How are you?

It is the one question that is asked more than any other on a daily basis, around the globe. Seven continents, hundreds of countries, thousands of languages, billions of people, and one timeless question: how are you? 

One is compelled to marvel at the robustness of this one tiny three word question: is it not a wonder that it can withstand the fusillade of lies that is shot, almost instantaneously, at its being asked. Doesn't it crumble under the weight of all the lies it attracts? Every day. Every hour. Every minute. The same question across seven continents, in hundreds of countries in thousands of languages asked by billions of people.

A question that, if pondered over intently, has the potential to plunge one into the pit of deepest existential crisis. A question that, if sought to be answered inwardly, can shake us up, wake us up, take us up, and break us up.

Who knows how many doctrines and philosophies, has this seemingly banal three letter question engendered. Innumerable souls must have gained nirvana upon brooding over this question. To the pinnacle of their enlightenment, this three word question must have been the ladder. Only, they must have asked it to their own selves instead of squandering it on others. Their dwelling over this question has enriched them with a wealth that can’t be sized or seized.

 And yet we show no gratitude to and reverence for this question. We just utter it as a greeting— mostly, almost always, when we are not even remotely interested in the reply. And the lips, highly trained as they are, curl into a smile, artfully, making a perfect passage for the most bewildering question that can ever be framed in any human language, to come out: how are you? Just like that.

And the replies to this questions-- Oh the replies to this question! The reservoir of insincerity must be as infinite as the cosmos for the replies to this question to draw from it. How else could this question, and the replies thereof, have sustained since the advent of speech. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Seven continents, hundreds of countries, thousands of languages, billions of people, and one timeless question: how are you?

Even the most scrupulous souls whose lives are validated by nothing but their righteousness, do not hesitate even for a fraction of a moment before they promptly make a reply to this devious question. So much for their tall principles. A tiny, compact, three word question is capable of smashing the fort of veracity which these people claim, or think, to inhabit safely. Down it comes like a house of cards.  All one has to do is to ask: how are you? Just like that.

Should not one’s soul revolt a little before one replies to this question? It (the reply) feeds on one’s misery like a leech. You can’t shake it off. Every time someone asks you this question, you, helplessly, unknowingly, unfeelingly, tirelessly, conceal this leech, this badge of shame, which was sewn into your existence the moment you were brought to life.

The beauty is that questioner never doubts the veracity of the reply, despite knowing the hollowness of it when it’s their turn to reply. Both the parties tug at the cloak of decorum at their ends, trying to hide their respective badges of shame.

Have you wondered if this question asked to confirm whether your life is as nondescript and tiresome as the questioner’s rather than genuinely asking after your well being? And we keep disappointing them with our rehearsed smiles and rehearsed replies. And rehearsed lies.

So the next time someone asks you how are you, don't be an insensitive jerk, regurgitating the most cliche replies that you've practised all your life. Hug them, hold their hand, look them in the eyes, and say, "As are you. The more pressing question is how are you? Ask yourself and you will know it. My answer is is the same as yours." 

Seven continents, hundreds of countries, thousands of languages, billions of people, and one timeless question: how are you? Every day. Every hour. Every minute.