Here’s a busy Mumbaikar's take on Ruskin Bond's 'How to Be Happy'

Ruskin Bond with his granddaughter Shrishti who cooks for him and no one else. Pics Courtesy/Harpercollins India

Dear Mr. Bond,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Touching 90 is no mean feat. Most city folk like us would be delighted, and pleasantly surprised, if we survive middle age, given that we breathe polluted air, and pursue the rat race till our limbs give up. This is precisely why your recent book, How To Be Happy, caused much curiosity.

As I flipped through the book on my daily commute, it felt like a personal ode packed with episodic anecdotes, gift-wrapped all the way from your Himalayan abode. Having met you in your Landour home nearly a decade ago, I could easily visualise you putting it together from your desk backed by that unforgettably stunning view. Apart from inspiring most of your stories, and its memorable characters, you've always credited life in the hills as the reason for your positive state of mind and good health. Alas! By then, I had already hit the first pothole-filled stretch. Imagery of a cloud-kissed paradise had vanished into thin air in a flash. Vistas of monotonous glass façade high-rises, endless construction activity and garbage piles made it more challenging to do the landscape swap in my head.

Bond suggests laughing at yourself in the mirror for a good laugh; (right) With his cat Mimi, who thinks the ball is a mouse

I am miles away from your idyllic world. Your book nudges people like us to slow down, soak in the good stuff, and find happiness in the little things. But it's not easy to stop, stand and stare. I could get run over by an errant biker or driver. Don't get me wrong. The book has plenty of bright spots in the form of relatable advice that I will treasure, be it about the joys of a full breakfast, being patient despite the odds, the benefits of cooking, and my favourite one - the importance of books, which you say, is the best insurance in old age. I appreciate your mantras about avoiding fast food, growing plants, and caring for our eyes. It teleported me to my teenage years, where I would spend precious hours listening to my grandfather. Some of your suggestions, like learning to laugh into the mirror, elicited giggles, offering much-needed respite amidst the din outside.

I checked the weather app on my phone: 80 per cent humidity. This was soon after reading that ‘happy' list in which you suggest extending afternoon nap-time in the rains. Sigh. The lyrical chapter about birds was another favourite, but pray, how do I listen to their chirp amidst the cacophony of honking cars and concrete mixers?

After this critical rant [sorry, it was meant to be a review], I can imagine you, in your witty demeanour, suggesting that I seek refuge in the hills. I hope to take that up someday. Until then, I'll make do with dipping into this book for a healthy dose of your tried-and-tested guide to happiness. Oh, and yes, here's to hitting that century mark!

Yours sincerely,
The time-strapped, pollution-affected Mumbaikar.

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