Observations: The Happiest Person I Ever Saw

The last few days have been lovely and sunny here in Vancouver. The cherry blossom trees are just beginning to well, blossom, and it feels so good to get out in the sun, and walk through a temperate rainforest that is just beginning to visibly come to life. Days like these make me happy. So I thought I should write a blog about happiness. No, this is not a blog about the secret to universal happiness. I am not qualified to write about that, and I do not think that such a state exists. Different things make different people happy. Happiness means different things to different people. I cannot reveal the secret of happiness, because I do not know it. I can only report on happiness when I see it.

So who is the happiest person I have ever seen? I would like to have said “happiest man I ever met”, but I did not meet him. However, I did see him, last November in the Indian mountain temple town of Rishikesh.

My wife and I were wandering through an area of Rishikesh called “Muni Ki Reti” (the Hermit’s Sands). This is the place where the fast-flowing Ganges River emerges from the high Himalayas and meets the vast plains of Northern India. “Muni Ki Reti” is a sandy beach, which overlooks the swift Ganges River and the bustling town of Rishikesh beyond. It was a cool sunny day, and across the river in the distance, the temple bells were tinkling. There weren’t too many people walking around “Muni Ki Reti” apart from us, a few white-water rafters in the distance and an assortment of dazed backpackers looking for nirvana. Their search seemed to be going nowhere.

Suddenly in the distance, by the riverbed, I saw a lone “sadhu” (hermit) who was relaxing on his “charpoy” (a wooden cot bound together with rope). It was obvious that he lived on that riverbank. His sole possessions were his “charpoy”, a couple of tin drums that contained his meagre personal belongings, a stove, and a battered old transistor radio that was playing old Hindi film songs sung by Kishore Kumar. Like many other sadhus, he was dressed in only a loincloth, though the day was quite chilly. His hair was braided and dreadlocked as is the sadhu custom, and he looked like an Indian version of Bob Marley. He was lean and muscular, and his age was undeterminable. He may have been thirty. On the other hand, he may have been seventy. It was hard to tell, just by looking at him.

Many sadhus are usually looking for your money, and since most of them live alone, they tend to be a garrulous bunch who will take every opportunity they get to chew your ear off with stories about spirituality and God, in return of course, for a little cash. Having been the reluctant victim of such sermons from sadhus in the past, I was a little wary and gave the guy a wide berth. But I could not help but notice how happy he looked.

As I walked past him, he turned around and gave me the happiest, sunniest, laziest, most welcoming smile I have ever seen on the face of a human being. It was such an infectious, contagious smile, that I could not help but smile back. I observed him closely. He did not look like he was under the influence of the potent local “ganja”. It was also obvious that he was not looking for an audience. Nor was he looking for a handout. I was in his neighbourhood, and it was just his way of welcoming me to it.

Four months later, that smile has still stayed with me. The next time I am up at “Muni Ki Reti” in Rishikesh, I will keep an eye out for this guy. If I see him, I will ask him what makes him so happy. I may also learn a thing or two about happiness.