Happiness Quotient

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It doesn’t really mean anything if I say that I am happy. On the contrary, there is an inherent presence of sadness in that statement. There is no limit to the varied emotions that a person can experience. Happiness is just one minute piece of the entire emotional puzzle that our life is. Don’t you think so?

Sometimes a tear can express more happiness than a smile can. A smile , as it is widely accepted,  most of the time conceals terrible sadness. People who are exuberant in showcasing love and affection, need not necessarily be good. Just like not all  blunt and straight forward people are bad and emotionless.

So how can one claim to be happy and not be able to express it in ways other than words. A happy person is not identified by the smile on the face, it is by the warmth in their eyes. A blooming flower is a pretty sight, it brings about a smile on many faces. It is the happiness of a new beginning. A simple and yet very deep an emotion. But if it reminds you of a sad incident, even the prettiest of flowers can cause pain.

How exact a science is the art of happiness?  We create more memories with each passing day. Why not make them all good ones. If we learn to appreciate the small things in life, life can be a bliss. But if we keep concentrating only on the bigger picture of fame, fortune and happiness and forget to live our present, then there are high chances that even with the fame, fortune and happiness ultimately gained, will leave us feeling helpless and alone.

Just something to think about, I guess. Especially since there is no tax on Positive Thinking. Let’s consider Happiness Quotient as a balance of all human emotions. Without loss, you wouldn’t be able to appreciate the gain, would you?

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Compulsive Personal Blogger

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One of the most important things that blogging has taught me, is that people everywhere are quite the same. Fundamentally, that is. Whether it is a female blogger or a male blogger, the reasons behind blogging and the processes are very much similar.

It’s when a person has so much to say and not enough audience that he/she turns to blogging. The people around them may love them to bits. But they just need people other than those to comment and understand them. Yes, the basic need of a blogger is to be understood.

Men generally tend to discuss social, economic, political issues. Sometimes imaginary stories are woven and sometimes anecdotes with colleagues and friends are shared. Other’s experiences are generally what you will find in these blogs. Rarely will you be able to find out anything about the personal life of the blogger until and unless it is explicitly mentioned in his profile or if you are friends with him on a personal level. And I am not talking about which industry they work in or which in which country they reside.

Women generally tend to express a lot more of their personal side on the blog. Even if the topics are socio, economic or political issues, it’s always about the first hand experience or personal thoughts. They put it in a safe way so as not to create a situation to receive brickbats. The reason why these women hate brickbats, at least I think so, is because it affects them in more ways than one. They are the more sensitive gender and find it hard to relax until the issue has settled down. She carries the burden of the entire house/world/family/work on her shoulder. She needs a balancing act. And an added arena for fight is totally unneeded for her. Her blog is her breath of fresh air. No room in it for anything else.

I blog because I love the idea of my thoughts being displayed on a screen, and I love it when people comment on them. Its more personal than most blogs I have visited. But then again, that’s how I am. I am a Compulsive Personal Blogger (CPB). It’s just a need to write and express and show off. Its small things like these that make or break a day. And life is just that, a day after a day and waiting for another day to come tomorrow. And the brickbats, two teenagers and a Taurean husband can do wonders on that front.

Why do you blog? Are you a CPB too?

The Heart Desires

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When the heart desires something ,
Something that it can’t have.
Sometimes its better to let it cry.

Sometimes, it’s that very same desire,
That can mean more than anything else,
No harm in giving it a try.

It’s not everyday that we get,
A chance to be ourselves,
So lets give it our best shot.

To show the world,
What we can do,
And what is it that we have got.

If people like what they see,
For what we really are,
They will also understand the reason.

It’s just not in our taste,
Or even fair to any heart,
To change according to season.

 

On the other side

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I like to dine out frequently. Its not like we have too much cash that we can throw away on expensive food. Even a “vada pav” will do for dinner once in a while.  To be honest, I am not that great a cook. In the sense, I can make things that my mother and grandmother used to make, reasonably well. But if you ask me to make a casserole or lasagna or Chinese, I would be totally lost. The same goes for steaks. If one of my kids wants to have Steak and if on that particular day I am totally not in a mood to roll out chapatis, I oblige.

When we dine out, we get this opportunity to have “talks” with our kids and advice them in an atmosphere that is not home. This is especially true in my case, since the chances of voices being raised becomes very low. I don’t have a good hold on my temper, even at this age. To tell you the truth, I think I had more patience when I was younger.

So with this in mind, we decided to have steak for dinner the day before yesterday. We parked, put change in the parking meter, found a quiet corner in the restaurant and settled down to give our orders. We were at the tail end of our order, when there was a screeching sound that interrupted us. Even the waiter had a smile on his face while we tried to complete our order with voices above the screeching sound. Even though none of  us looked explicitly at that table, we knew that small kiddos had arrived and the smallest one in the group , who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was the culprit. It’s hard to believe that such a petite looking thing could scream like that!

The group (on Table1 ) comprised of two moms and three children. Two pretty little girls, neither over the age of 8 and a boy, our cute little culprit. The screaming continued for a while, and the mother was totally pissed off. Both the mothers left the table for a while. When they returned, the boy was cuddled in the arms of the other mom, quiet and was constantly looking in our direction. I couldn’t help being attracted to this little chap.  Each time I cast an eye in their direction, I saw him looking at me. I had to smile, but I was not sure if I wanted to smile or not. The mothers were not in a great mood and my smiling will only make it look like I am laughing at their plight.

Soon, the food arrived and since the boy had settled down with a garlic bread, we were able to enjoy the meal in peace. The mothers, I induced, were working moms, size minus zero, both with blackberry in hand. They were two very perfect looking Modern Indian Women.  It took a while for them to settle down and enjoy the meal with the kids.  I am guessing that they were sisters.

At this table (Table 2) sat a father and mother, with two teenagers, trying their best to understand each other. The conversations on this table comprises of Blackberrys, iPhones, iPads, lack of dedication to schoolwork, upcoming school trip to NASA and the weekend camping trip from school.

The tension/excitement at both tables are almost at the same levels. Parents at both the tables are confused yet look confident. Kids at both the tables are equally in awe of  life.

It made me wonder how fast I travelled from Table 1 to table 2. How did I get promoted to the advanced motherhood grade?  I don’t remember any memos or congratulation party. I definitely don’t remember a salary hike (Pun intended).

How did I crossover from Table 1 to Table 2? Does that mean that I am jealous of those young shapely things? NO WAY! I have earned every wrinkle on my face and very ounce of fat on my body. No, I would not trade places with them ever.

The kids got away with whatever mischiefs they had done and got permissions to do a few more. Sigh!  Can I get promoted to Table 3?

At Table 3, sat an old couple enjoying each other’s company and praying that they have done a good job when they were at Table 1 and Table 2.

Is this a case of “The grass is greener…. “ ? I wonder …..  🙂