The idle musings of an almost adult

Think, everyone told me. Think and it will come to you. Think and it will dawn upon you. Just think and the world’s answers will appear in a heartbeat and clarity will come giftwrapped in a nice little box miraculously left behind by the Tooth Fairy one Tuesday morning. All you need to do is think.

I’ve thought on planes and trains, buses and bikes. I’ve thought while I was meant to be thinking and much more when I wasn’t. I’ve stared just to the right of my professor’s face during class and doodled pointlessly in the corner of my notebook. I’ve made more To Do lists than anything I’ve ever done and then stooped from putting ‘Figure it out’ to ‘Shower’, in an effort to check something off. You can’t say I didn’t try.

When it all fell apart all around me and all the same advice kept pouring in, I turned to clichés. I took a long, hot shower. And I thought some more. Or atleast I tried.

What do I write my paper on? And once that is done, what do I do my thesis on? And once that is done, what do I do next? Where do I work? Do I let go of a great job just to leave home? Do I accept another great job even if the cash isn’t great? What qualifies as good enough and how do you identify a challenge? When you can’t differentiate the road less travelled from the well trodden path, how do you choose to be conformist or rebellious? And how is it that the more I think, the more questions seem to need thinking about?

This thinking thing is a lie, a web designed to keep you in a never-ending loop. You think you get more questions, you kid yourself into thinking you can answer them all. For now, I’m going to take a break. The paper may happen, or not. Reading all day is fun in itself. The thesis will definitely happen. On what, well, epiphany shall strike before graduation some time. As for a job, I’m only almost adult for now. Please don’t burst my bubble?

The Happy Meter

Another personal rant, inspired by a recent article and all the 'what are your plans' that seem to haunt me these days.

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As tears flowed down my cheeks, I stared, stunned at the computer screen. Everyone has a story, I thought. Tales browned with age and skeletons in the closest of various shapes and sizes. Stories of strength and courage are camouflaged under bright kurtis and wide smiles. Who is to tell? Who can see beneath the surface and count the scars? Who can read the signs and tell the tale?

They say it should bring us happiness, security, love. They tell us it is the first step of the rest of our lives. They say it changes the person we are, for the better, mind you. They build these tall fairytales and push us into the deep end of the pool. Some of us know how to paddle, others to float. Who can claim to be the Olympian?

This elusive concept of happiness has always intrigued me. What does it mean? Where do we get it? Which path leads us to this elusive goal? Apparently, Western thought claims the problem with parenting today is the goal of ‘happiness’ – your child is never going to be happy enough and you will thus be a perennial failure. As we grow up, we say it all the time, either as the truth or in the hope that the sound will transform into reality. Yes, I am happy. I love what I’m doing, it keeps me happy. Today was such a great day, I’m so happy! You look so...happy. The cynic in me is fast classifying these five letters to the list of lazy words my high school teacher drilled into us – nice, good...happy.

What if all I need is a Rs. 10 packet of beach cotton candy to be happy? Or molagga bhajji on a rainy day? A nice fat tome with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, perhaps? A paper well written, a presentation well made? Children wishing me as I walk into the class? What if my pleasure comes from the smaller things, the details? My chosen raindrop winning the race down the car window or the mango I ate being just ripe enough? Maanga having the perfect twang of salt and spice? An old pair of jeans buttoning snugly again or a crisply washed Rs. 20 note in a forgotten pocket? A phone call from an old friend or a good morning text from the unexpected? What if all it takes to keep me happy is normalcy, the mundane?

Who are you to define the rules, lay down the laws? Why must my happiness adhere to your restrictions? I could be poor, single, unemployed and ugly. Who are you to say I can’t be happy?