Even the bitterest of skeptics and cynics would have to concede that our country runs a full-fledged democracy and that people do have quite a say in what’s going on. Even if we are screwing up the country, at least we will have the satisfaction of doing it in our own royal way. There are a lot of people ranting that we are miserable because we have funny outdated laws and say we should model our laws on more successful countries. It would be fare to say that it may not always work out. For instance, Hong Kong permits a woman to kill an adulterous husband; only if she does so with her bare hands. Switzerland law says that it is illegal to flush a toilet after 10 p.m or recite poetry while skiing down a mountain. And in relevant ironic sense, South Korea has a law which says that a policeman taking a bribe should report it to his higher authorities. This and a lot more has led me to believe that other countries are no angels themselves. Some of them are doing better, but it’s alright, we are not doing too bad ourselves. Which is why, it lead me to wonder how the recent headline grabber Anna Hazare would have fared had he fought for his cause elsewhere.
If it happened in Pakistan, fasting wouldn’t be as melodramatic an anti-establishment gesture, mostly because the establishment itself is fasting in the month of August. In the case of Pakistan, ironically the establishment itself seems to be anti-establishment. It would probably take Anna days to figure out which side he’s on and which side he’s protesting against.
If it happened in the Netherlands, a lot of people would gather in its capital, Amsterdam to voice out against the government. Some time into the protest and every one would realize that the parliament is actually located in Hague. A tour of the city and Anna would figure how hard it is to change the law, especially when it doesn’t exist.
If it happened in America, corporations would be the first to notice that a large mass of people have aggregated upon a common area, and the advertisers would be the first to arrive to convince people to spend money they don't have on stuff that they don't need. McDonald's would have a stall at every corner, even if it was a circular ground. In a matter of time, the fashion people would arrive and have Anna sticking his underwear out his low-waists and twitter would start referring to him as that 'dude who lost 8 kilos in 12 days'. Before you know it, the fasting ground has become a carnival and the papers would have managed to get a snap of a drunk-out-of-his-mind Anna in a Latex suit enjoying a 69 position with a dubious looking woman. Of course in the mean time, America would have waged war against Libya in a bid to eradicate corruption.
If it happened in Libya, American soldiers would carpet bomb over Anna’s rally, as part of their ongoing corruption eradication process.
If it happened in Somalia, the government and the people together would be fasting against the pirates. Well, in their case, it would hold true that if you don’t have food to eat; the smartest thing to do is fast.
If it happened in China, the newspapers would report the following day, that peaceful negotiations had occurred between Anna and the government, and that corruption was eradicated from the face of China. Nobody would notice that the lions in the zoo behind the parliament are expressing discontent because their meal is 74 years stale.
If it happened in France, where people strike because their neighbour’s wife has put on a few kilos, Anna would start a fast, and someone else would start a fast against Anna’s fast. Anna would be forced to fast against this fast, and strike three. He’s out!
If it happened in Italy, it might work well for Anna, because he’s not particularly known to be a good speaker. This works for him because Italians communicate like mutes using hand gestures. In any case, the ‘Prime Meenisthera, is busya having the sexa with the meessthressa’.
If it happened in Zimbabwe, Anna would be promised that black money worth a billion dollars would be brought back. They of course, would mean Zimbabwean dollars.
If it happened in Lebanon, the government would immediately resign and Anna would be declared the of head the country. The people who resigned would then take it up upon them to continue Anna’s protest. Anna would then have to resign.And so on..
If it happens in Russia, the government would wait for winter to set in, and Anna, learning from Germany’s bad history in the region would have to go back home on his own accord.
If it happens in Iraq, Anna’s fast would soon trigger a civil war. But erudite scholars would be the first one to confess that a civil war is an improvement over existing conditions.
