Lifelong Happiness - a short story by Hilath Rasheed -- Hilath's Home Page

By Hilath Rasheed
(Dec 2004)

Mirah looked down. The grey ground looked inviting. In fact, anything would have been inviting at this point other than life, living.

“What do you think you are doing!”

Mirah turned around. He was surprised that anybody would come up the terrace at this time of the day.

“Why can’t you stay at home for a weekend once?” Mirah almost shouted. He was quite upset that his carefully planned plunge was interrupted.

“Hey, buddy. I see I’m not the one who needs a vacation here.” Madih took a puff from the joint he was smoking, and with his other hand, took hold of Mirah’s arm, and slowly helped him down.

“I…” Mirah trailed off. He looked at the terrace floor.

“Help me!” he cried suddenly. His knees felt weak. He held onto Madih and Madih held onto him.

“Come on. Let’s get you a coffee.” Madih helped Mirah walk down the fire escape.

***

“How can I find what I am looking for?” Mirah took a long swig of the sweet hard black coffee and savored it.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Madih was observing him closely.

“Lifelong happiness,” Mirah said slowly.

“Lifelong happiness…” Madih echoed the phrase slowly as if giving it deep thought.

He was not too happy that his sunrise this morning was ruined because he had to save Mirah from himself.

Now as they sat at the elevated Dolphin View café, he found Mirah’s round face basked in golden light, much like a sun itself, but a poor substitute.

One or two guys in office attire were the only customers at this early hour. Two cups of coffee sat on their table, nothing more. Yuppies, Madih thought. Or probably the waiter is late with their breakfast, he thought, promising to tackle his cynicism some day. Chill up, he told himself silently.

“Nice phrase, huh,” Mirah said.

“What?” Madih asked when his train of thought was interrupted.

“I said, nice phrase,” Mirah said, and then forgot what he was going to say next when he realized that he was making fun of himself.

“You were always the writer,” Madih replied.

He did not say anything for a few seconds.

“I think I have the answer for that,” he said after a while.

“What’s that?” Mirah asked with a tinge of excitement in his voice.

“I am going to Bangkok for a few days.”

“The answer’s in Bangkok?”

“No. No. I have the answer with me but I will tell you only after I return from Bangkok,” Madih replied.

“Why are you going to Bangkok?”

“Oh, the usual.” Another puff. “Buy clothes for bro’s store.”

“When will you be back?”

“Probably a week later.”

“I don’t think I can wait.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I have the answer.”

“Alright.”

“Meantime, you will try to figure it out.”

“How’s that?” Mirah frowned.

“I don’t know. Ask around I guess.”

***

Muju sat down heavily on the wooden stool that served as an uncomfortable "sofa" at Esjehi Gallery cafe. He loosened his tie. It was damn hot. And though this was an open-air restaurant, it was right in the middle of the island, with only a few trees providing shade. The few rays which broke through the shade stung his bare arm making him itch. And to add to his discomfort, Esjehi Gallery did not offer proper lunch. He had to do with a few pieces of pizza and cake though his stomach growled loudly. Damn, Muju thought. Everyone must be hearing that.

Mirah sat facing him.

“Buddy,” he began, “I need to ask you something real serious. Don’t take me for a psycho, OK?”

“Alright.”

Mirah held Muju’s eyes squarely as he began. “I was talking to Madih the other day about finding lifelong happiness.”

Muju smiled. “I know where you getting at. Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

“No. No. This time it’s different. Madih says he knows the answer to finding lifelong happiness.”

“Oh,” Muju sounded disappointed. “I’ve always thought that nobody can be ecstatic at all times.”

“No,” Mirah began quite animatedly, “I am not looking for a perpetual high or eternal numbness of my mind. I just want some basic things to make me happy that others take for granted.”

“Like what?” Muju asked.

The coffees arrived then.

“For example…” Mirah emphasized the word “example”, looked up, looked sideways, and then at Muju. “Hmm… let’s see. I need someone to make me happy for example.”

Muju lighted up. “You must now have a pretty good idea of what that person would be like,” he said.

“I guess in my mind it will always be a fantasy image of the person. In real life, nobody can live up to that image.”

“The problem is that the person who interests you have to fit and act according to the way you want him or her to act.”

“Him…?” Mirah trailed off because he knew better.

“OK, I know that there’s no such thing as a perfect person. But I am not asking for much. All I want is some basic happinesses that all others seem to enjoy.”

“How do you know all others are happy? They have their own problems,” Muju replied.

“Sure, they do. But they are not bitter to the extent that I have become. Look at them. They smile more often they frown. As for me, I don’t see anything that I should be happy about. People said that technology and development will make life easy but look at us. Little things have become so complicated and we are perpetually trying to solve new problems created by technology and development. In the meantime, we are holing up ourselves surrounded by all these gadgets and entertainment that now we have no time to socialize and develop human contact. I hate SMS and I hate IRC! All this is causing so much stress and depression that humans did not have earlier when life was simpler and uncomplicated. Isn’t it a paradox that all this technology and development were sought in the first place because we humans wanted to make life easier for us? Now isn’t that ironic?”

Muju sat for a while without answering, then he said, “You've been watching too much Heyyanbo.”

***

“Mirah! We've had this conversation before!” Mazdoog protested as he readied to sink into a hard wooden chair at West Park cafetaria.

