Piped music!

A peculiar form of music is “piped music”. The peculiarity of this musical form is that you do not hear it. But the music is everywhere. You go to the mall, it is heard in the background. You go to the airport, the music is in the air. You wait over the phone for the “next available representative”, you catch the music. You take the lift in a high-rise building- piped music fills in.

Recently, I was strapped to a dentist’s chair. The dentist administered an injection to numb the tooth and stepped away for the anesthesia to take effect. As I waited out the10 minutes agonizingly, I suddenly heard something- piped music was playing. That was the first time I listened to the music with attention.

Piped music has certain unique aspects. Firstly, it is at a volume, where you can barely hear it. It must be at that exact decibel and no more. Secondly, you do not know where the music is coming from. There appears to be no source- no visible speakers anywhere. The volume does not increase or ebb as you walk around.  It is truly in the air.

The music is mostly instrumental- a combination of trumpet and drums. It is typically Western music. Indian melodies are yet to make inroads into piped music. May be, we are too loud and noisy for this genre. Another requirement is that the tune must be completely unknown. “Hey! I recognize this beautiful song! It is from the movie….” Not one comment of appreciation has ever been made about piped music.

Piped music has no beginning or end. It has no pause. Like the waves of the ocean, it plays over and over relentlessly, in an infinite loop. Most musical forms have an inbuilt structure- the song has a certain build-up, a crescendo and a finale. Piped music has none- it plays at the same somber pace, tirelessly.

I have often imagined a conversation with a piped music artiste. The artiste says, “That music- I scored it!” My reply, all surprised, “Which music? Where?” The artiste says, “The one in the background!” And now, my reaction, “O yes! I hear it now! Why don’t you use any popular tunes in your piped music- something like…say “ek-do-teen”?”

The artiste clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “A popular tune will never work for piped music. Imagine, someone is in the mall, taking the escalator. He hears the music, identifies with it, and starts dancing instinctively. On an escalator, it can be a terrible hazard…no? Or take your case- the dentist is using his drill and working on your tooth. At that opportune moment, your ear catches raag Jhinjhoti, and you shake your head vigorously in appreciation- “Wah! Baley! Baley!” You see? The distraction can be lethal!”

I had a pressing question, “Why are you in this form of music, if no one is hearing it?”

The artiste smiles patronizingly, “That is the beauty of piped music. You must never hear it. But mind you, if it is absent, you will feel the loss immediately…I tell you immediately! It is like the air that you breathe. What if I took it away for a few minutes? Piped music is like that! Imagine if you waited “for the next available representative” on the phone for 20 minutes without piped music. By then, you would have pulled out your hair and uprooted all your fingernails… in frustration. Piped music is the balm that keeps you peaceful, calm, and sane. You realize its importance now?”

I nodded my head in agreement. The artiste was now on a roll, “In a world where everyone is an attention seeker, and wants to be heard, a piped musician is the opposite. He is a yogi- he does not want to be heard! And his music… hearing…shrnvan…you hear not… seeing…pashyan… you see not, touching…sprshan…you touch not. It has that kind of unobtrusive quality. It is like space, it is present…everywhere…and yet, you do not recognize it! That is piped music! You get it?”

He was getting out of hand. I had to stop him now, “Guru! I get it. I completely get it!”

Kumbakonam degree coffee!

When you drive from Bangalore to Chennai, you cannot miss the advertisement boards along the highway. Among them, the standout is the advertisement for “Kumbakonam degree coffee”!  At almost every kilometer, a shop screams out “Kumbakonam degree coffee”. The more you notice, the more, it seems to multiply.

You wonder what this “Kumbakonam degree coffee” is all about. Is it some degrees of comparison in coffee- good coffee, better coffee and perhaps, the superlative degree in coffee is “kumbakonam degree”? Or maybe, all the varieties of coffee attended the university. And the eventual degree was conferred only upon this Kumbakonam variant? A coffee lover is like a drunkard- his freewill succumbs to coffee helplessly.

