." And I am scared stiff.

I was not new to the procedure, given the number of times I had been subjected to the rigours of the test. First, it would be a KUB scan. I had to hold my urine while my bladder protested vehemently under duress. Each time she pressed the probe on my kidneys, I felt like peeing all over myself. But she was kind and understood my discomfort. Sympathy supplemented by the diagnostic figures displayed on the monitor of the mean machine, dominating the claustrophobic interior, which in my present paranoic state of mind, seemed to double as an ultrasound room and an STF (State Task Force) torture cell!

"672 cc of urine, you are holding! she ejaculated, "My God! You must be cursing me. Go and relieve yourself." Small price, Dr. V, for freedom.

When I re-entered after a few minutes, the stage was set for the prime time show. I was told to undress partially. I balked and then surrendered as alternate option was next to nil. My legs were drawn apart under the sheet which covered my lower half. Dr. V pep-talked as she tried to insert the probe into may vagina. She knew her first timers by heart.

"The vagina is a very tensile organ. It gives way by itself" Dr. M had explained to me as he prepared me for the TVS. For him it was just an organ; for me it was a part of my body which had never experienced an external invasion. The probing was akin to trespassing on forbidden grounds. Dr M-style motivation continued, " You have already had a laparascopy which means your hymen has already capsized. You will not feel any pain on account of the probe" To hell with your hymen, Dr M. The fear and pain are figments of the cerebrum and have nothing to do with surgical incisions or hymenal captivation.

Back to Dr. V's chamber. The assistant was giving me strange looks. Dr. V was on the verge of loosing patience. My whole body showed rejection syndrome. My vagina refused to be tensile(Sorry, Dr. M, your prognosis proved wrong, in this case), all muscles were taut, the probe was slipping out. Inhospitable land there, Dr. V. No barging in allowed.

Dr. V at last settled for an endo-vaginal probe (a sort of peripheral search, I gathered). She wished I could open up a little more to allow a deeper probe and a resultant better view. I felt guilty helpless and contrite. I couldn't help her anymore. I could feel the probe moving left and right, the ocassional clicks on the keyboard and soft beeps of the monolith. My sister was not allowed to hold my hand this time. She sat next to the door and crooned softly to me, " Beta, if you are not patient, how will the doctor know what's wrong inside?" My sister, mother of two hulks. The word "beta" comes very easily on her lips, (sometimes, inadvertantly so, while addressing her husband as well which has inspired many a standing jokes in the family) even for her sister , in her late 40s, who is hulkier and bulkier than her two offsprings put together and even more.

At last, Dr. V announced that she was taking the probe out. The ordeal was over........



The second time, after two months......................

I was alone. My sister sat outside. The nurse would not let her in. "Koi zaroorat nahin" she said sternly. I decided to play some mind games. As Dr. V inserted the probe, I was ready to be whisked away from that disinfected room. I was floating.........away..............away...............further away. For fifteen minutes I imagined myself to be somewhere else. The experience this time, though not pleasureful, was not devastating either. When I came out after a quater of an hour and told my sister that it was all over, she was perhaps a little surprised by my stint of bravery, which was not always forthcoming. At least I fought the boghart my own way. Soon I would be a veteran in this game, Dr. M, with your fetish for half yearly TVSs.

Two things worth recording here.........................

My sister realized that Dr. V had done her USG when baby Ashwin was in her womb. Ashwin, my nephew, is now a gabru jawaan of twenty. When Didi told this to Dr. V, her uninterested reply was"Must have". Another example of "serene placidity" of medical proffession. They never ponder upon life's wondrous ways..............medically unsuitable, perhaps, to waste your emotions and feelings in being amazed or amused or just muse over the miraculous twists and turns, curves and full circles , linear or spiral equations and movements of life.

Dr. V, during the first session, had asked me casually whether I had ever had an unwanted sexual encounter which might have left an indelible scar on my mind.





In response, I had promptly changed the topic.......................

