The Crafty Nature of Desires

When I was around ten years old, I went to the market with my parents and I wanted to purchase a plastic toy gun. I had fallen so badly in love with the gun that at that moment I wanted nothing else. I begged my father to purchase that gun for me. I promised that I won’t ask for anything else my entire life if my desire for that gun is fulfilled. After fifteen minutes of promising and cajoling, the gun was in my hand when I left for the home.

I played with the gun for almost two hours. I shot glasses, books and flower vases with plastic bullets. When I went to sleep, I was completely bored with the gun, and now I wanted something else—a set of a plastic bat and a ball.

My promise of not asking for anything else didn’t last even for a single day. Since then it has happened thousands of times in my life. When I get a new desire, I become so obsessed with it that I want its fulfillment with my heart and soul and liver and kidneys. But when my desire actually gets fulfilled, I enjoy it for a very short while, and then a new desire erupts which again overwhelms me with the promise of happiness.

Now I have reached a stage where I don’t trust my desires for happiness. I have understood that desires are like politicians. They promise a lot, but deliver a little. Their fulfillment can make me happy for a few minutes or hours or days or, at most, a few months. But after that, their effect wears off, and I want some new desire to keep my mind engaged with empty promises of some future happiness.

I don’t know if I have become a half-baked philosopher or I am just a lazy bum who wants to avoid working hard to fulfill ambitions. But there is one thing I have experienced after understanding the crafty nature of desires. I have more free time to enjoy what I have right now because I spend less energy chasing something which might come or might not come in future.