I took a sudden “U turn” on the Bangalore to Chennai highway. “What are you doing?” my family was alarmed. “We are going to have Kumbakonam degree coffee at Kumbakonam! Who wants to have these highway imitation coffees pretending to be Kumbakonam degree? They are all fakes, I say! I am certain Kumbakonam degree coffee is best served at Kumbakonam!”

On the way to Kumbakonam, the billboards marketed the same coffee brand by the roadside. The tongue was already salivating, imagining how heavenly the coffee would be! “Only 10 more kilometers to Kumbakonam degree coffee! We are almost there!” I pressed on the accelerator with redoubled excitement.

As we entered the precincts of Kumbakonam town, suddenly, “Kumbakonam degree coffee” advertisements went missing. “Where did it go? Just a kilometer back, we read the sign board, and now, it’s gone!” Irritation and anger welled up, the kind- when you follow Google maps, and it takes you to a dead-end! The anti-climax was total. After driving through the town aimlessly, we eventually stopped at a restaurant, all tired and worn out.

The menu card at the restaurant mentioned “coffee”.  I summoned the restaurant manager, “Where can I get Kumbakonam degree coffee? Looks like, you serve only coffee!” He smiled patronizingly and asked, “Sir, where are you from?” His response stoked my anger. “How does it matter where I am from? I may be from Mars or Jupiter. Just tell me where I can get Kumbakonam degree coffee!” The manager patiently replied, “Sir, the coffee we serve, is Kumbakonam degree coffee!” I shot back, “Then, why have you written “coffee” in the menu? Do you think I am a fool to drive 400 km just to have ordinary coffee?”

The conversation went nowhere. We ordered the coffee. While sipping the coffee, my eyes scanned the other entries in the menu. One of them said “Bombay halwa”. This was too much. We had come all the way to Kumbakonam for coffee, and here, he was marketing “Bombay halwa”. Was it a joke?

You got it right. We changed the direction of our travel towards Bombay, in search of “Bombay halwa”. And guess what? The exact sequence repeated. There was “Bombay halwa” in every restaurant, all along, till we reached Bombay. And now that we were in Bombay, it was gone, there was only ordinary “halwa”! To make matters worse, the Bombay restauranteur asked the same question, “Where are you from?”

While savoring halwa at the Bombay restaurant, the menu card carried the item- “Mysore Bonda!” This was stretching it too far. It looked as though the entire country, and its restaurants were conspiring to send you on a wild goose chase.

We did reach Mysore. It sent me towards “Bangarpet chaat”. And once at Bangarpet, it redirected me to “Madurai jigarthanda”. And once in Madurai, I was dispatched unceremoniously to try out “Agra ka petha”. And from Agra, I took the route towards “Meerut ki revdi”. And from Meerut, never mind….

It was a lot like that book you borrowed from the library. It had hand-written notes at the bottom of the page. Page 20 said “Turn to page 75”. At page 75, it said, “Go to page 10”. I know it is a trick, still, I am compelled to see what happens in the end.

Yes, I am on the road towards my next destination. As they say in Tamil, “payanangaL mudivathillai !” The journey never ends……

 

The rat race!

Right from the beginning, we are asked to “run fast”, since we are in a “rat-race”. Whether we are trying to clear the10^th standard boards, or the later competitive exams, apparently, it is the same rat-race. You better run fast. Lining up for a US visa and climbing the corporate ladder are all mini races within the same mother rat-race. It begs a question, what makes it a rat-race? We get an eloquent explanation, “It is the streak of competitiveness, the ability to bulldoze your way and surge ahead, and the will to win, at all costs- that’s the cardinal tenet of a rat-race”.

It is aptly said, “Even if you manage to win a rat-race, you will still be a rat!” The irony is, we have never seen a rat…race. Rats are a lot smarter than compete in meaningless races. Rats are brisk, energetic, and enterprising fellows! Unlike humans, with their penchant for “one-upmanship”, rats are complete team players. They work in groups, busily nibbling away at every obstacle, in rain or in shine.

