Daily Times

In the past few weeks my social media accounts were inundated by photos and comments on a wedding. It was the wedding of a friend’s daughter, and some of the events were held in Turkey where they had theme parties and yacht lunches and elaborate dinners, and each event seemed more fabulous than the last.

It all seemed like a lot of fun, actually.

While some of the posts were among friends, there were also several posts by bloggers and news media, thus ensuring that the public at large also got to see details of the seemingly endless series of amazing events. I suppose that’s the (dis?)advantage of the bride’s father having a political bent. And being wealthy. Very wealthy.

So every fashion blogger, designer and celebrity stalker worth their salt had to post and repost photos and comments, which in turn meant their followers, and even the public at large had to step in and post a comment or two. And most of these posts were quite appalling.

People were critical and mean and horrid in their comments, but they still wanted to see more! They followed every event, every dress, every venue, and lapped up every moment all the while expressing deep distaste every single time.

Why do we do this? We criticise others while secretly wanting the exact thing for us. We are petty and mean, but we want others to be gracious and respectful. We deliberately scratch the paint off a shiny blue BMW parked at the Gymkhana; does that really fill some obscure cleft in the heart? Our own viewpoint on things is always correct while the opinion of others is invariably wrong. Why?

The ones who are the most vociferous and critical are mostly the ones who desire to be invited to such events the most. And having failed to secure that invitation remonstrate the loudest.Now don’t get me wrong, there’s merit to the argument for simplicity and austerity, but let’s also be frank here: if you’ve got it why should you not flaunt it? Tell me truthfully, how many of you having the means to would still do otherwise? No, better still. Tell yourself.

And also what about simply minding your own business? After all, it was a private event funded by the concerned individuals themselves, and no public money was involved. Even though the coverage would make you think otherwise. Not many people would take it for what it was: simply, an expression of father’s love for his child.

So my question is: why do we as a nation revel in other people’s misery and find fault with their happiness? Why do we secretly feel happy at a friend’s misfortune and dismay at their success? Financial matters affect us the most, but actually any sort of happiness could make us secretly envious. Even when it’s got nothing to do with us at all. Or especially when it’s got nothing to do with us, maybe. I mean it’s not like there’s only so much happiness to go around so if a friend is happy there’s not going to be enough left over for you.

Seems like a pretty sad state of affairs. No?

And where does happiness actually come from in the first place? For some it certainly does not seem to emanate from photos of a fairy-tale wedding in Istanbul or from someone’s financial success. Does it lie in the ‘victory’ of someone important becoming your new ‘friend’ on Instagram? Is it the purchase of a fancy new toy maybe, whatever your penchant for toys may be these days?

No, it has to come from within.

Do you recall a few months ago, the UAE announced a new cabinet post, a minister for happiness? At the time I thought it was hilarious, now I’m not so sure. Not that we would ever have such a minister here in the land of the pure, but if we did, he/she would end up as much a source of dismay as the countless cabinet members we already have. So here, just as we have to manage our own electrical power and security instead of being provided that by the state we should also set up our own tiny ministers for happiness.

Be they your firstborn or your significant other.

Or perhaps it could even be you. Now that’s a thought.

The writer is chairman of a Hedge Fund, and can be reached at muqtaza@gmail.com