Skip to main content

Do we really know what we are looking for in life?


As we get older and older in life, until a certain point, all equations in life get equally messier. Kids live in the moment. Whatever is their state of mind, they stay in the present. Mostly active, curious, and happy, and sometimes hurt, crying, and sad. It is an intense state of living.

Does a kid born in a rich family feel more happy than a kid born in a poor family? I am talking here of the depth of the happiness, not the breadth of it. Of course, a rich kid is always attended to, its whims will be satisfied quickly, and hence it may have more moments of happiness in life. On the other hand, a poor kid is mostly unattended, possibly subjected to traumatic experiences every day, and hence may have fewer moments to cherish. But I don't think the intensity of both kids' excitement and happiness differ at all.

I was born in a lower middle class family. Both of my parents had to work to make ends meet. Thus I and my sister were hardly supervised. Though my parents genuinely tried to fulfil some of our whims, there were plenty of occasions where they simply couldn't, just for the want of money. If my demands were fatter than purse, and if I insisted to the point of annoyance, I would get beatings in return. So, even as a kid, I was acutely aware of my bargaining power with my parents and hence I would make demands slightly around the border of realisation.

But that's a different matter. Despite not getting all the fancy things we asked for, I don't complain about my childhood.

As I mentioned earlier, while my parents were busy earning our bread, I was left to make use of my time as I deemed fit, with only few random peeks in between to make sure I am not in trouble. I hardly remember buying any toys from shops. We lived outside the town, and there were no such shops as well anyway. All of our toys were self made. They were nothing but some random things one found around, improvised as toys. For example, a brick was a car, a thin branch of a tree with a string tied to both ends made a bow, and a corn stalk made an arrow.

We had plenty of games, that would use only tamarind seeds or a flat stone chip as props. Smokers in the village used matchboxes; the cover pieces of those matchboxes were used as proxy for money. I still remember how we used to hunt for those thrown away matchboxes in garbage dumps. Someone in the village would then come and complain to my parents about it, and I would get beatings that day. But, hey, that only made us stealthy! I would like to talk about these matchboxes elaborately, but I will save that for later time.

The point here is, I had one hell of a ride as a kid. There was nothing fancy in it, but it was filled with pure joy. Of course I never had to starve and had a safe place for slumber. Apart from these basics, there was little to call fancy in life but that could not take away the joy of life.

Now, we are living in an age where there is a deluge of entertainment of all kinds; movies, music, standup comedy, books, digital games. There are innumerable choices in everything we do and everything we consume. No doubt, there are still billions of people who don't have access to basic requirements of life. But then even people who have access, and can well afford, seem not to be any more happy. There seems to be a disconnect of some sort. It is clear that unlimited choices and perpetual entertainment are no guarantee of happiness.

As a kid, the equation was very simple: The world was new, there was no burden of preconceptions, there were no responsibilities, there were no commitments, there was no need to work, essentially there was no tyranny of tomorrow, there was no fear of running out of time. But it is the other way round now. Yet, this is not the end of the story. I feel it is still possible to have a happy life, assuming that you have means to ensure basic requirements are provided for. But do we really know what we are looking for in life?

(Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

[Poem] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage - by Lord Byron

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin--his control Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Brunelleschi and his visual experiment

     H e was drilling a small hole in the panel. For the past few weeks he had painted the panel with utmost concentration. The painting was of the Florence Baptistry and its surrounding, as it looked when seen from the Cathedral. There was something special in this painting when compared to all other paintings of that time.  Once done, he set the panel to face the view that inspired it. Now he stood behind the panel and leaned forward to peep through the hole. For an onlooker, all this might have looked crazy, or even worse he or she would have accused this painter of plotting something shady. As he was peeping through the hole, Brunelleschi picks up a mirror and holds the mirror at arm's length, in front of the panel. Now he was able to see the reflection of the painting in the mirror. As he continued to view through the hole, he moved the mirror in and out of his line of sight. It was now clear that he was trying to compare his painting to the real Baptistery. But...
Post a Comment
Read more

[Poem] To any Reader - by Robert Louis Stevenson

As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees, So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book, Another child, far, far away, And in another garden, play. But do not think you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. He intent Is all on his play-business bent. He does not hear, he will not look, Nor yet be lured out of this book. For, long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away, And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there.
Post a Comment
Read more