I have grown up watching rats. In Mumbai, our building had an abundant share of rats. These rats were rotund, fed on excess food that was generously discarded from the kitchen window.  They had grown to massive proportions, into full-blown bandicoots, the size of pigs. Many attempts were made to cement the building floor, fill the rat-holes, and drive the rodent away. But they were tenacious creatures. It didn’t matter if the floor was cement or concrete or granite. They still managed to tunnel their way.

It raises a pertinent question. Thanks to the unending metro construction, most Indian cities have been turned upside down. Can’t we think of an out-of-the-box, “jugaad” solution to build underground metro lines, using rats? All we need is an army of rats, and a Pied Piper to streamline their activity. In no time, all the underground tunnels, snaking through the entire city, will be ready. Say “no” to burrowing machines wreaking havoc. We need an environment friendly, non-mechanized, organic solution. Rats are silent workers- plus, they can burrow a lot faster.

Rat traps have always fascinated me. I have never seen a rat-trap. But the complete design of the rat-trap is etched in my mind.  I owe this profound knowledge to my uncle who brought the world of rat-traps alive through his animated stories. “A rat trap is a cage. It has a mechanized door that stays upraised initially. Inside the rat trap is a hook, to which you hang a piece of “vada” to entice the rat!”

 “What vada is it, uncle? Do rats like “medhu-vada” more? Or do they prefer “batata-vada”?” I couldn’t wait to hear the rest of the story. Uncle continued, “The rat enters the cage and nibbles at the vada.  The vibration triggers the mechanical door, that comes crashing down and shuts the cage. The rat is now trapped!”

That was the theory. Reality was vastly different. Like today's "learning AI models", rats learnt the art to eat the vada without disturbing the mechanical door. In the morning, you scrutinized the rat-trap. The vada was gone, and so was the rat. At least, you need not have wasted the vada on a rat.

A couple of years before the pandemic, there was an interesting incident at my workplace. Apparently, the office premises were plagued by a constant “rat menace”, especially at night. We never saw these rats during the day. Maybe, they doubled up as IT engineers. One fine day, my colleague stepped on a yellow piece of foam lying by the side of the meeting-room. Suddenly, his foot was arrested, as though in Fevicol. Caught off-balance, he tried to save himself with his hand. Lo and behold, now, his hand was stuck. To save this colleague, another one rushed by his side, stepped on the same foam and now, he too was glued to the adhesive! It was like the “Yaksha Prashna” story in the Mahabharata. You tried to help someone and fell a victim to the same crisis.

The scene was strangely comical, but you couldn’t openly laugh! After all, here were two fellows caught in a trap, flailing their hands and legs helplessly.

Eventually, we managed to separate them from the glue. The security guard was summoned. He informed that the yellow foam, was meant to catch rats! You are right- the rat would step on this foam and would stay glued for life!

Not a single rat succumbed to this trick. Herein was yet another telling example- man has grandiose plans; he builds an elaborate trap, and in the process, like the proverbial silkworm, gets himself entrapped!

As they say, “the best laid plans of men and mice, often go awry!”

"Lenglish!"

Many of us are overconfident, often bordering on arrogance, when it comes to handling the English language. As Amitabh explains in a yesteryear film, “I can talk English, I can walk English, I can laugh English! Aisi English aavey, I can leave the angrez behind!” We could well have tea with the King of England or give even Shashi Tharoor, a run for his money. Such is our sincere assessment about ourselves.

The balloon of pride is burst, the moment we encounter a legal document in English. It could be a “Rental Agreement”, an “Encumbrance certificate” or a “sale deed”. These are 100 pages of utmost torture. In this time and age, it is strewn with words like “witnesseth”. The wording irks you. You feel like questioning, “Are you Shakespeare? Are you Byron? Why would you say “witnesseth”?” The mind does not co-operate anymore, like a recalcitrant and stubborn child, that refuses to drink milk after the first sip!