We on the other hand, have taken the luxury to convince ourselves that putting the politician behind bars will solve all our problems. It would be well advised to remember that although democracy is a government of the people, by the people and for the people, Oscar Wilde put it well by saying it may also be a bludgeoning of the people, by the people and for the people.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
All about Humour
To analyze what is funny about a cat's repeated failed attempts to eat a loveable wily mouse is tantamount to finding out what cyanide tastes like; both end up killing the purpose. That the classic cat and mouse would probably invoke laughs among a 6 year old gunman in Somalia and the 70 year old obese American he holds under the gun alike is a testament to its broad quality of humour. Humour has probably existed across all times, more so during times that were bleak and grim, than when they were hale and hearty. It therefore seems plausible that the torrid times of bubonic plague stemmed an array of the now popular 'doctor' jokes. That contrary to maxims, laughter wasn't the best medicine is a different story. The times of yore have also managed to deliver some solid mass jokes, published widely under names like the Bible, Gita and the Koran.
Come modern times, and nothing yet is funnier than humour. At least, by definition. It certainly is more personal these days, and returning an insult by someone you detest with a kickass comeback will certainly give you greater pleasure than hammering his head multiple times against an unbreakable wall. Comebacks, although spontaneous, actually mask long hours of practice spent in abusing insults at friends in friendly gesture. Witty insults is a skill, and when delivered with a genteel yet caustic disposition will be met with cries of both, "Nice one' and 'You son of a bitch', both of which are to be treated as complements to a comeback well handed out. Unfortunately, comebacks flash to most people only a good forty five minutes after the insult.
Then there’s college humour, a time when one learns to make and take humour more than the course at hand. Humour in college takes its nastiest, most unfettered form, where even pushing an old woman off the stairs would pass off as funny, and would probably be funnier if she lands on the floor biting her tongue. In the outside world, humour becomes heavily discreet; especially at the office and telling your manager 'I can't believe I was late for work tomorrow' will only invite a long face and even longer hours. Puns and jabs are suddenly met with glares and frowns.
To make pun, fun and jest, one just needs to acclimatize and find context and timing. For example, jokes about armpits and transvestite sex invoke the most laughs among Mallus. In case such humour is to be used elsewhere, a simple change in enunciation can do wonders, pronounce the words armbitz and tranzveztite in typical Mallu fashion instead when delivering the joke, thus subverting the disgust away from you onto the Mallu sect.
One more trick to making good humour is keeping your praises in check. Praising a celebrity could cause unforeseeable damage to humour potential. A case in mind, when Dhoni won the world cup, anyone who voiced out euphorically in applause will regret that he has lost some serious potential for humour in current times. An ardent follower of Amy Winehouse will never be able make puns such as 'They don't serve spirits in the afterlife' and will feel having lost out on good humour material.
In most cases, a joke begins to lose its humour with time and relevance. The exceptions to this are very rare, and those ones are pure Gold. For example, if you’re 20 and a heavily intoxicated friend, slips on a banana peel and falls face down into a dustbin, you'd probably be in splits laughing. But gold would be when you turn 60 and watch a video of this happening. Humour probably escalates and transcends if it also makes you reminisce.
A great easy access to a huge repository of humour is a nation's politics. America is probably currently hurting in this regard. The humorists reveled when Bush was in charge. A simple stating of Bush facts was enough to get a decent share of laughs. Then Obama took over, he was smart, himself witty and most hazardously a black. And it became tricky for Americans to jest about the top man in the office, simply because black humour is faux pas. It seems plausible that people across the country, not publically, but in cohorts are having a crack or two on their first Black President.
Death is a tempting mistress to churn humour from but may be fatal to the purpose. Attempting puns is a cheaper, easier way to conjure humour, similar to my attempt in the previous sentence. But when you pun, make sure you never explicitly mention you made a pun, like I did in the previous sentence. To maneuver yourself out of a series of bad jokes, making jokes about your previous sentence is an admittance of surrender. Ok. I raise my white flag.
In case of a conundrum of a desperate need of humour and nothing to work with, fret not and look not too far. If you haven't realized the source of you as a subject of humour, you suffer from a serious lack of sense of humour. Allow yourself all the liberties, downgrade you, the protagonist in all possible angles, and a few laughs are a cake walk. Picture yourself as a short, stocky, bald, unemployed, bisexual, perverted man, and you have the entire world of jokes at your disposal. If you find it hard to laugh at yourself, allow yourself the pleasure of seeing the person you're taking to as fat,sloppy and perverted and make merry mockery.
