Languidly Cynical

I’m not a romantic but I’m not one of those cynics either who discredit the phenomenon of love completely. I am one of those cynics who believe in the existence of romantic love but know that its existence is almost Utopian, that very lucky few will experience it in its true sense. I’m the one who, when they hear their friends say “I’m in love…”, can’t help thinking- ‘Love’? Yeah okay. Let’s see how long that idea lasts.

But admittedly, I don’t hate love songs. They make me believe in a make-believe world of perfect people where love in its purest form exists. In that world, a sincere man wearing a hat says “It cannot wait… It is our fate, I’m yours”; a lonely guy promises to wait to two more years for his girl and promises to pay the bills with his guitar; a goofy teenager loves his girlfriend’s flaws because it’s her it all adds up to and the bottom line is he’s in love with her; and a man asks a woman to let him love her until she learns to love herself. Nobody in that world calls a woman (no matter how endearingly) “shorty” or “bitch” or refers to her ‘ass’ or use any crude/ filthy innuendos. These things may or may not happen in the real world, but that doesn’t mean that I will hate listening about something as wonderfully happy. For the same reason I also believe in- Santa Claus, inheriting money from a rich unheard-of relative, my favourite pair of shoes never wearing out, the non-existence of politics, me being a dog-whisperer, dogs going to heaven, being fit without working out because climbing stairs to the office once-a-day is exercise enough, and accidentally running into Bradley Cooper and us getting along fabulously. I could go on but I won’t digress.

So, if a toddler listens to these love songs and sets high standards dreaming about the perfect partner who plays the piano and says “You’re amazing just the way you are”, I say, let them. The real world needs them to stop making bad life decisions that affect them permanently at an age when they don’t even know how to spell ‘prophylactic’.

And if you truly believe in perfect romantic love and soul mates, I envy your rose-tinted glasses.

And if you have lived it, well… good for you. Now go back to living in the Diana Ross-Lionel Ritchie song, you don’t belong here.

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Is Absolute Happiness Real?

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I have met a few people who claim to have lived a very protected and loving childhood, and who now lead very uncomplicated lives. But they always say that there is atleast one aspect of their lives that complicates their sorted world. They all always have one thing that makes life less than perfect for them. I admit to being envious of these friends in the past, for having just ‘one or two things that aren’t working out, you know’ against my ‘the silver lining is, I’m still alive you know’. But they made me realize that perfect state of happiness is utopian. There’s nobody who’s truly happy in every way in this world. We strive to be, we seek it, we live life in pursuit of it, we sing songs about it and sometimes we even fool ourselves into thinking that we are there, but it’s like a Will-o’-the-Wisp – we follow it, come close to grabbing it and then it disappears, but then we see another and that’s how we get through life. Some believe it leads you to your destiny while others consider it a misleading hope.

When we are perfectly happy, we’re satisfied and content. We don’t need to strive for anything, we don’t want. We risk being stagnant. I guess that’s why we need to have a little chaos brought into our lives from time to time, by uncontrollable forces so that we are driven by the hope of attaining it. Everything works on incentives that push us to work towards something. Attaining that wholesome happiness is what our incentive is. Maybe we’re not meant to attain it in this life, maybe it’s unreal, but if it makes us overcome our troubles and problems, be good and do what’s right, it’s the best reason to live.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t believe in Santa Claus (yes, I’ve been a cynic all my life). I found it unbelievable, the whole story. But it was a good story so I went along with it, year after year, never telling my family that I knew the truth (also, because I loved waking up to gifts under my pillow- which is where Santa leaves gifts in our family). So, even now in my 20s, I wake up with the hope of finding gifts under my pillow on Christmas morning. And I find them every Christmas morning, because my parents know how much I love it. And we all pretend they’re from Santa Claus. That’s how I feel about happiness. This perfect happiness is my Santa Claus. I know its make-believe but I still work towards being nice all year anticipating a present, a reward. And the rewards are pretty sweet.

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