Kindness, a prelude to Happiness

Yesternight, I asked my little daughter – “What do you want to become when you grow up ?”

My daughter replied, with her somnolent eyes, and a dulcet tone- “Mamma I want to be Kind and Happy”

I was taken aback at her profundity at this age. I took a pause and gave her a hug before she retired to bed. But her words lingered in my mind, nudging the cadence of my thoughts to wander in the untrodden territories. And the clattering percussion of my thoughts coaxed me to see “happiness” and “kindness” from a heightened perception. I found myself marooned in the chiaroscuro of introspection, subsumed in the spectral ballet of questions and their half-baked answers.

So, what is it that makes me ‘Happy’?

When I think of happiness, I find myself dawdling down the memory lane – a quaint house hidden behind a plethora of mango and Lichi trees. A palimpsest of the bygone, when our metaphorical wings were not clipped. When the world seemed real, vivid, shimmering with euphoric sequins that made my soul glint with every pulse. A time when every conversation was a comforting, warm Pashmina duvet, every glance an affection untold. We climbed the trees, made mud pies and played until time escaped us. My hometown- where we were free to visit each other’s house without the so-called decorated social etiquettes of prior intimation. The social connectedness of that place intrigues me to this day. When we were toddlers, we went to bed early, following the much popular maxim “ early to bed and early to rise”, only to wake up early in the morning to the repetitive “cuck-oo” of Koyal, the rattling call of woodpeckers, and the butterflies and gnats would watch how we pandiculated. Every moment was a celebration of existence.

When I think of happiness, I’m catapulted back to the simple joys, the memories of running bare feet through the violet meadows.

It was a time when I and my sister would talk on myriad subjects.

We had a lot of ideological divide that were very deep, yet we always reached the Kumbaya moment. A time when the aroma of grandmother’s Gobindobhog Khichdi filled the house, and beckoned us to the dining table. It was a time, when the evening Arati and the gong on the temple, the bell of the church, and the evening Aazaan, summoned us to return home after the evening games of pitthu, kho-kho, kancha, kabaddi, and ankh mi choli. We shared a single packet of Poppins and Big Babool among ten of us while watching Ramayana and Mahabharata at Gupta uncle’s house, the sole family to own a coloured TV in the neighbourhood back in those days. A time when we rushed to the nearby pond with friends, the green-marshy water wielded mojo that comforted our hyper -active limbs. We would sit at the edge of the mound of mud, our feet dangling, making shadow-pirouettes, like the dance of the marionettes. We would bask in the thrill of the ordinary, the way the pebbles made ripples, the soft rustle of leaves nudged by the wind, the fluttery flight of the dragonflies. Those golden moments are still etched in the deepest core of my heart, oftentimes, engaging me with a profound soliloquy.

It was a time when we were too naive to know about people killing each other in the name of religion. A time when we weren’t aware about the workings of the outside world where people perpetually bring each other down to carve their own space, their own superiority. It was a time when we didn’t know the present-day definition of success that ironically means being above another. A time when we celebrated each other’s wins and distressed over each other’s failures. A time when we did not know that another’s forfeit makes us numero uno. A time when we had the freedom of speech and the freedom of being. Those days, happiness was all we sought and all we knew.

Suddenly I found myself stuck in the dichotomy of two worlds. The smell of freshly mowed grass in one hand, and the smell of the last remnants of stale coffee left in the mug beside me.

In today’s day and times, we are on perpetual auto-pilot mode, always having to meet a constant thrumming of deadlines, always having to reach somewhere, do something, putting off joy, presuming that we have endless tomorrows. We rush through life, being stooped and soiled by the heavy weight of existence.

Can we break this toxic roulette, and live each moment as if it’s a glorious gift, not a chore, balancing between doing and being?

Can we dream of a new dawn  when the sun does not steal our half-empty glass of sanity. A dawn when we do not wake up to discern the unruly maelstrom stirring noxious thoughts in the hearts of some. A dawn when we do not wear the sound and smell of who is “ superior”. A dawn when we see nobody deprived of a permanent shelter and food. A dawn when we do not feel our bare feet being pricked by the skin of our own soil. A dawn when our palms caress the cheeks of urchins and asks if they drenched themselves with tears last night, and do our bit to elevate their circumstances. A dawn when we fly to the endless stretch of greens and blues . For it is in the heart of the nature, that we find warmth, peace and happiness, and we learn resilience and altruism. A dawn when we truly, collectively, inclusively accept each other for who we are. A dawn when we breathe Kindness, a prelude to Happiness. As Albert Schweitzer said: “Constant kindness can accomplish much. As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate.”

Suddenly I felt a hunger gnawing at my stomach, it was not for food, but for something else. It was a moment of epiphany, a massive revelation.

I hope a dawn arrives when every child wants to be “Kind and Happy” when they grow up.

So, what makes you Happy?

*