Charlie Chaplin once said that all he needed to make comedy was a park, a policeman and a pretty girl. Humour exists almost everywhere, good humour does not. A sense of humour is even more tenuously so. I'd like to think that if one learns to find humour in traffic, weight and office, rarely will you have a day without mirth and laughter. A crowning achievement to an illustrious life of humour would probably be if at your funeral, somebody in their eulogy says "I'll miss that funny son of a gun".
Come modern times, and nothing yet is funnier than humour. At least, by definition. It certainly is more personal these days, and returning an insult by someone you detest with a kickass comeback will certainly give you greater pleasure than hammering his head multiple times against an unbreakable wall. Comebacks, although spontaneous, actually mask long hours of practice spent in abusing insults at friends in friendly gesture. Witty insults is a skill, and when delivered with a genteel yet caustic disposition will be met with cries of both, "Nice one' and 'You son of a bitch', both of which are to be treated as complements to a comeback well handed out. Unfortunately, comebacks flash to most people only a good forty five minutes after the insult.
Then there’s college humour, a time when one learns to make and take humour more than the course at hand. Humour in college takes its nastiest, most unfettered form, where even pushing an old woman off the stairs would pass off as funny, and would probably be funnier if she lands on the floor biting her tongue. In the outside world, humour becomes heavily discreet; especially at the office and telling your manager 'I can't believe I was late for work tomorrow' will only invite a long face and even longer hours. Puns and jabs are suddenly met with glares and frowns.
To make pun, fun and jest, one just needs to acclimatize and find context and timing. For example, jokes about armpits and transvestite sex invoke the most laughs among Mallus. In case such humour is to be used elsewhere, a simple change in enunciation can do wonders, pronounce the words armbitz and tranzveztite in typical Mallu fashion instead when delivering the joke, thus subverting the disgust away from you onto the Mallu sect.
One more trick to making good humour is keeping your praises in check. Praising a celebrity could cause unforeseeable damage to humour potential. A case in mind, when Dhoni won the world cup, anyone who voiced out euphorically in applause will regret that he has lost some serious potential for humour in current times. An ardent follower of Amy Winehouse will never be able make puns such as 'They don't serve spirits in the afterlife' and will feel having lost out on good humour material.
In most cases, a joke begins to lose its humour with time and relevance. The exceptions to this are very rare, and those ones are pure Gold. For example, if you’re 20 and a heavily intoxicated friend, slips on a banana peel and falls face down into a dustbin, you'd probably be in splits laughing. But gold would be when you turn 60 and watch a video of this happening. Humour probably escalates and transcends if it also makes you reminisce.
A great easy access to a huge repository of humour is a nation's politics. America is probably currently hurting in this regard. The humorists reveled when Bush was in charge. A simple stating of Bush facts was enough to get a decent share of laughs. Then Obama took over, he was smart, himself witty and most hazardously a black. And it became tricky for Americans to jest about the top man in the office, simply because black humour is faux pas. It seems plausible that people across the country, not publically, but in cohorts are having a crack or two on their first Black President.
Death is a tempting mistress to churn humour from but may be fatal to the purpose. Attempting puns is a cheaper, easier way to conjure humour, similar to my attempt in the previous sentence. But when you pun, make sure you never explicitly mention you made a pun, like I did in the previous sentence. To maneuver yourself out of a series of bad jokes, making jokes about your previous sentence is an admittance of surrender. Ok. I raise my white flag.
In case of a conundrum of a desperate need of humour and nothing to work with, fret not and look not too far. If you haven't realized the source of you as a subject of humour, you suffer from a serious lack of sense of humour. Allow yourself all the liberties, downgrade you, the protagonist in all possible angles, and a few laughs are a cake walk. Picture yourself as a short, stocky, bald, unemployed, bisexual, perverted man, and you have the entire world of jokes at your disposal. If you find it hard to laugh at yourself, allow yourself the pleasure of seeing the person you're taking to as fat,sloppy and perverted and make merry mockery.
Charlie Chaplin once said that all he needed to make comedy was a park, a policeman and a pretty girl. Humour exists almost everywhere, good humour does not. A sense of humour is even more tenuously so. I'd like to think that if one learns to find humour in traffic, weight and office, rarely will you have a day without mirth and laughter. A crowning achievement to an illustrious life of humour would probably be if at your funeral, somebody in their eulogy says "I'll miss that funny son of a gun".