SATURDAY MUSINGS

My colleague has introduced me to a new blog .......Chiffonesque. She says her thoughts are like the brusque of Chiffon............soft and whispery, sensuous & soothing ...............like a smooth, cool breeze brushing the cheeks, like a half remembered dream..............distant & beckoning from afar.............like a long lost story, like soft crooning, like a desultory summer afternoon................... like the silence of the snowfall, like the golden sand trickling down through the fingers.,like everything which does not stay for long though you may try to cling to them.

ADVANTAGE OF COEDUCATION

The day God created Adam and Eve, a phenomenal divide sealed the fate of the two genders, male and female, of the same species, the homo sapiens.
Human beings, the most intelligent creature on planet Earth, aspiring and determined to conquer the Universe, fail most miserably when it comes to comprehending their own fellow mates – the other sex/gender. Indeed it’s a lifetime’s quest, and unavoidably so, as in every walk of life both the genders are thrown in together, or in contemporary milieu, would it not be more appropriate to say, pitted against each other, be it in the domestic or the work front.
Since coexistence is preordained, ideally it should be an easy-going, peaceful and harmonious bondage based on mutual understanding and empathy. However, experience speaks otherwise. The relationship on surface may be cloaked with cordiality. However, the layer is thin and a deeper probe reveals an antipathy which is symbiotic and almost epidemic. Without any bias towards either gender, we cannot help but wonder whether this antipathy is borne out of misconception or by default purely genetic. “Men are from Mars and women are from Venus”, as the famous caption goes, is accuracy in brevity.
No wonder Sociologists delight in finding a workable remedy to this malady. Alas! There is no sovereign elixir. Peaceful coexistence, evidently, seems next to impossible. Isolation is fatal. Conjugality is fraught with danger. From time immemorial the situation has furnished all the right ingredients for melodrama and high voltage histrionics (with major contribution from the femme fatale) leading nowhere! Then what of the solution?
Since, survival of both is inseparably interlinked, why not try understanding each other from the formative years itself? Of course, the familial backdrop is a great facilitator in this direction. But kinship has its own limitations and impartial understanding of the male/female counterpart may get tampered by blood ties and emotional prejudices. Besides the family, the Indian society, with its obsessive priority for social sanitization, presents very little opportunity for the two genders to come together and enjoy a conducive upbringing.
Hence, and most definitely co-education, although the plea to it may sound too simplistic, even flippant, to many. Dissecting the word co-education, we find that it is a combo pack of cooperation ‘in’ education. We are fated to coexist, so shall we not cooperate to educate each other and thereby get educated in the process? It is healthy as well - as members of various social strata come together to intermingle and forge bonds. In the process, values get exchanged and imbibed, horizons get broadened, interests get sharpened and extended to arenas hitherto unknown and unexplored for the girl as well as the boy child as both suffer from restricted periphery of knowledge and awareness if left to their own society. Needless to say the process increases understanding of each other as well.
However, no social situation is protected from the Marxian axiom of thesis and anti-theses. While closer proximity of the two genders run the significantly high risk of familiarity breeding contempt, at least, by far it would be a better option than an overpowering and tongue-tying reaction of utter puzzlement in accosting and dealing with one of its own kind who proves to be beyond the boundaries of ordinary comprehension in normal course of routine life.
The Sociologists may attach suitable nomenclature to this process of “breaking the ice between the two”, however, for us laymen, the funda at the grass roots is very simple - growing up together and thereby understanding each other, but of course, under familial/social parentage and guidance. The latter may be heavily underlined and perhaps a little “unduly” stressed, especially, in the Indian context, to avoid all those “catastrophes” which we are nowadays getting used to hearing and witnessing quite frequently.
However, having vociferously championed in favour of coeducation, it may be reiterated that coeducation in Indian scenario is a predominantly urban phenomenon and prerogative of the privileged class. The issue which requires imperative address is compulsory education, irrespective of gender, with a special emphasis on rural India where till date tutoring of girl child remains, more or less, restricted to household chores and grooming of boy child is through the hard routine of enforced labour.

