Happiness is a choice

Happiness is a choice.

Wandering on the rugged landscapes of Kerala’s folklore is a character popularly known as Naranath Bhranthan. Bhranthan in Malayalam means ‘lunatic’. Naranath Bhranthan was not really as mad as he pretended to be. He was an enlightened person. He understood the absurdity of life even more clearly than Albert Camus who employed Sisyphus to illustrate the absurdity of life. Sisyphus pushes a boulder uphill knowing fully well that the vindictive gods will push it down before it reaches the zenith just to mock him. He will put his shoulder to the boulder again and again with the full knowledge of his condemned fate. Sisyphus is happy, nevertheless, in Camus’s interpretation of the myth.

For Camus’s Sisyphus, happiness is a choice. His happiness is his revenge against the gods who punished him.

Kerala’s Naranath Bhranthan also rolled a boulder uphill. He was not punished by anyone, however. He chose to roll the boulder uphill and then push it down. He laughed merrily as he watched his labour going downhill in absolute futility. Naranath Bhranthan is a more apt metaphor for the man who chooses to be happy. His boulder is his choice, not a punishment given by a higher power. His laughter is his choice.

You can be happy anywhere if you choose. I once discovered happiness in a cemetery. Usually cemeteries look romantic in movies where they are lush green landscapes with bewitching elegance. And a rain to boot. All the cemeteries I’ve seen in my life were stark contrasts to those in movies. Except one.

That's me on a grave in Shillong
Photo by Dominic Arivarasu

The Catholic cemetery at Laitumhrah in Shillong resembled the film version pretty much. I lived one whole year at a walking distance from that cemetery. A part of that cemetery was visible from my residence. It used to becokon me at times very romantically. Thus I chose to photograph myself seated on a grave in that cemetery. It was in 1988, three decades ago.

I have travelled nearer to my own grave, in other words. I have rolled quite a few boulders uphill along the way. I have wept much in the torrid and visceral lanes of my nightmares. I have smiled in the mornings. The smiles were my choice; the nightmares were gifts.

“How happy are you?” Anita asks. I am as happy as Camus’s Sisyphus and Kerala’s Bhranthan.

“Do you look for reasons to be happy?” Anita persists. Like the incorrigibly romantic Keats, I occasionally look for a draught of vintage that has been cooled a long age in the deep of the earth, tasting of flora and fauna and the country-green, drizzly songs and sunburnt mirth.

“Are smiles linked with happiness?” That is Anita’s final question. They are; they conceal the sighs that play lugubrious tunes on the strings stretched tautly within the heart.

PS. Written for In[di]spire Edition 259:  #HappinessSmiles