Monday, May 9, 2011
Homecoming
The bartender had pulled up the ‘Closed’ signs, hastily emptied the ash trays and grudgingly began mopping the counter table, being more convincing in his efforts when he encountered those annoying besmirched hardened rim marks. These familiar routines sent out a billow of people through the exits, leaving the ones who had swilled and the ones who were established regulars at the bar. He looked across to find ARAVIND staring at his glass pensively, and one look at the empty bottle and the full glass drove home the fact that a long night was to ensue.
“Trouble with the lady, boss?” the bartender asked, whilst drying the glasses
“Nah. A jeweler could help me out, not a bartender if that was the case” quipped Aravind.
“I think a lawyer would cost you less than a jeweler” he said, repressing a chuckle.
He looked at the clock and let out a gasped sigh. He looked back at Aravind and asked in a more sincere tone this time “Surely you’ve got something on your mind. And almost nothing in your hand” he said, pouring some more of the poison in the empty glass.
Aravind didn’t protest. He started in his usual forthcoming nature “It’s probably my age is doing a number on me, but these days I keep wondering whatever happened to a few people back in India that I’ve not met for over 2 decades now, like my first outside-family acquaintance in kindergarten, or the high school bully, the one whom I did my assignments with, the one who first convinced me drinking was no sin..”
“Believe me you sometimes don’t want to know. I wonder which one is harder to digest; a friend’s success or a friend’s failure” said the bartender, almost as if he was the supreme authority in these matters.
“But you got these people around you, Gary. You don’t see them every day, but they’re here and there and around at weddings and funerals; in the casket sometimes maybe, but they’re there. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely” said Aravind clearly talking to Gary, the friend more than Gary, the bartender.
“At least you enjoy your Friday nights and your Saturday dinners. Surely, I have more on my mind on a Friday than the President” said Gary, still not out of his bartender clothes or shoes.
“Yeah. So you let the wagon slip on Monday mornings as opposed to Friday nights” said Aravind as if it was a bout of realization.
He went on. “Anyway, I know everybody says this, but when I was growing up, it was a funny time. Kids everywhere else wanted to be firefighters and astronauts and what not. But, I grew up in a time; when we wanted to be scientists and cricketers, cause one our parents told us was glorious, the other we knew it was.”
“You thought being a scientist was glorious?” he said and it took a moment for Aravind to comprehend the jest. Americans found cricket amusing.
His memory and emotions were livid. He wasn’t stopping. “There’s a funny story from childhood. When I was 5 or 6, I think, I liked to eat mud. Once I swallowed a few melon seeds inside, and my mother told me that if I swallowed any soil and had water, a tree would grow within me. I believed her instantly and never really unbeleived the story till I was 14 I think.
“I found out about Santa when I was 10. That’s almost stupid. Believe me, 20 years on and I still can’t differentiate if one is drunk or just stupid” he said, in nonchalant banter, a little bluntly.
Being a bartender had taught Gary to be a good listener. But with Aravind, he spoke without restraint. He said “You know, childhood for me wasn’t great. My mother died early, and for 10 years I got beaten up for not doing my home work and I hated school. Adolescence was painful, and one day sitting at the bar counter, when a self-made casual recipe of vodka, whiskey and ginger went well with the others sitting alongside, I had decided that I was at the wrong side of the counter table.”
Aravind gave a smile and nodded his head. “It wasn’t like that for us at all. I actually don’t know who, how and when it was decided that this is how my career would go, but it was all too natural. I don’t think even at a subconscious level I was having second thoughts. I had no choice, and frankly I didn’t need choices then. ”
Aravind now began extrapolating it to a bigger picture. He said “But you know, on the other hand, people there were so diversely opinionated and sometimes catastrophically passionate that almost no building could be built, no law passed, no book written and no woman kissed without a word of protest.”
“Oh yeah. The last one is quite famous. I am familiar with India’s antagonism to sex” said Gary.