THE GORY STORY TELLER

Nowadays, I am generally in the “eerie” mode. What with the sanguine belief of SCOPE being haunted and the blood curdling evidences of the same being discussed quite often in the department (major contribution from my side), added to this genre of exchange are the supposedly “true” incidents recounted by my colleague with whom I have lunch everyday.

Some have this para-normal obsession with the make believe world of unearthly beings and spirits that are commonly referred as ghosts (a most underrated terminology!!) Strange things happen to them too which reinforce their belief in "The Others'. They may be gifted with what we are not but having said that I also feel that a susceptible mind and fertile imagination are sufficient fodder for optical delusions. Lonely unoccupied minds brooding over the unknown and the unnatural - undoubtedly, the turf is more than prepared for extra sensory perceptions accompanied by a staunch belief and deep satisfaction that a tangible proximity with the supernatural is being experienced on day to day basis - feeling their presence all around including the “frozen touch”.

A cynic’s definition of hallucination may be a very simplistic but pragmatic explanation diluting the “eeriness” of the impact of such experiments to the minimal. But dissection of facts may reveal a repetitive thought pattern attracting similar vibes which the mind craves for. Invites to these spirits hovering on the periphery of life and death may be a fanatic's delight but in this whole episode my position is the worst.

I being the sole audience of the almost daily narrations of white nebulous forms lurking around/ peeping through slightly ajar doors/glaring boldly from one of the poorly lit corners/ just swishing past at times/ breathing down the neck/keeping a watchful eye while she cooks etc. etc. which leaves my heart perpetually in the “sinking” state.

Since, these so called anecdotes are transmitted mostly during lunch time, I confess that I am a little wary about visiting the Ladies Room alone in the afternoons which is quite justified in my case as that should be the desired effect of such recounts on the listener.

But the less comprehensible part is the reaction of my colleague who after having delivered these goosebumpy narratives to perfection ( with vivid descriptions going down to the minutest & the scariest details) retreats into her shell and refuses to budge till the closing hours of the day!!!!!!!

How’s that for a gory story-teller?

ANALYSIS OF CONVERSATION

A conversation, only for comical interlude, is highly underrated and almost as the colloquial phrase goes a “time pass”. A conversation is not only an exchange of dialogues; it is an interaction of ideas, emotions, knowledge and empathy. Conversation is sharing. It is situational and therefore should manifest all the "navarasas" from time to time, including comedy. If it is only a comic relief, then perhaps it is transient and does not intend to hold a permanent place in our memory bank.

Of course, conversation in its purest and most sublime form has been epitomized by Socrates in his quest for the ultimate truth. I feel it is possible to have a little more "meaningful" conversation without indulging in such higher forms of dialogues.

A one sided conversation is thoughtlessness in its extreme. The mainstay of a ”functional” conversation is conjugality of minds, if not perspectives. A conversation cannot meander beyond niceties if inititated with divergent intentions.

A conversation for the sake of having a conversation is wasteful. Again, conversation is not an isolated experience. The full import of words spoken can be assimilated only when combined with gestures, facial expressions and body language. But we should not however forget that sometimes silence speaks more than words and a mere pause inbetween can convey loads more than a loud ejaculation.

The moot point here is that a conversation should be able to satiate the quest of the participants, whatever that might be. The result would yield far reaching benefits, if the conversationists are joined by unity of purpose and thought.

Words spoken should not be taken lightly. They are mirrors of our thoughts. Satisfaction is in venting as well as in imbibing. As we speak, so, we should also listen. As the spiritual leaders say that listening should be prayerful i.e. as in a prayer we concentrate with our whole mind, body and soul, so should we listen to others to take in the best and the most that we aspire for.

Conversation is a thirst to be quenched with the right measure of verbosity. The penultimate conversation is of course divine. but again the process is frought with experimentations. Seeking is an endless endeavour and you may knock hundreds of doors before finding the right one. Till then, you do not permit yourself to be let in. Wander till you have sought what you are looking for and sooner or later you shall be blessed with God’s receipt.

