During our school years, one of the most frequently assigned essay topics was “Health is Wealth” or “The Importance of Health in Life.” Almost unfailingly, the opening line read: “If wealth is lost, nothing is lost; if health is lost, everything is lost.” At the time, this statement sounded more like a rhetorical flourish than a deeply held conviction. Our demanding academic routines, professional pressures, and the emotional weight of relationships rarely allowed us to pause and absorb the wisdom embedded in those words. As adults, many of us claim to value health. Some meticulously follow diet charts and exercise schedules, while others adopt healthier routines only after being nudged—sometimes firmly—by doctors and alarming medical reports. Yet this raises an essential question: Does adhering to a diet plan or an exercise regimen truly make us healthy?
Health, after all, extends beyond a well-toned body or favourable test results. True well-being exists when the body and mind are in harmony, and when the mind is as happy as the body is strong. Without this balance, health remains more of a checklist than a lived experience. A few months ago, I accompanied my husband to Dehradun for a week-long mental well-being programme organised by his corporation. The training agency actively encouraged spouses to participate, cheerfully endorsing the idea with the tagline “The more, the merrier.” When my husband asked if I would join him, I replied with calm confidence, “Teaching is not an exhausting profession.” Nevertheless, with visions of misty mountains and leisurely mornings, I surrendered—less to the programme and more to the promise of a quiet little vacation in the valley.
The seven days that followed were surprisingly uneventful in the conventional sense. There were no long-winded lectures, no exhaustive presentations, and no lofty sermons on meditation or mindfulness. Instead, the instructor urged us to reorient our outlook on life—to recognise the importance of remaining calm and happy even in the face of adversity. “Unbelievable, improbable,” we said in a chorus on the first day, scepticism thick in the air. Yet, as the programme progressed, he gently dismantled our disbelief, using simple, practical examples to show us that what appears impossible often lies well within reach. Life frequently throws curveballs our way. Yet few problems lack solutions; more often than not, those solutions are uncomplicated and plainly visible.
{{/usCountry}}The seven days that followed were surprisingly uneventful in the conventional sense. There were no long-winded lectures, no exhaustive presentations, and no lofty sermons on meditation or mindfulness. Instead, the instructor urged us to reorient our outlook on life—to recognise the importance of remaining calm and happy even in the face of adversity. “Unbelievable, improbable,” we said in a chorus on the first day, scepticism thick in the air. Yet, as the programme progressed, he gently dismantled our disbelief, using simple, practical examples to show us that what appears impossible often lies well within reach. Life frequently throws curveballs our way. Yet few problems lack solutions; more often than not, those solutions are uncomplicated and plainly visible.
{{/usCountry}}It is our inflated sense of self that clouds judgment, distorts situations, and pushes us to hunt for complex answers to what are essentially simple questions. The instructor taught us to laugh in the most absurd of situations—miss a flight, laugh; lying on an operating table, laugh; in excruciating pain, laugh. His seemingly innocuous question, “Time kya hua hai (What is the time)?” became our cue for collective laughter.
Does laughing erase pain or magically dissolve difficulties? No. But then again, neither does brooding. And if neither changes the situation, why not choose laughter? Life, admittedly, has not transformed dramatically since the programme ended. Yet it has gifted us a small, enduring ritual. Once a day, my husband and I ask each other, “Time kya hua hai?” and break into unrestrained laughter—because, quite simply, it is time to laugh. sonrok15@gmail.com
The writer is an associate professor of English at SD College, Ambala Cantt.