Aravind protested. “No way Indians hate it. You can’t hate it and still be producing in billions. It is strange though that explicit sex would be on display in most of our temples while the movies would face severe rebuke. It’s just one of our taboos”
Gary began drawing conclusions. “You know I’ve always thought a country’s progress can be judged by the quality of its pornography and the average tip a drink fetches in the country, and on both counts I’m proud to be an American.”
“I think it should be measured by how bad the bartender jokes are, and America’s doing no good.” He said, hoping it was a reasonable comeback.
He went on. “But really, I think a good measure would be how civil a country’s middle class are, how unassuming the rich are, and how hopeful the poor are. And the country I grew up in, I can’t be sure really. Because it’s so strange that on one hand we serve food so generously, and on the other hand we are such miser and lousy tippers; on one hand we are disgusted with corruption and bribery, on the other hand we are the first to resort to it.”
“We have a God for cleanliness, but our streets and consciences are similarly filthy. Money is not believed to be a virtue, but the first thing everybody does at a wedding is counting jewellery pieces on the bride. Smoking and drinking are portrayed as a sin, but India is the largest consumer of whisky and cigarettes.”
“Every place has this kind of thing. It’s not unusual” said Gary.
“No. It is quite unusual. For example, here in the US they slow down when the traffic light turns yellow, but in India, we accelerate. In every matter, you’ll find that there is no right or wrong. There are just shades of grey.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought haven’t you?” he asked, not in a mood for jests.
“Everything that you hear about India is true. And almost all the time, the opposite is also true. And yes. I have given this some thought. I miss those days. Some of those old memories are beginning to get to me like the time in college when someone was dared to come in a superman costume and when the professor stood appalled, the guy actually spent ten minutes convincing him that the garments re-ordering was a genuine slip-up”
This got Gary thinking. He had to ask this “Boss. Are you actually considering moving back or something? Or is this is just a phase, where you go on a vacation and realize that home is good enough just for a vacation?”
Aravind had his answer ready “No. I think this is the real deal. I think the country that you like is the country that frustrates you the most. America doesn’t frustrate me. India does. It frustrates me that we haven’t won the Cricket world Cup since 2011, it frustrates me that corruption is everywhere, it frustrates me that the roads are bad and the population is reaching 1.7 billion now. And I’d like to bicker, complain and rant about it, like most Indians do. Yes, I am considering going back.”
“Just out of curiosity, why did you ever leave India?”
“I was 25. The thought of living in a land where a plumber takes his family for a vacation to Europe and where the Governor of the biggest state was the Terminator fascinated me”
“Trouble with the lady, boss?” the bartender asked, whilst drying the glasses
“Nah. A jeweler could help me out, not a bartender if that was the case” quipped Aravind.
“I think a lawyer would cost you less than a jeweler” he said, repressing a chuckle.
He looked at the clock and let out a gasped sigh. He looked back at Aravind and asked in a more sincere tone this time “Surely you’ve got something on your mind. And almost nothing in your hand” he said, pouring some more of the poison in the empty glass.
Aravind didn’t protest. He started in his usual forthcoming nature “It’s probably my age is doing a number on me, but these days I keep wondering whatever happened to a few people back in India that I’ve not met for over 2 decades now, like my first outside-family acquaintance in kindergarten, or the high school bully, the one whom I did my assignments with, the one who first convinced me drinking was no sin..”
“Believe me you sometimes don’t want to know. I wonder which one is harder to digest; a friend’s success or a friend’s failure” said the bartender, almost as if he was the supreme authority in these matters.
“But you got these people around you, Gary. You don’t see them every day, but they’re here and there and around at weddings and funerals; in the casket sometimes maybe, but they’re there. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely” said Aravind clearly talking to Gary, the friend more than Gary, the bartender.
“At least you enjoy your Friday nights and your Saturday dinners. Surely, I have more on my mind on a Friday than the President” said Gary, still not out of his bartender clothes or shoes.
“Yeah. So you let the wagon slip on Monday mornings as opposed to Friday nights” said Aravind as if it was a bout of realization.
He went on. “Anyway, I know everybody says this, but when I was growing up, it was a funny time. Kids everywhere else wanted to be firefighters and astronauts and what not. But, I grew up in a time; when we wanted to be scientists and cricketers, cause one our parents told us was glorious, the other we knew it was.”