The setting sun cast an orange glow on everything around them. Single couples and mixed couples occupied the tables nearest the seawall. Romancing under the coconut trees, Mazdoog thought.

“Sit. Sit.” Mirah insisted. “I need to ask you something really important.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me get some coffee first.” Mirah waved over a waiter and gave order for two black coffees.

“Make it hard,” he told the waiter.

He turned to Mazdoog. He put on his serious face. “What I am doing wrong with my life?”

“How would I know?” Mazdoog protested.

He lighted up a Mild Seven, relaxed and leaned back.

He saw that a few tables were occupied by groups of young heroin addicts, their eyes blood-shot slits. My dear Parteys, it is a shame you cannot properly open your eyes to watch this beautiful sunset, Mazdoog thought. But then again, maybe you have seen more, he thought.

“Ok,” he looked at Mirah. “What you are doing wrong is that you are actually doing nothing about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said.”

“And that is?”

Mazdoog turned to look at the sun which had half sunk below Vilingili.

He turned back to Mirah. “You should stop spreading yourself around.”

“What does that mean?” Mirah looked bewildered.

“You should stop making yourself available to everyone and concentrate on building quality relationships.”

“Quality relationships…” Mirah trailed.

“Nice phrase,” he said after a while.

Mazdoog took a sip of his coffee and drew on his smoke. “You are a very accessible person. You strike up friendships and relationships easily with everyone you meet wherever, whenever. But what I am saying is that you should concentrate on a few and develop strong relationships rather than spreading yourself thin.”

“Spreading yourself thin.” Mirah echoed.

Mazdoog continued, “You should spend more time with whom you think you can take your relationship to the next level.”

Mirah did not reply.

Mazdoog took a sip of his coffee. “And another thing,” he said, “I think you should have a quality relationship with people of both genders.”

Mirah opened his mouth to say something but Mazdoog interrupted. “This is just a suggestion, you know, since you said that you didn’t want to miss out on anything. This way you’ll know what makes you really happy.”

***

“Why can’t you do anything about it?” Mihad asked as he took another sip of his hard black coffee. He had planned to call it a day earlier but the call from Mirah sounded urgent. But all of Mirah’s calls sounded urgent. That was him. What could he be up to now? To hell with sleep, Mihad thought to himself.

The surfs off Lonuziyaaraiy Kolhu were crashing hard on the tetrapod seawall, driven by the harsh Northeast Monsoon wind, creating a perpetual din that blanketed the silence that otherwise surrounded Tuscaloosa Café at midnight.

A few couples were hanging around the café but nobody would think of sitting on the seawall because of the salt spray.

“There are things that come naturally to you,” Mirah said to Mihad as another surf crash boomed into the seawall.

“And there are things that you have to put an effort into. But the sad thing is, even if you try very hard, sometimes nothing will strike the right chord to make something really happen.”

Mihad took out a Marlboro Light. “You could start by thinking at this point on doing something that you personally can be proud of. That would take your mind off whatever’s troubling you.”

“True, but that would only be a diversion. I would have to confront myself ultimately.”

“True. But I still think you should always be involved in some high-quality creative work that you can be proud of.”

“And what would that be?”

Mihad let out a long puff of smoke. “You could do some critical research work. You could write a book. You could make a film. Anything that you would be really proud of yourself.”

“I don’t think I will ever win the Booker Prize or the Oscar,” Mirah protested.

“You don’t have to. All you need is to be able to feel really happy about yourself that you did something that you think is good. It doesn’t matter what others think of you, whether you are cool or not. You don’t have to measure up to them. You have to feel good about yourself. About being yourself.”

***

“Why are we here?” Madih asked, though he already knew the answer.

Mirah looked weary. “I feel so lonely.”

“Why are we here?” Madih asked again.

“I am so tired.”

Madih took hold of Mirah’s shoulders and shook him a little. “WHY ARE WE MEETING HERE ON THIS TERRACE AGAIN?” Madih emphasized every word.

Mirah looked at him sadly. “Because this is the moment of truth,” he said.

Then he doubled over, surprising Madih.

“Shit! I just can’t believe I said that!” Mirah roared. “That’s a terrible cliché!”

Madih did not look amused. “Glad that you recognized that it was a cliché,” he said sarcastically.

Mirah stopped and looked up at Madih. “What do you mean?”

“You recognize what’s wrong with you.” Madih was looking at him intently. “You know who you really are. And you know what you want.”

Mirah was silent.

“In fact,” Madih went on, “you would have pretty much come to terms with yourself when you were young.”

“I am still young,” Mirah insisted.

“Narcissist.”

“I’m not!”

Mirah straightened up. He walked over to the edge. He could hear the sound of passing vehicles. Vroom, vroom, vroom.

The street below was still dark. But he will soon get to bask in the sunrise.

“Alright. Tell me. What is the secret for lifelong happiness?” Mirah turned towards Madih.

“Eternal happiness?” Madih said slowly. “That could only be got if you could become God.”

Mirah blinked. “I don’t think anybody ever has become a god.”

“My point exactly.”

Mirah frowned. He turned his back to Madih and looked down below. The grey bricks of the street looked inviting. He stepped onto the edge of the terrace.

Then he looked up. Specks of fluffy white clouds dotted the sky which seemed a little bluer today.

The horizon across the sea was streaked by a single blazing red line. The sun must already be rising, Mirah thought.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

He hesitated.