The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Art of Purring (13 page)

“The formula is H equals S plus C plus V,” said the man, as he keyed it in and it came up on the screen. “Happiness equals what’s called your
biological set point,
or S, plus the conditions of your life, C, plus V, your voluntary activities. According to this theory, each individual has a set point, or average level of happiness. Some people are naturally upbeat and cheerful, putting them at one end of the bell curve. Others are temperamentally gloomy and fall to the other end. The vast majority of us fall somewhere in the middle. This set point is our personal norm, the base level of subjective well-being we tend to return to after the triumphs and tragedies and day-to-day ups and downs of our lives. Winning the lottery might make you happier for a while, but the research shows that eventually you are likely to revert to your set point.”

“Is there a way to change the set point?” asked a young woman with a British accent. “Or are we just stuck with it?”

I hopped from the floor to the bed, and the bed to the desk, so I could follow the discussion better.

“Meditation,” said a man with a shiny bald head and glowing skin. “It has a powerful impact. Studies have shown that the set points of experienced meditators are right off the scale.”

Yes,
I thought,
His Holiness certainly knows about that!

“Turning to conditions, C,” continued the man who had been explaining set-point theory, “there are some things about our conditions we can’t control—gender, age, race, sexual orientation, for example. Depending on where you’re born in the world, those factors may or may not have a huge impact on your likely level of happiness.

“As for V, the voluntary variables,” he said, “these include activities you choose to pursue, such as exercising, meditating, learning to play the piano, getting involved with a cause. Such activities require ongoing attention, which means that you don’t habituate to them in the way that you might get used to a new car, say, or a new girlfriend and lose interest when the novelty wears off.”

This prompted chuckling around the world.

He went on. “When you take the happiness formula overall, you can see that while there are certain things that can’t be changed, there are others that can. The key focus should be on things you can change that will have a positive impact on your feeling of well-being.”

A distant crash of cymbals and the blast of a Tibetan horn reminded me of the ceremony being held at Namgyal Monastery that day. All the monks were being treated to a celebratory meal in honor of several newly graduated Geshes who had successfully come to the end of their 14 years of study. In the past, I had found that spending time near the monastery kitchens on such occasions proved very rewarding.

Hopping down from Sam’s desk and heading toward the stairs, I reflected on the happiness formula. It was an interesting perspective, and not so different from what His Holiness used to say. Contemporary research from the West and ancient wisdom from the East seemed to be arriving at the same place.

Several days later Bronnie Wellenksy arrived at the café with a new flyer to be posted on the notice board. Bronnie, the 20-something Canadian coordinator of an education charity, used the café notice board to display posters for tourists, announcing activities like visits to craft centers and concerts by local performers. She was boisterous, jolly, and always on the move, her shoulder-length hair perennially disheveled. Although she had been in Dharamsala for only about six months, she was already remarkably well connected.

“This one’s perfect for you,” she called out to Sam, as she pinned a flyer to the board.

Sam looked up from his screen.

“What’s that?”

“We need volunteer teachers to give local teenage kids basic computer training. It boosts their employability.”

“I already have a job,” replied Sam.

“It’s
very
part time,” Bronnie said. “Like two evenings a week. Even one evening would be great.”

Having secured the flyer in a prominent position, she made her way across to the bookstore counter.

“I’ve n-never taught anybody before,” Sam told her. “I mean, I’m not qualified. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“At the beginning,” she shot back, responding to his uncertain expression with a dazzling smile. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve never taught before. These kids know nothing. They don’t come from families with computers at home.
Anything
you could help them with would be so, like, amazing. Sorry, I don’t know your name,” she said, reaching her hand across the counter. “I’m Bronnie.”

“Sam.”

As he shook her hand, he seemed to notice her for the very first time.

“I’ve seen you working at the computer,” she said.

He held up his arms in mock surrender. “A geek.”

“Didn’t mean it that way,” she said cheerily.

“But it’s true,’” he countered, with a shrug.

Holding his gaze she said, “You have no idea how much you could help these kids. Even the stuff you take for granted would be a revelation.”

I knew the most likely cause of Sam’s reluctance. In the past he had told both Franc and Geshe Wangpo that he just wasn’t “a people person.” And here was Bronnie asking him to stand up in front of a group and teach.

Bronnie hadn’t taken her eyes off his and was still smiling warmly. “Of all the voluntary activities you could do, this would use your abilities best of all.”

It was the V word that did it.
Voluntary.
Little did Bronnie know that she had hit on one of the key variables in the happiness formula.

“I would help, of course,” she offered.

Could she see his resistance beginning to crack?

“The Internet people across the road are donating their facilities,” Bronnie explained. “It would only be one hour, in the late afternoon. Basic word processing, perhaps spreadsheets—that kind of thing.”

