Sometimes misery is a just a faded old security blanket. It has been useful so long, you don’t have the heart to get rid of it. Besides, you might crave for it again. Apparently I’m here writing this piece because I am a relentlessly cheerful person. True to my style, I acted all cool and knowledgeable when the Editor called me. Yes, yes, I am a happiness expert. I manufacture it from thin air. I spread good cheer. I had a vision of me driving a noisy CNG van borrowed from the Municipal Corporation. Meandering through streets releasing white clouds of DDT. Sorry, not DDT, thick clouds of happiness. Confetti trails floating in the air.
As I sit to write this, I see that I might be in big trouble. If I am going to confront and accept my happiness in print, then there’s no going back, is there? Once I write it, I will have to be happy. Doomed to be happy. How would you like that?
No man. No way. I like my happiness in small doses. Or small dosas, as a friend often corrects me.
The truth is I am a needy,...