In Search of Joy
The story of the year 2022 when I tried to live & build a good life.
We were visiting Upper Kachura lake near Skardu city, and I was hiding on a steep hill, among the wild grass & flowers. Our guide had brought us to the lake, and we had discovered that to even sit by the lake, we had to hire a boat from the boatman claiming our seating area as his territory. Almost all non-local visitors too were busy riding the boats, with a newly married couple traveling with a personal photographer to take all their romantic shots on a boat, against the backdrop of the lake.
In his effort to help us, our guide himself was constantly offering to find us a ride. I politely told him that we don’t need to ride a boat to enjoy the lake, but that confused him. What would we do? Just sit and look at the lake? Ummm, that sounds delightful.
This commercialization of our hard-earned yearly vacation was too much for my soul. Exasperated, on the pretext of a walk around the lake, I tried to run away from the guide & the boatman.
The lake was surrounded by rocks and boulders. I walked on them with difficulty, but persisted and found myself on a hill. Nobody could see me, so I sat down and quietly looked at the plants & trees around me. Among the grass and flowers, a little stream of water was coming from somewhere.
I could also hear the voices of young boys coming from the lake. They were making a lot of noise. I walked downhill to see what was going on and slipped on the wet ground but hung on! I saw about half a dozen local Balti kids and teenagers.
Shirtless, jumping in and out of the lake. Their shirts hanging & drying on the tree branches nearby. The boys would sit on a rock, bring their two arms forward, and then they’d jump forward into the water, their bodies making the graceful arc of a swimmer. Then their wet head would emerge from the water, with water coming out of their noses and mouths. They were splashing and shouting and having a great time together. Their joy was palpable, and I could stop and look at them for a long time, just like I could sit and look at the lake for a long time.
I knew I didn’t want the boat. I just wanted to have what these kids were having: pure, unadulterated, non-commercial joy. The joy of using our body to explore our world, the way God intended: free of cost.
The boys didn’t need money or a guide, or a commercial experience designed by another human. At that very moment, people were traveling to Europe first class, folks were drinking expensive wine or coffee, and celebrities were being adored by thousands of people — but none of them had that joy. The Balti boys were getting much more out of life than most of us.
The happiest, most fulfilled moments of my life have been when I was completely aware of being alive, with all the hope, pain, and sorrow that entails for any mortal being. In those moments, the idea of success as a teleological goal would have made no sense; the moments were ends in themselves, not steps on a ladder.
— How To Do Nothing, Jenny Odell
I’m not a good swimmer, so I didn’t take a dip in the lake. We, unfortunately, did ride a boat, out of politeness. And I came back thinking about the fun the boys were having.
On the last day of our stay in Skardu, our guide drove us to Manthouka Fall. By now, we had a new, local guide. (Not surprising, huh.) The previous day, I had mentioned to him my love of walking, and my desire to someday do a trek in the Deo Sai National Park. Hearing this, the guide decided to arrange a small hike near the Manthouka Fall.
We arrived at the fall and ditched it immediately — too crowded, too commercial. Instead, we walked to the off-roads for our hike. I promised my nephew & niece two snickers to lure them in. (They never got those snickers.)
We were somehow joined by a group of men whom we privately & jokingly referred to as the Churails of Deo Sai. (They had met our guide the previous day, in the Deo Sai National Park and since then had been obsessed with him, and were following him everywhere like shadows. Their bromance was most annoying, and felt more like black magic cast by the witches, hence the title of Churails.)
As we started walking uphill, we also met a toothless old man on his way to his village nearby. Three little boys appeared from nowhere, they too were walking to their village. Coincidentally, they were also dragging along a broken suitcase for no reason. The kids decided to walk with us. So we had formed a unique group, comprising of us, the three Churails, the guide, the children, the broken suitcase, and the toothless old man. Our own Fellowship of the Ring, walking towards a point our guide insisted was ‘nearby’ (It was nearby, but going uphill, it felt like far-by in Mordor.)
We walked up the gravel-filled mountain roads, & took the steep, literally heart-stopping, shortcuts. I had given my nephew the most important job of holding a water bottle because I knew we will need it. (Isn’t that what nephews are for, that’s holding water bottles?) And, of course, he passed it on to the slowest person who disappeared midway through the hike. (Classic nephew stuff.) And so at some point, we were all dying of being thirsty and had no water to drink. The guide had us drink glacier water from a pond, promising that it won’t make us sick. We drank and did not, indeed, fell sick.
We kept walking. The toothless old man would vanish, but then will reappear, always somewhere ahead of us. Sitting idly, just waiting for us. How was he walking so fast? When was he walking?! The guide kept telling us to not stop, that the end was just around the corner, by that tower, that tree, that river.
Finally, we reached our final spot: the river, with water coming directly from the glacier. We drank the clean, cold glacier water to our heart’s desire. Our guide then walked into the river, tore leaves from a local plant, and gave them to us to eat, and they tasted sour, like the leaves of the Immli.
And as we walked back, I could feel my blood pounding. A joy flowing in me, with springs in my feet. My body had explored the world just by using its two feet. This was pure, unadulterated, non-commercial joy. There was a humanness to the hike & the happiness it brought. I told our guide, this unplanned hike had been the best part of the trip for me. And it was!
Nothing provides such balm for the heart as wandering somewhere far from the world of men, in a place of pure water and fresh leaf.
— Essays in Idleness
So Why I Am Telling You These Stories?
My resolution for the year 2022 was to build and live a good life. To be happy. I had been sad since 22nd October 2012 and had accepted it as the norm. But by the end of 2021, I felt that I had paid my dues, and had a right to be happy.
But then — what is true happiness & how can we build an actual good life? What is a good life for me? I no more wanted to take others’ ideas of a happy life and wanted to find my own answers.
My questions led me to pay attention to the sky, the trees, the birds, and the insects. I researched & learned about the trees on the streets of Karachi: Neem, Imli, badam, peepal, bargad, and Mustafa Kamal’s disastrous, tamrad tree. I took out the time to be idle & look at the sky, or admire the nests made by little sparrows. One night, I was standing outside, looking up at the moon, and heard my parrot say from inside the house, I love you. The majestic moon, and a message of love. That was a delightful, happy moment.
I drank fresh water flowing down from the glacier, I played with orphan puppies, I laughed at my students’ silliness, I enjoyed looking at people enjoying themselves, and I loved my loved ones.
I found that true joy comes when we use our bodies in the physical world, so I picked up a skateboard. Now, I may at best become a flimsy skater or maybe, with practice, I’ll become a reasonable skater. I will definitely never be a flying-over-the-stairs skater. But I will continue to work on finding joy using mostly my human existence, without any artificial, commercial add-ons.
Not everything was rosy. The skills needed to move our educational camp out of the graveyard were beyond my abilities, and I literally eat dust. The months from August to November tested me in every way, & at times, I failed. At one point, I had to stop all my paid work activities to focus on the camp & my mental health. But the fact that I could identify the pain and choose my mental health over money tells me that I have made progress. That I know I can’t have it all.
My 2022 resolution helped me grow a lot. But at the end of the year, I don’t have all the answers. There’s still some sadness and some important personal questions that I will take into the year 2023. But if I will eat dust again, I know I can just go look at the sky.
‘I have relinquished all that ties me to the world, but the one thing that still haunts me is the beauty of the sky.’
— Essays in Idleness
In Conclusion
I learned that I did not need to spend money to be happy. I can find ways to be as joyful as the boys by the lake. And I want to get the most out of the experience of being a human. (No robots for me, please.) Nobody else is responsible for my happiness. I can take care of it myself. Thank you very much.
How did your 2022 resolution go?