The document is divided into several paragraphs. Each paragraph starts with the word “Whereas”. Your mind picks on the grammar, “You can use “whereas” only when there is a comparison of sorts. Something like- you can do this, whereas, if you don’t like it, you can do that.” But the legal document has no such connection. Reams and reams of paragraphs start with “whereas”. “Whereas to subject the schedule a property to better use” is the start of the first paragraph. The second para says, “whereas the parties had mutually agreed”. The third para begins with, “whereas the developer has obtained the necessary power of attorney”. How do you plough through this? It is simply hopeless.

If you navigate through “whereas”, you stumble over the next trap- “the vendor hereby covenants”. You need a dictionary now. What does “covenants” mean? What does “vendor” mean? The mind goes on a trip thinking about all kinds of vendors- vegetable vendor, fruit vendor, mango vendor and then, to the varieties of juicy mangoes- alphonso, banganapalli and so on. You have completely lost the plot now.

To make matters worse, there are cross references all over the place.  The document is scattered with “Schedule A”, “Schedule B”, Schedule C” and so on. You flip the pages to and fro, in a frenzy, to put it all together into a cohesive whole, but it refuses to fall in line.

By now, you are reading only the words, having lost all connection with the meaning. The document shows no mercy. “The expression ‘purchasers’ shall mean and include wherever the context so admits or permits their respective heirs, legal representatives, successors, administrators, executors, agents and assigns of the other part.” Pray tell me, what this means!

Sometimes, you employ a legal expert to explain the contents of the document. After all, you do not want to sign anything without “thorough perusal”. How many such films have we seen? The hero is a  gullible bumpkin and signs papers indiscriminately. Sitting in the audience, you feel like shouting, “You idiot! Read the document before signing! That man standing next to you, prodding you to sign, is the villain! He is the villain! Don’t you realize that, just looking at his eyes? He is about to usurp all your money!” You know how the plot unfolds.

Taking a cue from this, you try to concentrate. The legal helper reads the same document, only with more enthusiasm and with an added stress on some words. He picks some random phrases and raises his voice- "the occupant shall not” and “in his capacity as a” and scrutinizes your face. After each paragraph, he gives a little synopsis. To be honest, the sum and substance of his interpretation, has absolutely no connection to what was read out. The text could well have been in Arabic.

The mind switches off.  Soon, you are yawning uncontrollably, while your legal helper is reading away. You wonder where the problem is. Is it a problem of comprehension, or an inability to navigate through the language or both? You scratch your head, trying hard to focus. By now, the mind is all cloudy. The yawns get more frequent. They are now back-to-back, deeper, and longer, to the point, the eyes well up with tears. If you yawn any more, the jaw will lock and stay locked, that too with your mouth ajar! You blink back at your helper, pleading with him silently…to stop this drivel forthwith.

Eventually, you cut him short with a pointed question, “It is ok to sign….no?” He assures you, “Yes, yes! It is all fine! We just read the document together…no?” If only you could tell him the plain truth- “It is as clear as cow dung!”

Anger wells up. Why is legal English so abstruse and incomprehensible? The mind has a ready answer, “Legal-English is not English..da! It is “Lenglish” da, just another word for gibberish da!”

You cannot delay anymore. You must sign the legal papers. End of the day, the world runs on hope and trust. Ummeed par duniya kaayam hai!

 

The reconfirmation bug!

When you took the Mumbai Local, you followed a particular drill. The train to “Mankhurd” always started from the same platform at VT station. Still, you scanned the overhead indicator, to confirm the train’s destination. Eventually, after getting onto the train, you asked the man standing next to you, “Bhau! Aye Bhau! This train is going to Mankhurd…no?” The relief was immense once the man nodded in the affirmative. What if you bungled and boarded the wrong train, that too, the one going to Karjat? Better to be safe and reconfirm now, than be sorry later, right?

