A rich man who has everything that modern consumerist society can offer still feels that nobody could be more unhappy on earth than him
IT was like any other December night in Karachi, cold, but not enough to be uncomfortable. Yet, sleep stubbornly eluded him as he lay stretched, covered by a blanket in his obscenely expensive bed. In spite of having taken a sedative, he felt restless. He tried counting sheep, cows, anything he could think of. By the time Fajr prayers were underway, he had finally abandoned all hope of getting any sleep at all. As everyone else in the house appeared to be blissfully asleep, he wrapped himself in a woollen chaddor and ventured into the lawn to kill time.
He was a rich man and lacked nothing that modern consumerism society could offer for the sake of convenience, comfort or pleasure, though at this moment he felt that nobody could be further removed from ease or comfort than him. As he circled the well-mowed lawn, he mulled over his state of mind.
Try as he might, he could not locate the chink in his armour that left him so depressed and restless. His wealth was undisputed and the doctor had, a week ago, given him a clear bill of health. On the family front, he was well-endowed, too. His wife was a very distinguished dress designer while his two sons were finishing studies at one of the most prestigious universities in North America. His only daughter was engaged to be married to his friend’s banker son and finishing studies at the best art school in the city.
As the first rays of sunlight reflected back from the window panes of his house, he could see the gardener ambling towards him, carrying the tools of his trade with natural ease on his shoulder. He was seeing the gardener after ages, and so he thought it appropriate to get first-hand information from him concerning the developments being undertaken by the gardener in his lawn.
The changes accomplished by the gardener were impressive and pleased with him; he started a friendly conversation with him. He asked the gardener how life was treating him, spontaneously following the train of his inner thoughts about his own state of perpetual depression.
The gardener, contrary to his expectations, did not whine about his station in life. He was, in fact, very happy. Shocked and somewhat disappointed, for he had expected the poor gardener to be a fellow sufferer, more broken by the vicissitudes of life, he asked him why and how he was so happy.
“I sleep soundly every night; my mind is at peace, saheb,” he replied.
Curious, for lack of sleep was the principle malady affecting him, he decided to solicit the gardener’s advice, and obtain his formula on the secret of sound sleep. He pulled up a cane chair for himself and signalled the gardener to sit down, too. The gardener obediently sat down on the lush green lawn and the conversation resumed.
The gardener attributed his peace of mind and joy to his lifestyle, his environs and principally, his family. To the rich man the answer was vague and unsatisfactory. He had expected a more traditional counterpart of his medicinal sleeping pills, some recipe left to the gardener by a wise ancestor learned in hikmat. Not quite contented with the answer, he asked the gardener to relate to him in detail how his lifestyle was a recipe for a night of sound sleep.
Encouraged thus, the gardener began a detailed narration of his life. “When I reach home in the evening, my wife is always there to greet me with a smile. She welcomes me by wiping the sweat from my forehead with her duppatta. This has become a ritual between us and a gesture of love. As soon as I enter the threshold of my house, I can feel the exhaustion and the agony of the day’s work draining away. As soon as I come into the verandah after freshening up, my daughter brings me a hot cup of tea and sitting beside me, starts narrating all about her day in school. As I start sipping tea slowly, the feeling of comfort gradually seeps into my mind and I forget all about the tiring day. After this, I watch TV with my family and soon after the night meal, I go out to meet acquaintances in the neighbourhood. I spend about an hour or so with them and when I go to bed, I find my two sons at either side of my charpoy, diligently massaging my legs. The feeling is so soothing that I go to sleep in no time, waking up the next morning feeling fresh and ready to face a new day.”
Finding the rich man lost in deep thought, the gardener quietly got up to begin his work. The rays of the sun were now falling directly on his face, compelling him to get up from the chair.
While having morning tea all alone in the lounge, he began to think that the gardener was probably right and that peace of mind can only be achieved by mutual love and care in a family, and it had nothing to do with artificial means of comfort. Incidentally, like the gardener, he also had a wife, two sons and a daughter. “Will I ever be in a position to develop that kind of chemistry in this house in order to get sound sleep?” he thought while looking at the family photograph hanging on the wall in the lounge.
A rich man who has everything that modern consumerist society can offer still feels that nobody could be more unhappy on earth than him 