Sam was nodding.

“Oh,
please
say you’ll do it!” she gushed.

A smile formed at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “Okay, okay!” he said, looking down at the counter. “I’ll do it.”

Sam took his teaching responsibilities very seriously. He had soon downloaded some tutorials for beginners, watched some YouTube videos on Teaching 101, and had begun making notes. Several times during quiet moments in the café I heard him asking the waiters about this word or that concept: was it something that young Indians would understand?

I don’t know when Sam’s first computer skills class took place. It must have been one afternoon after I had already gone home to Jokhang. But soon a perceptible change came over him. He was spending less time behind the counter in the bookstore and more time talking to customers. Something about his posture had changed, too. He looked taller somehow.

His early classes had gone well enough for him to continue. I knew this from a remark Bronnie made when she came to visit him at the café one morning.

“You were
amazing
last night,” she told him, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh, it was only …”

“Two hours of questions!” she said, laughing. “That’s unheard of.”

“Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.”

“Including the geek who can’t teach?”

“Even him.”

“
Especially
him, I’d say.” Leaning over the counter she took his hand and told him something that made him explode with laughter. Yes, Sam—belly-laughing. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t heard it with my own charcoal ears.

Something was up, dear reader. Something that began with V but didn’t end there. Not if my feline intuition was anything to go by.

It was at the end-of-the-day hot-chocolate session that my instincts were confirmed. As it happened, Lobsang was also in the bookstore that evening. Serena asked him to join them, an invitation he accepted. Watching Lobsang and Serena sit down on a sofa side by side, Sam opened the door leading up to his apartment. There was a thundering on the staircase as he ascended. Muffled voices could be heard from above, then the sound of his footsteps descending, followed by those of someone else.

I stared at Bronnie, fascinated. It was the first time I’d seen her with her hair straight and shiny and her face transformed by makeup. She was dressed in figure-hugging jeans and a pretty top.

“This is Bronnie,” Sam said, introducing her to Lobsang. No introduction to Serena was needed as they had already met. “My girlfriend,” he added.

Bronnie gazed at him with an adoring expression.

Sam beamed.

Lobsang folded his palms together at his heart and bowed.

Serena chuckled. “I’m very happy for both of you!”

After they all sat down, Kusali enacted the end-of-the-day ritual of hot chocolate, dog biscuits, and my saucer of milk.

Lobsang looked from Bronnie to Sam with a serene smile. “So where did you two meet?”

“I needed volunteers for our computer training program,” replied Bronnie. “We’re trying to get some of the kids here job-ready, and Sam stepped up to the plate.”

Sam grinned. “That’s one way of putting it. She wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

“You can stop any time you like,” she teased. Then, looking over at Serena and Lobsang, she said, “He’s not going to. He’s an amazing teacher, and the kids just love him.”

Sam looked down at the floor.

“They even have a name for him.”

“Stop!” Sam said.

“The second, or was it the third, evening he was there—”

“Bronnie!”

“—they decided he should be called
Super-Geek.
With the greatest affection, of course.”

Serena laughed. “Of course.”

Bronnie was relentless. “He has such a great way of getting things across. You can see the lightbulbs going on just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“I’m only following online course notes,” Sam protested. He felt the need to temper her enthusiasm, although as he leaned back in the sofa he seemed to be enjoying the attention.

“More important than the technical stuff,” continued Bronnie, reaching over to take his hand, “you give them confidence. The feeling that whatever they don’t know, they can easily master. That’s priceless.”

“Then you have discovered a real vocation,” observed Lobsang.

Sam nodded. “I have. I mean, I love books, but I find I enjoy teaching, too. It’s like a whole new dimension has opened up, thanks to Bronnie.”

“You mean, thanks to the Formula,” she said wryly.

“Formula?” asked Serena.

“Sam says he only started because I was so pushy,” Bronnie said. “But then he admitted that voluntary activity was part of some formula for happiness.”

“This is most interesting,” Lobsang said. “Please tell us about it, Sam.”

Sam began explaining about set points, conditions, and voluntary variables. I finished my milk, washed my face, and hopped onto Serena’s lap, kneading it tentatively a few times before settling down.

After Sam had finished explaining—with much greater authority than he had explained things in the past—Lobsang said, “So for you, your V—voluntary activity—is helping students get jobs?”

Sam nodded. “Exactly.”

“We’ve already had one company say they’ll take our top three students,” said Bronnie.

“This is a marvelous example!” Lobsang said, clapping his hands together in delight. “What I like is that by benefiting others, you”—he gestured to Sam and Bronnie as a couple—“have benefited, too! I know a verse that seems relevant. It’s about work becoming love made visible.”