Imagine
walking down a narrow road, trudging away aimlessly with a single
thought on your mind, and this was no ordinary thought, it was the
thought of thoughts. It was that kind of thought that put other
thoughts to shame, and would put your mind on verge of exploding.
At the
very least that thought still ran through my mind, it was like my
brain cells had no other option but to bombard me with that single
thought, and yet I was no where near an answer. I tried really hard
to make sense of it, and “it” being happiness. It wasn't that I
was searching for meaning, oh no I haven't reached there yet that's a
whole other level, but what I was so profoundly trying to grasp was
the idea of what we as people have described as happiness, and guess
what?
I have no
clue!
See what
I couldn't understand was, how the cruel and wicked ruled these
streets with power and money, while good and kind, suffered with
betrayal and anguish. On one side you had the rich, who simply got
richer, and on the other side you had the poor who simply (no matter
what they did) got poorer.
The rich
seemed happy (or what looked like happiness) with all their money,
fancy cars and gigantic houses, while the poor could only believe in
pursuing what they thought was rightfully theirs “happiness”,
since food wasn't rich to the palette, a mere cardboard box was
considered to be home and clothes were just rags stitched together.
No wonder
they were running after something they believed was rightfully
theirs.
And I
must confess, I to am one of those fools who was in pursuit of
happiness, but at that point I considered the phrase “the pursuit
of happiness” to be the most ridiculous idea, because it simply
made no sense, how could you pursue something you would never find?
As a I walked down this empty, soulless path, where the division of
our social class was so eminent. I carried on my aimless adventure
to search for happiness.
It was a
that point I came across an old man who was sitting on the corner of
the sidewalk draped in rags, a form of creaky old bones, a fringe of
grey white hair waving its way across his mottled bald scalp, a dirty
ruffled beard which may have been white at some point in time, but
you could hardly make out the color because of the dirt and perhaps
the years of smog that had so enticingly called this old man's beard,
a home. His teeth were brown and yellow (or what was left of his
teeth), and it was quite evident that the discoloration was the
result of years of smoking or chewing tobacco. His own age was on the
tipping side of being completely indeterminate. It was like if you
picked a random number, he would probably end up being older than
that. His face heavily lined, (proof of the many years he had spent in
this world) narrow, deep and wrinkled yet were filled with
wisdom.
He was as
best described, a pirate who hadn't felt the pleasures of the rough
sea in years.
As I
passed him, I did what every other person would do for those less
fortunate, I slipped him a twenty and went on my path. But, it was at
that point I heard someone calling me, “Ohai, boy! I believed you
dropped this”.
I turned
and to my surprise the old man was giving back the twenty I had so
willingly given to him.
“Hurry
up boy, you don't keep an old buzzard like me waiting, time isn't
really my best friend you know!”. Okay I admit it, he was a bit more
graphic with his words, but I had to keep it PG-13. Anyways, I stood
their confused, and perhaps may have looked a bit stupid, may be this
how a monkey feels when its trainer tells it salute as he rings that
little drum in his hand.
I walked
back to the old man, and tried to convince him to take the twenty,
but failed. I starred at him blankly, as he was holding up the twenty
I had given to him, and thought to myself that this old fool had lost
it, as in he made twenty bucks easy just by sitting on the corner of
some random street, and he was giving it back.
I
hesitantly took back the twenty, not to disrespect the old man's
wishes and then returned to my unadventurous journey only to have
this sudden curiosity drag me back to the old man. I went straight up
to him with complete determination to find out, why on earth would he
return the twenty I had given him.
I asked
him without any hesitation “why did you give me back the money?”.
He chuckled and replied, “My dear boy! I'm not begging, nor am I in
a troubled state, I haven't sold you anything nor have a I done
anything for you to reward me, then why should I take your money?”
Sure, the
old man had a point, but I still wasn't convinced. I asked “how
could you not be in a troubled state? As in you live on a sidewalk,
you don't have a roof over your head or even proper clothes to
wear?”. He smiled through his gaped teeth and said, “I live like
this not because of misfortune, but by choice”.
Okay I
had it, it was clear that this old man had escaped from a mental asylum
and was left here to live out the last moments of his life. I was
sure he was 'coo-coo', living on the street, without the delicious
aroma of food, the warm touch of a shelter, and the crisp wear of
clean cloths. Yup! This old man had lost it.
He
laughed at the blank look I gave him and continued to explain, “Yes,
I live like this by choice, as in I have no family to look after, I
don't have money on my mind 24/7, I don't have to struggle, my life
is peaceful and easy, and it may seem difficult to comprehend, but I
am happy with my life”.
At that
point I found myself sitting right beside him, and was ready to
bombard him with questions, but the only thing that kept haunting my
mind was what he said, Happy! Happy!
I asked
him “how do make a living? As in no matter how much you'd like to
believe it you can't live without money, especially in today's
world”. He turned to his side and at fiddled with his ragged up
bag...
“AH HA!
You sell drug to kids causing them to become addicts to your 'stuff',
where by which you force them in to begging and earn money” proud
of my enlightened resolution as if it fell from the sky, and blinded
by my own sheer worth, I hadn't realized what he had in his hand and
by the time I realized what he was holding, I could see the blatant
look behind his wrinkled eyes and raised furry brow of “boy what
you been smokin?”
Embarrassed
and realizing that my tongue and once again outwitted my brain, I did
what any self respecting traveler who was on the search for wisdom
would do, I shut up! And decided it was best if the old man would
keep speaking.
He had a
sketchbook in his hand along with some pieces of charcoal, and to my
surprise he began to sketch the scenery around him. Once he was done,
he turned his sketch around and showed it to me.
“This
is what I do all day, I love doing it, and if someone who passes me
by loves it to, they buy it from me and that's how I earn. For food,
I'm right next to a temple that offers be breakfast, lunch and
dinner, and as far as the idea of shelter is concerned, well this
city and its contents are my shelter”.
Amazed at
the old man's idea of a living, I went on questioning and he went on
answering. This back and forth tug of war between the old man and I
ended up becoming a conversation that would change me forever. I
stared at this sage old crackpot, and was lost in my own thoughts as
he continued to talk about his life.
I thought
to myself that this oldie showed that his life had no meaning, no
aim, no purpose, no direction and yet he seemed happy.
By the
love of God and everything Holy, I just couldn't figured it out. What
was he doing right?
