A visit to a home on a Saturday in May

The ‘home’ seems a little run-down from the outside. When you walk in, pushing aside a big iron gate, the first things you see are a lawn that leaves the impression of uncut grass and a fat soft toy of a panda that I first thought was a dog on a bench in front of the house. I find out later that the house belonged to a once-famous actress, Ruby De Mel, who started this place with 10 children with special needs. Later research tells me that this is her home, and that she had a role in the Indiana Jones movie that was filmed in Sri Lanka.

We walk in and are greeted with familiarity and warmth by a young girl who ushers us in – one of us is a regular donor and from the area. We walk into the verandah to the curious stares of three girls – women – on the left, in various poses on the terra-cotta floor. Two are sitting, one is on all fours. All three stare unblinkingly and somewhat unsurely at us.

Inside, the house is spacious, built with the corridors and middle courtyard so familiar in old Sri Lankan houses. The feeling of being run-down prevails, but in a clean, hygienic and slightly familiar way. It’s how you would see any old house that hasn't seen renovations in a long time but is full of people who love it and keep it habitable.

We are ushered in to the eating area. I get the impression of children, adults, in-betweens of varying types. I try to zoom in on their disorder with my psychology-student insight; doesn't appear to have Down’s, but yes, I was told that this is a home for people with Autism. I try to spot the characteristics we learned about – the love of order, the dislike for maintaining eye contact. I do not find it, or I am too afraid to look properly.

We are asked to serve, and this is nice. It feels like you’re really a part of the giving process. Rice, a big aluminium dish of dhal, potatoes with chili, chicken, fish, and salad. A young girl who is a helper serves out the rice, but we dish out the curries onto plates that are plastic or aluminium and have numbers and faded letters on them, written in permanent black marker.

Once done, the helpers call the girls and women in, and they stream in, not unruly but now uncaring of the company. We hover by the door and a stout lady in a Kandyan sari asks us to come closer. She asks what the ‘occasion’ is. It is an anniversary – five years of ups and downs together. We hedge a little; the absence of marriage makes this kind of joint donation a little tricky by societal standards. We stick to just our names. The woman nods understandingly and begins.

It’s very similar to many I’ve heard before. Ayubowan! We are here today because these wonderful people have donated our lunch for us. So, to thank them, we wish and hope for them happiness and health always. She pauses to mangle my name a little and looks over at us. We look somber, I think, to suit the situation. She goes on. We wish them success in everything they do. The girls and women stand with their hands folded, possibly unaware of what is being said, mostly likely only registering hunger.

For the first time, I am just impaled by the irony of the situation. Here they stand, some 20 women of varying age, with mental disorders that will never allow them a full societal life. They will be happy in this home, they are well taken care of, but they will not know real health, ever. They will never know ‘success’, personal fulfillment, the whirlwind romance of youth, doing work you love, being a woman and enjoying what that means in this day. There they are wishing us happiness because we donated Rs. 2,000 each for their lunch. The bronze highlights in my hair cost me more than twice that amount. And they are wishing us – happy, healthy, fit, in love and with the world and our life together stretching in front of us with endless, frightening, glorious possibilities.

The woman mentions our names again, and I look down, feeling depressed. People often talk of feeling “so depressed” after coming to ’homes’. I often get angry at these people for their superficial charity and their fleeting emotions towards people who have a million more reasons to be ‘so depressed’. But, I am depressed at all of this – at me, at them, and at the world and how life works in general. The woman finishes, and the children and women give a rousing “thank you!” (I think that was it, I don’t remember) and immediately turn to their food, quite happy with life.

The happiness space

"You need to be happy with yourself to be happy with other people", a smart and wonderful person said today. This was amid a relatively philosophical discussion, and it stopped me in my ruminative tracks, as it were. Happy with yourself. I have always been happy with myself, at least, for as long as I remember -- those days, when I was asked if I was content, I would immediately say yes, much to everyone else's surprise. Not many people seemed happy with their lot in Life.

To say that has changed seems to signal a shift in the planes of my existence. Perhaps this discontent signifies that we have started challenging ourselves unnecessarily, creating discontent. Or that we have become older, with more responsibilities and more reasons to realise how much life sucks, and how unfair this whole damn thing is to all but a lucky few.