You never shook off this reconfirmation bug. Later in life, the same drill continued, only in a different setting. It does not matter how many times you have taken the flight to the US. After several rounds of security, by when, your boarding-pass is checked and rechecked umpteen times, you finally board the aircraft. After settling down in the seat, and buckling the seatbelt, you cannot resist asking your neighbor, “Excuse me sir! Hello Sir! This plane is going to America…no?” For a moment, the neighbor is all confused. He glares at you incredulously, as you repeat your question. You can see the alarmed look on his face, as he recoils to the far end of the seat, and orders a drink, to soothe his nerves. You try to calm him, “I am verifying, just in case! Don’t want to take the wrong plane and suddenly find...I am in Iceland!”

The reconfirmation bug bites you well before you reach the airport. It begins the moment you place the passport and ticket in the waist-pouch. On the way to the airport, you check and recheck. “Here is my passport. I am carrying my wallet, my cellphone, and my ticket!” Five minutes later, you dig into the pouch for repeat assurance, “Yes, I have my passport, my wallet, my cellphone and my ticket!”

Reconfirmation becomes particularly crucial after locking the main door of the house. If you forget that vital point, self-doubt can spoil the entire day, even the entire vacation. “I am not sure if I locked the main door!” you suddenly murmur. Like the deadly “Piranha” fish, the doubt eats into your being, midway through the journey. To avoid this crisis, you resort to reconfirmation. If it is a padlock, you take help from multiple family members. The entire family tugs at the padlock, hanging onto it for dear life, to confirm it is locked.

If the door has an automatic lock, the kind that slams shut on its own, reconfirmation requires a different technique. You run from a distance like a fast bowler and slam your body against the main door. The enormous thud, coupled with your body-ache, confirms it is shut tight. By now, the main-door and the lock, are mortally wounded and hang by a tenuous thread, thanks to these violent antics.  Once you leave, burglars can lick their lips and have a field day!

The reconfirmation bug is not a recent acquisition. It was a part of the personality profile, way back in school. “How did your board exam go?” sister asked. “The exam went off fine, but I am not sure if I wrote my examination-number in the answer booklet!” “What do you mean you are not sure?” sister questioned. “That’s what I am saying…silly! I am not sure…IF…I…WROTE…MY EXAM…NUMBER! Don’t you get it?” you enunciated one more time, this time with greater emphasis. From the next exam onwards, all you did was focus on confirming and reconfirming that the examination number was written. It did not matter how you wrote the paper. At least, there was no self-doubt at the end of the exam!

There is no area of life that is exempt from doubt. There is doubt if you took the tablet already, or the recollection of swallowing the tablet, dates to yesterday’s memory. If you dropped the cheque in the drop-box, you wonder later, if you filled the amount field or left it blank!  Among the worst fears, is the one related to the kitchen gas-stove. Well after you are 1000 miles from home, a sudden doubt bubbles up, “I am not sure if I switched the gas off! That’s why I told you, not to hurry me up!”

The Doubting Thomas is not just a Biblical problem. It is a pervasive phenomenon. In the novel, “Around the world in 80 days”, Passepartout, Mr Fogg’s valet, is racked with a similar doubt. “I think I left the gas burner on!” he confesses, well after they have left London, on their way to the Suez Canal!” Tough luck! It will take him 80 more days, to get back to London and switch the burner off, by when Passepartout would have forfeited his entire life’s earnings!

Doubt and the consequent reconfirmation-bug are essentially…a scatterbrain’s products. The mind focuses on everything, but the job at hand and does not register the imprint of the action. It is rightly said, “We live in absentia!”

The world's greatest festival!

It is polling day.

An enormous crowd greets you at the polling station. You thought you could beat everyone by reaching early. Others have thought likewise. There are multiple lines, multiple rooms, and the invariable confusion. Self-styled leaders step up to take the initiative and keep the flock together. “Everyone! This is the line to room number 4! I repeat, to room number 4 only!”

