Fear of Happiness
The Greeks term Cherophobia or fear of rejoicing describes
the fear of participating in activities that would be fun or make them
happy. It does not describe a depressed
person, but is an irrational fear that perhaps by embracing a happy moment,
something tragic will follow. Some feel guilt at being happy when so many are
suffering. For some happiness is an immoral emotion. Calvinists taught children
“that to be happy is to be doing wrong”.
Some artists and poets fear being happy will lead to a loss of
creativity. The Japanese fear that being happy will make them inattentive to
their surroundings and lead to a loss of control over their emotions.
And then there is Bhutan that in 1729 declared “The purpose
of the government is to provide happiness to its people. If it cannot provide
happiness, there is no reason for the government to exist.” In the 1970s
Bhutan’s king introduced gross national happiness (GNH), as being more
important than gross domestic product (GDP), as happy people are productive
people. Bhutan’s initiative inspired many countries who only equated wellbeing
with GDP. Even the renowned economist, Jeffrey Sachs, established the Global
Happiness Council. In 2013 The United
Nations declared March 20 as the International Day of Happiness.
Sociologist Claire Wallace asks ‘If money doesn’t make us
happy, what does?’ Instead of the usual work, family, housing, health paradigm,
Wallace suggests socio-economic security, social cohesion, social inclusion and
social empowerment. These factors
resonate in the context of Pakistan, which values ‘deep social ties and
networks of mutual support’. Adequate income is a subjective measure: a low
wage earner is happy if he can buy his little girl a plastic doll; a wealthy
man is happy if he can afford a booking at a hotel for his son’s wedding. Being
denied social inclusion is a fundamental factor to the sense of deprivation experienced
by the migrants of 1947 or the whole province of Baluchistan. The whole country
feels disempowered both internally as well as globally, leading to demotivation
and a deep-seated despondency.
Pakistanis may not be a happy people but they are a cheerful
people. No gathering of college students is complete without someone with a
half decent voice being coerced to sing to a beat drummed out on a wooden desk.
Villagers in Hazara gather to harvest
grass for winterfeed for animals to the beat of a drum and shehnai, accompanied
by dancers and folk singers to make the work less burdensome. Pakistanis know
how to entertain themselves, and entertainment is an important conduit for
happiness.
Entertainment can be cathartic or a temporary respite from
stress. It connects people, refreshes the mind and creates a space for
reflection and creativity. Large numbers of people attend ghazal or qawwali evenings, mushairas, week
long sufi Urs celebrations or village festivals.
Pakistanis love to eat out at the many food streets or chic
restaurants. Kushti, kabaddi, kite flying, kanchay, street cricket, gilli
danda, kho kho and barf pani have helped adults and children from village to
city to snatch moments of happiness in an otherwise grueling life.
Cinema once an essential part of life has been replaced by television
dramas. A whole generation grew up with comedy shows like Fifty Fifty, Alif
Noon, Loose Talk or the sidesplitting satire of Mushtaq Yusufi, Umar Shareef and
Anwar Maqsood. At the worst of times,
social media is flooded with satirical memes that turn helplessness into the
illusion of empowerment.
While people find their own forms of entertainment at every
possible occasion, the state maintains a deafening silence towards leisure and
entertainment, with the exception of the PIA Arts Academy that shared Pakistani
dance and music across the globe from 1973-1977 and a few sporadic attempts at
developing culture policies that were never implemented.
Christophe Jaffrelot in his book, The Pakistan Paradox,
presents an explanation that differs from the usual reasons given of the shock
of Partition, the pressure to focus on economic stability, or religious
reservations towards entertainment. He links it to the end of the Mughal
Empire, whose vibrant state endorsed culture was ejected by the British Raj.
The displaced and beleaguered Muslim elite became ‘those having a Mughal past
losing to those with a British future’. The loss of empire was equated with years
of ‘dissolute’ kings entertaining themselves with dance, music and poetry
gatherings, reinforced by films such as Shatranj ke Khilari, Mughal-e-Azam and
Umrao Jaan Ada, ignoring the great administrative achievements of the Mughals.
There continues to be a reluctance to provide spaces,
facilities or funding for healthy public entertainment and the arts. The government
has no track record of caring for the wellbeing of the people, only the fiscal
progress of the country, ignoring the connection between a happy nation and
progress. Perhaps the ones who are afraid of happiness in Pakistan are not its
people but the government.
Durriya Kazi
July 29, 2024
Karachi
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