A MAIL TO A FRIEND - REMEMBERING A STRANGE INCIDENT

Strange that you should send me this mail, although it appears to be in circulation as a sort of general warning, however, it reminded me of a similar incident that occurred quite recently with me.
As you know, it's so difficult to get an auto from SCOPE without having a fierce debate with the driver regarding the legitimacy of fare being asked for, as few auto-driver in Delhi conscientiously follows rules and agrees to charge by the meter. One evening I was trying my luck in vain to get one to reach Patel Chowk Metro Station wherefrom I take the metro home. It so happened that my luck was out on that day and none of the auto drivers was ready to go in that direction. Therefore, I decided to change my route and take the metro from Rajiv Chowk, hoping that CP being a central location, auto-wallahs would perhaps be more amenable to go that way.

It was a decision taken in duress as I generally do not like the CP Station. If you have ever been to that location, you will appreciate that the station is too big with long, never ending corridors and the crowd too unruly and rowdy. However, my change of destination yielded result and soon I got an auto which took me to the station. But by that time, it was quite late and being autumn, it was darker than the usual dusk, when I alighted at Rajiv Chowk.

The station was crowded as usual with people thronging in from all directions of the city. Incidentally I find Patel Chowk Station more to my liking as it is quiet and peaceful and the crowd, generally the “sarkari babu” type, seemingly docile and belonging to known milieu, hence, homely.

In order to get inside the underground station, one has to ascend a few steps and take the escalator or the staircase down, as per individual choice. As I was climbing up the steps a man suddenly approached me and said in English “excuse me” in a very cultured voice. I looked up to find a bespectacled face smiling at me. The man was tall and lean in built. I think he wore a white lungi and a chaadar over a bottle-green and yellow striped shirt, which somehow reminded me of the mourning attire that the Bengalis usually wear in bereavement. He was carrying a few books which by a cursory glance looked like religious pamphlets. But what attracted my attention the most was the long sandalwood tilak drawn from his forehead till the end of his nose. He looked and sounded educated and spoke English in a well modulated voice. But looks could be deceptive. It took few seconds for me to notice all these things. While entering the station, I had casually glanced around and seen him standing on the right hand side corner of the entrance. He was standing alone and looking at nothing in particular. He had crossed across the throng of boarders to speak to me!!!

If I had to describe my feelings at that particular moment it would be sheer fear. Why I was terrified I would not be able to say. It was an instant reaction. On the face of it, the man looked sophisticated, well mannered, courteous and apparently above board. But at that very moment, when he stood there smiling, my nostrils were being assaulted by this overpowering fragrance of sandalwood, the source of which could not have been just the tilak on the man’s forehead. He continued in English, smiling, “May I please take a few minutes of your time?” It took me a flash of a second to react, “No, thank you.” I turned around and walked past. The man did not follow me. I did not look back to see whether he was still there. But the fragrance of sandalwood continued to haunt me till I reached the platform and boarded the train.

Somewhere I had read that strangers accosting people in the middle of such crowded places use strong fragrances to hypnotize or befuddle them and when they come back to their senses they cannot remember what happened after inhaling the strong aroma. Sooner or later, some valuables are found missing from their persons. I do not know whether this piece of information was at the back of my mind when I vehemently nodded my head and rushed off to the other direction to avoid the man. But the presence of the man could definitely not be considered benign if it was catalytic in evoking a premonition of danger. The conscious as well as the subconscious minds have many a tricks up their sleeves and sometimes it is really difficult to fathom what exactly triggers off reaction to strange stimulii in the instant case my reaction to the stranger.

But I still spend a considerable time in pondering over the fact that the man chose and approached me of all the people in that station with whatever noble or evil intention that he may have had in mind. I really wonder what sort of people they look for such misdeeds. The apparently gullible ones most probably. That makes me wonder whether I look that gullible for a hoodlum to target me as his chosen victim……….I have not found the answer as yet. As a matter of fact, I do not know whether the stranger could be branded as an out and out outlaw.

Incidentally, I have always preferred the fragrance of sandalwood to all other perfumes. I am generally allergic to most. But as I said earlier, the fragrance haunts me now and will always do so reminding me of a strange incident half understood and (God forbid!) half experienced.