“Oh! I thought this is the line to room number 2!” someone suddenly wakes up. “Room number 2? You can walk in!” Call it Murphy’s law, the room you have been assigned to, has the longest line. You wonder, how long it is going to take. One hour, two hours maybe?  Some give up too soon, “I think I will come back at noon! I am certain there will be no crowd at that time!” You have half a mind to inject- “Saar! If you go home now, you will never come back!”

“I do not have this paper-receipt, with the room number earmarked. But I have the e-receipt on my cellphone. Is that enough?” someone asks. “They are not allowing cellphones. You need the paper. You can get it outside, at the counter,” is the rebuttal. “They are surely allowing cellphones!  The only problem is, you cannot switch it on!” comes a third opinion, adding no clarity to the situation. “Better to get the paper receipt also!” is the conclusion.

Waiting is not easy. Though the morning is young, the sun is harsh. The line barely moves- as though, you are waiting on a treadmill. A motley crowd mills all around- the young, the old and the overly old. Some are bent with age and can barely walk. They are escorted by their caregivers to the polling room directly. Friends, acquaintances, workplace colleagues- you get a chance to meet everyone. Meeting once is 5 years, isn’t too bad after all.

“This is like Tirupati. At least, at Tirupati, we would have earned some punya for all this waiting!” a stray conversation bit reaches your ear. There is a fitting response too, “This is greater punya, I would say! Yathaa raajaa…tathaa prajaa! You need this punya…so that you can float for another 5 years!”

The serpentine queue moves slowly but surely. Observing people, their body-language, their conversation…keeps you busy. You are now at the threshold of the room.

The din and clatter of the world is left behind the moment you step in. There is a hush...like the silence in an examination hall. Even the sound of the ceiling-fan is magnified several times over. There is one “presiding officer” and a few “poll officers” seated behind tables. Your identity is carefully matched. In a sheaf of papers, he quickly spots your picture, taken 20 years ago, and ticks it off. Another officer waits with the “indelible ink” swab. One part of the mind wants to ask him seriously, “Sir! Is the ink in-edible or indelible? Can I go home and eat breakfast?” Thankfully, you shake off these frivolities. You lay down your entire palm face down, as though, he is about to apply nail-polish to each of your fingers! "Can I choose crimson color...instead of this blue?" you are itching to ask.

All it takes him is one quick swish of the swab. You now wait for your turn...to step into the EVM counter.

Standing in front of the EVM, the focus must be total. The options are many. In a momentary lapse of concentration, your finger may stray, and you may inadvertently press the wrong button. That’s what happened to Kumbhakarna. After enormous tapas, Lord Brahma appeared before Kumbhakarna. A moment of indiscretion cost Kumbhakarna dearly. He wanted to ask “nir-devatvam” as a boon- “may no deva have lordship over me!” At the opportune moment, his tongue slurred, the visarga got transferred to another syllable in the word, and he blurted out “nidraavatvam”- “may I enjoy sleep!” Of course, Brahma gave him no second chance. He readily agreed- tathaastu, “so be it!”, and vanished! All this runs through your mind.

Kumbhakarna’s story is so powerful that you sleep off…right in front of the EVM. “Hello! Hello saar! What are you doing ? Press the button!” an impatient polling officer wakes you up- "Uttishthata! Jaagrata!" You shake off Kumbhakarna’s story. You make the selection decisively.  The EVM beeps, your candidate’s visual appears in the tiny screen and finally, you are done!

Once out of the polling booth, you cannot contain your smile. It is time for a round of selfies with the indelible ink on the finger prominently displayed!

An enormous sense of pride and achievement runs through your being.  It is a feeling of being “part of the process”, a feeling that you are an “active contributor” to the world’s largest democracy!

Laughter and its variants!

They say – laughter is the best medicine. Medicine is mostly bitter, but thankfully laughter comes in different flavors. At one end of the spectrum, are those that laugh as though they are consuming medicine. It is a carefully, calibrated laughter- it flows in a trickle, in ounces and teaspoons, just this much...and no more!

