Thanks to the brouhaha in the country regarding the state of happiness of following our very dismal ranking in the UN-published ‘World Happiness Report-2017, we have got reasons to ponder over our actual state of emotional health from the perspective of the other’s variables basing on our politico-economic and psycho-social practicalities.
Yes, we Indians are an a unhappy lot today, not so much because of the very many factors deemed to have been responsible for it, some reportedly being the nation-inflicted; others as a result of our collective misdeeds. Then the surveyors and the analysts have also taken into account our life expectancy rate, our ability—in this case, a relatively less or sheer inability to make life choices, generosity, and finally, importantly, but not so ethical, the gross domestic product rate. In short, to all the variables taken together, we have failed the test as a nation. We have only emerged as relatively a very low ranking unhappy country.
When I thoroughly read this happiness report, the first question that came to my mind was if I was myself unhappy. Since GDP was not the only factor, I had to see if I was vulnerable to other indices such as freedom of speech or perception of corruption or life expectancy. In order to draw a wider, rather larger definition of happiness for myself, I had to introspect a little deeper into my psyche to read further than my dominant emotions.
I had to philosophize; I had to take recourse in whatever spiritual beliefs I could fall back upon for comfort; I had to set aside my national pride, my guilt for being labelled as an unhappy lot; I stopped any intellectual analysis of my state of well being, physical and mental, my emotions were rested, but in the end, I found out myself to be a happy man, notwithstanding a million failed dreams, a chronic asthma of the last 25 years, and a not so happy working condition, and the misery of working under a rude boss.
I decided to take my question to ten random people I would meet in ten minutes’ time and ask it twice, although with different undertones and seriousness. I asked my office peon if she was happy in life. She said no. The first impromptu response. She then halted for a while and then changed her mind. I went to others. A petty shopkeeper. A student. A team of tired, resting, female construction workers, some of whom had just finished their home brought meal in the shade of a portico near a construction site. What a scorching day it was, and how much that little rest meant for them as a reprieve from the soul- biting heat of an angry, summer sun. The ladies laughed and in unison shied of answering. The laughter that came easy on their faces was enough to suggest that they might be unhappy and happy at the same time, but then the reasons they only knew best. Both could be varied, unique to each one of them.The others were no different.
For a definitive answer, I had to revert to none but myself. I directed the question to myself. A repetition was necessary to make me rethink, to go beyond the intuition, to defuse my reflex of self-deprecation. My answer was the same as those of others. I found myself to be happy on summation; I too know that happiness, like affluence, is not a relative term. If you look at the less privileged ones, there is no reason that you should not feel fortunate. But being happy is exclusive.
The bonhomie—the collective happiness, this world happiness report is talking about, is rather too far-fetched. To expect someone to be unhappy measuring his emotions on premises which could be political or medical in nature, like the freedom to make choices, the perception of corruption, the life expectancy etc. is rather rude. The ordinary people I interacted with had no idea, nor time to measure their happiness basing on our perception of their well-being. They just were happy or they were simply not.
I strongly feel that happiness as an axiom in the report is too strong. It should rather have been ‘World Content Report’. Being content is different from being happy. One can still be happy despite being discontent in life.
A teacher friend, who recently died of cancer, after an excruciating, but very short battle with the malignant disease, appeared to me much relaxed after making the very first visit to one of the cancer hospitals in the capital for treatment. He narrated the conditions of others and was perhaps a bit relieved to find out that he was not alone in the malady. The sea of suffering outside his world had softened him inside, preparing him to eventually meet his end rather bravely, contentedly. I asked him if he was unhappy to die prematurely; he gave me without remorse scores of reasons why he was not!
(The writer is an officer in the Odisha Government’s I&PR Department)
