Ignorance is truly bliss, my friend. It’s like wearing a comfy pair of blinders while the world is out there frantically trying to turn itself upside down. Let me expand on this delightful philosophy and, for good measure, sprinkle in some humor—Trump-style executive orders and all.
You see, some people are like Munu, forever carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. They’ll wake up and immediately wonder: What’s the geopolitical climate today? Or worse, How many executive orders has Trump signed before breakfast? Now, I don’t know about you, but imagining Trump, pen in hand, frantically signing orders at a speed faster than a printer, gives me an odd sense of amusement. I mean, he must’ve had forearms like a professional tennis player by the time he was done. Hundreds a day? Surely his aides must have started slipping in blank pages for him to sign just to keep him busy!
But not me. I’m a proud Chunu. My philosophy? Sanu ki! Why should I bother? Let the world do its own thing while I sit back with my cup of chai, pretending Netflix’s auto-play feature is the most pressing issue of my day. If the pudding is made for me, fantastic. If it’s not, well then, tainu ki! You see, the pudding of life tastes sweeter when you don’t poke your nose into everyone else’s kitchen.
The problem with being a Munu is that you’ll know everything—every war, every executive order, every meteor hurtling toward Earth—and you’ll also age faster. It’s exhausting. For instance, a friend called me up recently, a Canadian citizen, very worried about Trump’s executive orders. “Do you know he’s signed over a hundred orders?!” they exclaimed, as though Trump had just set a Guinness World Record for Most Pens Used in a Single Day. I replied, “Do you know how little I care? I’ve just started rewatching Friends for the 19th time. That’s where my executive priority lies.”
And don’t even get me started on people who stay up at night worrying about cosmic collisions or nuclear wars. They’ll read about how some asteroid might collide with Earth in 2145 and immediately lose sleep. I mean, why? By the time it happens, we’ll all be cosmic dust ourselves, peacefully ignorant in the great beyond. So instead of worrying about the next big bang, I’d rather worry about the next big bite—preferably of some delicious butter naan.
Even my friend’s obsession with the Russia-Ukraine war leaves me scratching my head. “Why should I know the details?” I ask. “Am I going to be called in to mediate? Do I look like the United Nations? Let me enjoy my afternoon siesta instead.” Because let’s be honest, nothing ruins your day faster than knowing too much. It’s like buying a lifetime subscription to anxiety. Why read about every world crisis when you can read a cookbook and whip up some halwa instead?
The best part about being a Chunu is the ability to enjoy life as it comes. Let others calculate the planetary alignments, nuclear trajectories, and political maneuvers. As for me, I’m happy in my bubble of blissful ignorance. If the world ends tomorrow, I won’t even know it’s coming. I’ll be too busy watching TV, eating pudding, or sleeping like a baby.
So my advice to all the Munus out there? Take a deep breath, turn off the news, and let Trump sign all the executive orders he wants—who knows, maybe one of them will be to declare Ignorance Day a national holiday. Until then, I’ll be celebrating it every day.
Guchi.
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