Memories of an uncomplicated time when we did not dissect happiness

A large part of our life is now transactional. Happiness, too, is being treated as a means to profit

A crisp, triangular paratha with a dollop of white butter or a spoonful of fresh cream, lovingly prepared by my grandmother and relished sometimes standing with her in the kitchen, was all it took to make me happy. Or, writing letters to friends on yellow, ruled sheets and then hearing back from them a few weeks later. Sometimes a shout from a neighbour from across the hedge that she was coming over for lunch with her new dish would do it. "I'll get the chicken; you prepare the phulkas." How delightful it sounded!

Looking back, it still astonishes me how