I watch comic films wearing such a laughter hat. “Didn’t you understand the joke?” my wife typically asks, scrutinizing my grave expression. “I did understand the joke. That's exactly why I cannot laugh!” Stand-up comedians should be thankful that I am not in the audience. By now, they would have lost all self-confidence, and banged their head on a concrete wall, watching every joke fall flat, with not a ripple registered on my placid face!

At the opposite end of the spectrum are the popular comedy shows on TV. The anchor normally employs a laughing sidekick to liven up the show. The sidekick has just one job- to laugh at the drop of a hat. For every innocuous comment from the anchor, the sidekick claps his hands and laughs uproariously. “I went to the market and bought potatoes!” the anchor comments. The sidekick repeats the sentence- “I went to the market” and breaks into a bout of convulsive laughter to the extent he can’t complete the sentence!

Watching him, we get irritated, “This is too much! They must have fed him "bhaang" or Laughing Gas! No wonder, he laughs for the silliest reason!”

Rakshasas and asuras are known for their special laughter, called “atta-haasa”. They must have a great sense of humor. The moment they make an appearance, on TV or in dramas, they break into an evil laugh, for no palpable reason. Asuras are trained to laugh in a low baritone, in the “mandara sthaayi”. Atta-haasa of this kind typically starts with the syllable “eee”.  Soon, the “eee” breaks into a gurgle, and swells into a sumptuous round of “ha-ha-ha”, so much so, the entire place reverberates with their booming laughter!

Today’s generation replies on social media with the ubiquitous “LOL” and “ROFL”. I have always been tickled by ROFL- “Rolling On the Floor Laughing”. Someone replies with ROFL sitting in a train. Think about it- one moment, they are sitting on the side-berth, all normal. They read your whatsapp message, and the next moment, they go rolling down the train’s aisle! How do the co-passengers react to this spectacle? And imagine multiple people on the train, all replying with ROFL. Soon, the train will resemble a "mini-Tirupati", with dozens of folks, rolling over each other, doing a veritable “anga-pradakshina”, down the train’s aisle!

We had a teacher in school, who often said, “Don’t loaf! If you loaf so much, you will cry later!” We took the sentence at face value, with a practical message- “Don’t loaf around and waste your time. Later, you will regret it and cry!” Only towards the end of the year, we deciphered her peculiar pronunciation. She actually meant, “Don’t laugh! If you laugh so much, you will cry later!” It took us an entire year to understand her hidden message. Laughter is a double-edged sword. Laugh too much, and it will come back to bite you later!

Laughter comes in several styles. In one, the person is laughing, but not one sound emerges. Only the eyes crease into a straight line, the face turns red, and the shoulder rocks. He is like a volcano, the lava is smoldering, but it is all bottled within.  After several minutes elapse, suddenly, out of the blue, the volcano explodes, into a round of resounding laughter. There are others who laugh with their mouth closed- so much so, each laughter bout is a snort, much like a bull, snorting through its nostrils. In some cases, the laughter is high-pitched, “peals of laughter” as they say, like the laughter of hyenas. It can be scary, especially at night. And still others laugh so much, that they hold their sides and plead with tears in their eyes, “Don’t make me laugh more! Please!” In such extreme cases, the laughter ends in a hiccup. With each hiccup, they laugh still more, leading to more hiccups. It is a vicious cycle that knows no end. No wonder, my teacher instructed, “Don’t loaf!”

We are told laughter is a 100% human response. Animals can express all emotion- they can show affection, they can cry (we are told), but they cannot laugh. And who has come to this conclusion? Humans have decided for animals that animals cannot laugh! Think about the irony. Who knows? Animals may be intently watching humans make a fool of themselves.

One fine day, when humans finally succeed in their self-destructive ways, much like the mythological character "Bhasmaasura", all the monkeys and elephants and hyenas will assemble in the open, and break into a collective laugh. 

After all, he who laughs best, laughs last!