It happens every year.
By the time November ends, and you’re browsing for jackets, you suddenly remember that all the resolutions you had set for yourself have vanished out of the window.
Well, not all of them, you tell yourself. You achieved SOME of them. Some of them, you reason, were too unrealistic to begin with. The rest were all frivolous anyway – get fit, quit smoking, eat healthy – utopian desires in dystopian times.
By December, you go easy on yourself. Just a few more days, and you’ll reset your life. Well, not like Instagram influencers do – they’re an alien breed of positivity-exuding creatures. You’ll do it like a teenager on Orkut – half circumspect, half-excited.
And then, the last few days of the year whizz by, and here you are – reading this blog on a weekday in the middle of work. Off the top of your head, you know you haven’t set extremely rigid resolutions for yourself. But you can’t deny it – you’d like it if this year was better than the last.
Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s only human.
If there is one good thing about the pandemic, it has made us realise the futility of New Year resolutions. Earlier, you had to watch television or step out on the roads to see the hydra-headed grip of Christmas and New Year marketing in your life. Today, it resides next to your bed, on your phone. Ads for gym equipment, diaries and planners, entrepreneurs and fitness coaches asking you to turn your life around.
But the pandemic proved that new year resolutions are a vague creation by marketing companies. That to be alive and well, to report to work, to get paid, to have someone to talk to – these are all wonderful things in themselves. On 31 December 2020, for the first time in decades, millions of people discarded New Year resolutions, counted their blessings, and stepped gingerly into the new year.
As much as I hate to admit it, I am a sucker for new year resolutions. I know, I know. You can roll your eyes. But I can’t help it. The tiniest sliver of hope is enough for me to latch on to.
There is something warm and wonderful about the ability to reset. To start afresh. And I’ll take it. Even though I know the course.
I’ll stick to it for a few days, and then the 100 meters walk from my home to the gym will seem like the Tour de France. Sankranthi will come knocking in a few days, and I’ll stuff myself like a vegetarian pig. And yet, I do make a wish list for myself.
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But what does one wish for oneself in the times we live in? Just when we thought the worst was over, we realised that COVID has adopted another avatar and is all set to pounce upon us. Just when we had all got vaccinated twice, and were beginning to step out of our homes, we found ourselves going through the same loop again. Reports of cases rising, warnings across hoardings and headlines, the distressing reports of hospital shortages.
As someone in my mid-30s, I am allowed to dole out advice once in a while. If you’re younger than me, humour me like I’m a drunk uncle at a wedding party. If you’re older, think of me as the annoying, talkative kid at a birthday party. But here is what I have realised over the last few years.
It is going to sound like an expansive statement, and you will roll your eyes so far back in your head, you’ll like The Undertaker stepping into the wrestling ring. But hear me out.
This is what I have realised. Happiness really, is a choice.
Yes. I know what you’re thinking. Fuck you, you smug asshole. People have lost their lives, millions have lost their livelihood. And I’m dishing out generic, Osho-like lines.
I understand all of that. I have come to learn that we actually are not as much in control of our lives as we assume. Our family and friends are mostly products of chance. Our health (even though BKS Iyengar’s book says otherwise), is not really in our hands. Our wealth is also a byproduct of circumstances, upbringing and effort. We don’t choose the nation, religion or ethnicity we were born into. We did not choose when we were born, and when we are going to die.
Which makes me realise, very little is ACTUALLY in our hands. There will always be people better off, and worse off than us. And our ideas of happiness and contentment are constantly shifting goalposts that are mere mirages.
So why then, are we miserable?
Look around you. Every single person around you is moping about life, going through it like a punishment. Befriend someone for long enough, and they begin to pour out their miseries like an adopted grandfather. Open a second beer with someone, and you’ll hear them crib and complain about their lives.
I understand that nihilism is in vogue now, and anything hopeful is considered ‘cringe’. But really, you have survived a pandemic. You are reading this blog in the middle of work. It’s in English, so you’re among the 10% of Indians who read, write and speak in English.
Which is not to say I am above it, either. I am an expert bitcher. I am the Zakir Hussain of complaining, the Ravi Shankar of cribbing. And when I questioned myself further, I found that it is mostly because cribbing, bitching and complaining are more entertaining. There is more scope for jokes, stories, and relatability among your listeners. Try praising someone for more than two minutes, and you’ll find your listeners stifling mental yawns.
And this holds true for all of us. We are generic in our praise, and extremely specific in our criticism. When you step out of a great movie and your friends ask you what you thought, you generally reply with superlatives – ‘amazing, mind-blowing, extraordinary’. But try sitting through a bad movie, and you could write a Baradwaj Ranganish essay on why the film was miserable. I think it comes naturally to us.
Think about how generic you sound when you meet an old friend, and how nuanced, articulate and inventive you sound when you have a fight. Examples from the past magically merge with statements that are laced with poison and come zooming out your mouth like a gun in Sunny Deol’s hands.
And so dear reader, this is what I ask of you this year. Be specific in praise, and generic in criticism. It’s not much of a resolution. In fact, it is barely even a change. If anything, it is a minor flip in your default settings. But I have found that when I praise people with specific pointers, it means something to them. For one, it makes me have to think – to actually ponder over what I liked, to articulate it in my finest words, and to deliver them in the most heartening manner. And the reaction I get is pure joy. Anybody can pay compliments, but to hear a well-worded explanation is a thing of pure bliss.
As for criticism, there is no point getting into the specifics. In most cases, the person you’re reprimanding already knows of their follies. In most cases, the things we say are instinctive reactions to churning feelings inside us that are brewing up hatred. On most days, much of our criticism gets painted with personal agenda and hatred.
So, after much thought, this is the easy-to-achieve New Year’s resolution that I came with. It’s easy to follow, helps everybody around you, and if you play your cards well, could also result in a hike at work. Be specific in praise and generic in criticism.
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As for me, I will continue to set mildly unrealistic resolutions for myself. This year, my other resolution is to not kill a human being. I should be able to achieve it. But in case I fail, you’ll read about it in the papers!
Happy New Year!
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(An edited version of this blog appeared in my weekly column for The New Indian Express. Read it here.)
(If you received this blog through email, thank you for subscribing. I have stopped sharing my blogs on social media, for it attracts unwanted attention and instant reactions. I cherish the blogging experience of the the early days – where I write stuff and strangers read them and comment if they want to. I despise the modern social-media driven practice of instant reactions and comments. However, a man’s gotta run his shop. So if you like the blog, please let someone else know, and ask them to subscribe too! :))
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