But mostly I think it's because we rob ourselves of our simplicity -- we pack on other things. We strap on expectations of others, societal norms, "personal improvement", work "goals", career "aspirations", and we lose sight of important things, like our inner peace. And the ability to have a quiet moment.

And worse, we make lacklustre decisions that we are verree likely to regret later. They are not bad or foolish decisions, just awfully boring, seemingly "necessary" ones. These often leave us muddling through to "finish up", even if we just want to say screw it, I'm not doing this crap.

But to give our sad selves some credit, it seems that as we grow older, the world around us, the way our attachments change in their own spheres, the awareness of aging and the terrible bloody banality of have-to-do-no social engagements (peppered with inane questions and ridiculous small-talk) slowly attack our IP. Or perhaps it is our lack of IP that causes us to be that affected by this agglomerated melancholy.

I suppose the bottom line is that we have to build our own happiness. I feel lists might help, and organization. Smiling at yourself and telling yourself that no, you are prettier than them, and that no, you started this, now you'll finish it. It means beating down the negative sentiments that dog us about our incompetence, unacceptability, unloveability, undesirability, etc. And I really think it entails a whole lot of not taking yourself too seriously, and not taking all but a very few very seriously.

 It's a bit of an effort, but if we can achieve (or re-achieve) that happiness with who we are, mad flaws and all, we might find that our reactions to those nasty little curve balls Life seems to throw at us are better, more positive, and definitely simpler. We might find that we no longer walk around with bright smile and a slightly cloudy heart (note the clever weather analogy).

If you still can't find that happinness, though, looks like the helpful folk at freaking wikipedia are willing to lend a happy hand:

http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Happy-Being-Yourself

Move over, all existential philosophers who ever wrote tomes on how to be happy with oneself. Wikhow will put all you fellows to shame.

My Alone Theory

Read a brilliant blog post on Riskology, on tips on being alone.

Read http://advancedriskology.com/alone/ when time permits.

As a Confessed Social Butterfly, I have a reputation for being a real PR Person. Everybody loves me, I'm awesome like that :) However, I do like my time alone. I enjoy reading on the balcony in the blistering sun, I enjoy looking at the stars, I like making my own food, I like browsing through old bookstores alone, I like striding across the road alone with my headset on. And I do NOT like people talking to me when I don't want to talk to them, at all.

But I think that I am slightly ashamed of doing things alone, it might be my upbringing, it might be the social conventions I hold on to tightly despite declaring a non-conformist, indifferent perspective of the world. I only go places if there's someone to go with, I generally need a friend to enjoy the theatre or an arty movie showing or an exotic food festival. I hardly go shopping alone. I have a nagging suspicion that I lack faith in meself. Yep.

But the really, really tricky thing with other people is that you can never really depend on them :) They have Lives, Loves and Other Things To Do a lot of time. So I miss out on a lot of things that could possibly enrich my life, I don't know.

There are a few people in my life who I really admire, strange and exotic creatures who regularly do odd things all by themselves, like listen to obscure and brilliant musicians play and watch subtitled foreign films at festivals organized by embassies. These people fascinate me on so may levels; Their comfort with being with themselves is a beauty to me, something I think I will never achieve. Their lack of need for concurrence with another opinion, their pure enjoyment of singular pleasures, their general lack of constant companionship. It's pretty cool.

I think I am a LONG way from being cool enough to go for a concert alone, but I plan to start small. I am already sticking to tips like asking people for less advice when I already know the answer, and also am enjoying the moments of alone I have. I was a little taken aback when I was told that I am only satisfied these days because so many of my friends are down and I have many things to do. This really added to me self-schema, I have to say.

ANYWAY, the plan is to start small and visit a nearby craft village, alone if I must. I will also try to be less dependent on others for pleasure, leisure and other things in life. Being the mostly-extrovert I am (I will never admit that I don't have qualities of introversion) , I will always need some form of company at most times, but I will enjoy my alone time with more ease, hopefully. Maybe, someday, I will reach that point where I can travel the world with just, myself and trusty old I :)

Must see putha.