Waiting for a Christmas miracle?
Where does happiness come from? And more importantly, where does happiness go? Is there a way to understand why we feel the way we do? Some mornings are so dull that it’s a pity the sun showed up on time. Some days are so exciting that by the time the much awaited moments arrive, we are already exhausted. Like planning a dinner for school friends only to realize that the dinner is no match for the excitement you harboured before the dinner. Where is happiness located in this equation? If e=mc2, what is the expected speed of sadness? When will it arrive? Unfortunately, compared to happiness, sadness always runs on time. The greater question, as always, is, why does sadness overstay its welcome?
I recently learned that Mariah Carey—god bless her gorgeous pair of lungs—makes almost $3 million in royalties every year from All I Want For Christmas Is You. Yes, just one song. It made me wonder how commerce works in the world of arts. There are tracks that will be clobbered around, ripped and whatnot, making a lot of money for everyone except its creators, and then there will be songs that will incrementalize some artists’ wealth. It’s a game of dice. Some win, most lose. Despite the tightening grip of royalty laws, we see it happen everyday. As for Mariah Carey’s good fortune with her super-popular single, all one can say is that some Christmas miracles shine longer than the rest.
Speaking of Christmas, can you think of any other person—if we can use this term for somebody biologically unique—who had left a wider fingerprint on our world today than Jesus? Despite his relatively short period of time on the planet, he ensured that he divides the very description of era, if not time. The amount of suffering (he experienced) and the outcome (he affected) is extraordinary. What remains his USP is the denial of philosophy and the acceptance of love as the common denominator for all human beings. I think this was quite a radical move. Of course, when a story is too good to be true, there are bound to be sceptics. But the bigger question isn't "When was Jesus born?"; a better question should be "Where was Jesus born?" And the correct answer is “..in our hearts” – and not Bethlehem. Disclaimer: I am not a fan of religion but I am definitely fond of the man.
There are very few desi comedians who are genuinely interested in exploring their art form. An overwhelming majority seem to follow the template of social media buzzwords and simply adhere to clickbaits. A comedian enjoys that distinct space where she gets to laugh at the audience while making them feel that she is laughing with them. This is possible when you push the boundaries of our everyday thought processes, mundane observations and stereotypical humour. And there are comedians who like to portray themselves as martyrs of comedy because nobody cares about them. Well, that’s the whole point. You build a niche and then you expand that niche. That’s how all ideas work. Even F1 started somewhere with a horse carriage once.
During my Gurgaon days, I once commented that Indian comedians are not good enough to kill themselves. This was obviously a mirror-chat about American comedic geniuses who didn’t live long enough. But then, we don’t have to replicate the West in all aspects of a given genre. Our country is different, our people think and feel differently, our society functions at a different scale and our issues are broader. So, a more optimistic view towards Indian comedy would be rested on individuals who play to their own strength. Instead of caving yourself out, why not embrace yourself? Thankfully, some of the comedians have gathered their lateral skills into their material: Zakir Khan, for example. Being fluent in poetry as well as storytelling, his Amazon Prime special Tathastu ends up hitting the right notes of chuckles and tears. He shares a story that is very close to you, in the most poetic, and humorous way, without compromising on the good/bad language that we identify him with.
Those who didn’t grow up in a chaotic household fail to appreciate the significance of measured silence. I envy families where people were respectful towards each other and even disagreements were dealt with decency. My childhood was constantly marked by neighbourhood noise and domestic anxiety. Civil discussion was a rare sight; people losing temper over tiny details. Ridiculous. The nicest thing you could do for your child is provide him an environment where disputes are treated in a respectful manner. There is no way one can shield children from the coarseness of our realities but it’s equally important to let them know that conflicts are curable.
If there are no profound learnings to be harnessed, then what is the point? I mean, not Buddha level profoundness but still, something that would make you jump from your seat to share your this-happened-to-me episodes. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I think it’s not anybody’s fault. It’s just 2022. A year that made us believe that the pandemic has ended. Which is also why we crave stories more than ever but don’t know which way to turn. We pick up a book and within 15 pages, we are done. We start a new Netflix series and we already guess what’s going to happen in the 7th episode. Too much has happened to me, perhaps, that we don’t realize that there is scope for much more to learn.
Do you want others to love you or do you want them to understand you? Just so you know, those are not exactly the same thing. Many a time we assume that somebody loves us because they understand us, when the truth can’t be more distant. A mother loves her child despite misunderstanding him time and time again. And if you are looking for a partner who will understand you and still love you, that is a tall building to climb but a fair bargain to ask. But chances are, they will cease to love you as soon as they fully understand you. That’s how we are, in a nutshell.
When the 2022 WC final was going on, I was obviously rooting for Argentina. Not because I care much about that country or its football team; I wanted Messi to get over with something that has been bugging him for a long while. A champion has to keep fighting. We all remember his crestfallen face in 2014 despite being decorated with the Player of the Tournament award. Getting that close to something you covet and not achieving it can hurt badly. And it did. His national team choked in the next two Copa finals and couldn’t even make it to the quarters in 2018 WC, before finally lifting the Copa last year. In a way, that triumph played a massive part in Argentina making it in Qatar. One way of looking at this World Cup victory is through the prism of millions of Argentine fans—not just in/from Argentina but across the globe—and another way is through the massive relief that a great footballer seldom gets to feel in his lifetime.
Once you love flowers, there is no heading back. Whether it’s a wedding or a funeral, flowers are going to make their presence felt. Flowers are temporary but whatever little time they have, they spend it wisely. They represent everything that is nice and kind about the world we live in. It doesn’t matter which is your favourite flower, all that stays is your affection for its petals. Also, flowers, when gifted, turn into an altogether different entity. They mean much more than the sweetest of poems ever written. Yes, they will wither away eventually but the fragrance of our feelings shall remain forever.
Once you stop giving a damn, you are remarkably free. Free from all strings and chains and burdens. Your existence is a factor of your reaction to circumstances. Nothing more. Nothing less. For what your breaths are worth, your life—a life sentence, in some cases—is dictated only by you. Everybody else in your story is a side actor and it’s imperative that you remain the star of your script. You’ve got only one shot. You don’t know whether you'll encore as a human being. What if you show up again as a caterpillar in your next life? So, you better put your best foot forward and dance it out. But whatever happens or doesn’t matter, try not to give a damn. In the end, nobody cares. Except you.
Let’s end this tirade of a blogpost with a recent conversation between my father and me. As you must be aware by now, he is reckless and a thorough role model for jerks like me.
Me: “Is it true that you’ve started drinking more than usual?”
He: “Who told you this rubbish?”
Me: “Your wife.”
He: “She talks nonsense all day. Don’t listen to her.”
Me: “But are you drinking more than usual?”
He: “Yes.”