“You thought being a scientist was glorious?” he said and it took a moment for Aravind to comprehend the jest. Americans found cricket amusing.
His memory and emotions were livid. He wasn’t stopping. “There’s a funny story from childhood. When I was 5 or 6, I think, I liked to eat mud. Once I swallowed a few melon seeds inside, and my mother told me that if I swallowed any soil and had water, a tree would grow within me. I believed her instantly and never really unbeleived the story till I was 14 I think.
“I found out about Santa when I was 10. That’s almost stupid. Believe me, 20 years on and I still can’t differentiate if one is drunk or just stupid” he said, in nonchalant banter, a little bluntly.
Being a bartender had taught Gary to be a good listener. But with Aravind, he spoke without restraint. He said “You know, childhood for me wasn’t great. My mother died early, and for 10 years I got beaten up for not doing my home work and I hated school. Adolescence was painful, and one day sitting at the bar counter, when a self-made casual recipe of vodka, whiskey and ginger went well with the others sitting alongside, I had decided that I was at the wrong side of the counter table.”
Aravind gave a smile and nodded his head. “It wasn’t like that for us at all. I actually don’t know who, how and when it was decided that this is how my career would go, but it was all too natural. I don’t think even at a subconscious level I was having second thoughts. I had no choice, and frankly I didn’t need choices then. ”
Aravind now began extrapolating it to a bigger picture. He said “But you know, on the other hand, people there were so diversely opinionated and sometimes catastrophically passionate that almost no building could be built, no law passed, no book written and no woman kissed without a word of protest.”
“Oh yeah. The last one is quite famous. I am familiar with India’s antagonism to sex” said Gary.
Aravind protested. “No way Indians hate it. You can’t hate it and still be producing in billions. It is strange though that explicit sex would be on display in most of our temples while the movies would face severe rebuke. It’s just one of our taboos”
Gary began drawing conclusions. “You know I’ve always thought a country’s progress can be judged by the quality of its pornography and the average tip a drink fetches in the country, and on both counts I’m proud to be an American.”
“I think it should be measured by how bad the bartender jokes are, and America’s doing no good.” He said, hoping it was a reasonable comeback.
He went on. “But really, I think a good measure would be how civil a country’s middle class are, how unassuming the rich are, and how hopeful the poor are. And the country I grew up in, I can’t be sure really. Because it’s so strange that on one hand we serve food so generously, and on the other hand we are such miser and lousy tippers; on one hand we are disgusted with corruption and bribery, on the other hand we are the first to resort to it.”
“We have a God for cleanliness, but our streets and consciences are similarly filthy. Money is not believed to be a virtue, but the first thing everybody does at a wedding is counting jewellery pieces on the bride. Smoking and drinking are portrayed as a sin, but India is the largest consumer of whisky and cigarettes.”
“Every place has this kind of thing. It’s not unusual” said Gary.
“No. It is quite unusual. For example, here in the US they slow down when the traffic light turns yellow, but in India, we accelerate. In every matter, you’ll find that there is no right or wrong. There are just shades of grey.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought haven’t you?” he asked, not in a mood for jests.
“Everything that you hear about India is true. And almost all the time, the opposite is also true. And yes. I have given this some thought. I miss those days. Some of those old memories are beginning to get to me like the time in college when someone was dared to come in a superman costume and when the professor stood appalled, the guy actually spent ten minutes convincing him that the garments re-ordering was a genuine slip-up”
This got Gary thinking. He had to ask this “Boss. Are you actually considering moving back or something? Or is this is just a phase, where you go on a vacation and realize that home is good enough just for a vacation?”
Aravind had his answer ready “No. I think this is the real deal. I think the country that you like is the country that frustrates you the most. America doesn’t frustrate me. India does. It frustrates me that we haven’t won the Cricket world Cup since 2011, it frustrates me that corruption is everywhere, it frustrates me that the roads are bad and the population is reaching 1.7 billion now. And I’d like to bicker, complain and rant about it, like most Indians do. Yes, I am considering going back.”
“Just out of curiosity, why did you ever leave India?”
“I was 25. The thought of living in a land where a plumber takes his family for a vacation to Europe and where the Governor of the biggest state was the Terminator fascinated me”
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