Understanding Humour, part I

Humour can find you in the most bizarre of settings - in school, in college (Ok, they are not bizarre for some), at work, in uniform (To use some clichés), et cetera ad nauseam.

I found humour, or rather, the humour found me in my French Language class. One of the tragedies of learning a foreign language at such a 'mature' age is that your consciousness defies the restrictive domain of knowledge, that is defined by a handful of words you manage to pick up at the start of a course, at every step. For example, what do you do when you have not been taught how to say that you are a 'consultant in UNICEF', and to multiply your woes manifolds, you are called up in the front to demonstrate your excellent French pronunciation to an intent audience that naively harbors a desire to excel in the most lyrical language on earth, in which nothing is purposely pronounced the way it is written, or the other way round? Well, it's quite simple, you say 'Je suis chanteuse de UNICEF', which, losely translated, reads, 'I am a singer in UNICEF'. Why-o-why, you may be tempted to ask. But of course, because a singer is the most respected of professions after a consultant, and it doesn't really matter whether being a singer at UNICEF sounds bizarre to the outside world or it is looked at with absolute shock within UNICEF.

Well, this is not the only flip side of things. Say you accidentally bumped into a stranger you met while you were stranded at the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris - our very own French adaptation of 'The Terminal' - je suis à l'aéroport de Charles de Gaulle à Paris. How about asking for the stranger's name (or profession, or whatever)? Oh, I feel so terribly ashamed asking such stupid questions that have such ridiculously obvious answers. Naturally, you indulge in the most respected pastimes of all - playing ping-pong with the stranger. You start by saying 'Je m'appeles Aishwarya. Et vous?'. The stranger replies, 'Je m'appeles Salman. Je suis Indien. Et vous?'. And the ping-pong continues ad infinitum. Well, not actually. Once you have exhausted all your crammed-up starter sentences describing yourself, like your name, your father's name, your mother's name, your profession, your address, your nationality et cetera, et cetera, you switch to the most excruciatingly painful and immensely sadistic devise of asking the person, 'Vous parlez français?' (You speak French?). Duh!! As if all this conversation was taking place in Latin till now. The stranger (Sorry, Salman. Oh, is it Aishwarya now? Anyhow...) replies 'Je ne parle pas français.' (I don't speak French). Surprise! Surprise!! Aah. The weapon is as yet unused. Now the next shot - 'Vous parlez espagnol?'. 'Oui. Je parle espagnol.' And the stranger now takes initiative and gives you a taste of your own medicine. 'Vous parlez anglais?'. OMG!! What a duel of words, a battle of wits.

The first act draws to a close, and not without its due share of genuine, unforced laughter. You pick up your books and dig your heads deep into them trying to make sense of what is written in a seemingly familiar script, but a most definitely foreign tongue. I sometimes feel learning French is like solving a jigsaw puzzle or working on a math problem. You know all the rules of pronunciation, but can never perfect the art of pronouncing anything, unless of course, you are suffering from severe cold or chronic cough or both. Whatever. Exercise time. You are shown a picture of a lady sitting at a desk marked 'INFORMATION' and a gentleman approach her for some inquiry. Your task - to construct a dialogue that ensues thenceforth. Lo and behold! Your's truly is called upon to perform the role of his lifetime. And who better to give him company than his sweet and helpful neighbour, Miss Madame (What stroke of genius! Couldn't have thought of a more innovative name than that!! A perfect oxymoron!!!).

After the usual greetings of 'Excusez-moi. Bonjour' - 'Bonjour', it's time to get down to business. I am at the information desk for a purpose. I have to ask for 'INFORMATION'. Eureka!! The solitary tube-light in the dark cellars of my mind flickers, albeit after a long and embarassing (pregnant) pause, and I take charge - 'Je veut un coca cola' (I want a Coca Cola). Ooh la la!! I beat my own record for ingenuity. I have complete attention of a beautiful lady willing to give 'INFORMATION', all expectant eyes are on me (That they want me to screw up my chances with this lady is a separate issue. Not that I disappointed them, in hindsight.), and I come up with this brain wave of an idea to ask for a bottle of Coca Cola. What follows is not even worth mentioning. But the unabashed soul that I am, I think it is my moral duty to put it down for the record. The lady is aghast to see a man with such intellect and denies the possession of any coke whatsoever. I am far too adamant and bang at her information desk demanding coke with final outbursts of energy that reminds one of a drug-addict fighting withdrawal symptoms and trying to cling on to the last remnants of hope for survival. The final nail in the coffin is hammered when the lady threatens me with the Police and I have no option left but to back out. Sigh. A sad end to a promising start. Nonetheless.

The story continues and the third and final act reveals itself. It's time to learn how to respond to the question 'George Bush, veut rencontrer qui?' (George Bush, whom do you want to meet? - No prizes for guessing it is the ever-elusive Osama Bin Laden). Well, the smart fellow that our instructor is, this question is posed only to 'the mademoiselles of our class'. Many say Tom Cruise, some think of saying 'Your's truly', but make a last minute switch in favour of their pet dog. Anyhow. The point being, one madame asks the instructor, 'How do you say that you want to meet your husband?'. The instructor replies, 'son mari'. Très bon. The next lady in line wants to say the same thing, and when it is her turn, she very proudly replies, 'son mari'. Ooh la la!! (for the second time). 'Son mari' literally means 'her husband'. Our professeur played a little trick!! Damn clever, 'a la Monsieur de professeur' (I know it makes no sense, but so does French). The whole class burst out laughing.

Huh. Till the unsuspecting lot of us ignoramuses sort out our 'yours'(son) and 'mines'(mon), we will be in for some really fun times. Good humour, this.

(This article is inspired by this.)

The da Vinci Code

A breezy read, and a fantastic one at that. I have often wondered whether the phenomenon of world domination by the western civilization was a consequence of the emergence of Christianity. Not that I got an answer to my question, but the book sure did highlight certain aspects of Western Christian Thought that were though not completely alien but were surely obscure earlier. For starters, I found the book delving deep into the American film genre of 'Conspiracy Theories'. The deeply ingrained fascination of the West for shrouding its belief systems in absolute mystery and then embarking on a journey to unravel it step by one excruciatingly slow step sets the stage for an intriguing real-life drama. This is not to say that the East doesn't mystify its existence by seamlessly interweaving religion and life. Just that by virtue of the West being more wealthy and pompous in its pursuits, it is always the more conspicuous of the two.

That aside, if the conspiracy theories discussed in the book are anything to go by, my ever-increasing faith in the plagiarising and pillaging image of the West seems to have be strengthened even further. The notion of squashing the pagan religions of the time, stealing their symbols and symbolisms, and rewriting entire characters in the biblical lore seems too much for comfort. It reminds me of 1984 yet again, with the elaborate machinery deployed by radicals with the sole purpose of rewriting the history of the world to suit their conceited ends. Why go as far as the West, let's talk of the rewriting of history textbooks by the BJP back home itself. I sometimes wonder whether this is a consequence of the corruption of mindset by the West through its unabashed display of wealth and prosperity acquired by wielding more power than the others, or is it inherent human nature. It is all too easy to conveniently lay one's blame on someone else but ever so difficult to own up to one's own folly.

I wonder whether the world would be a better place to live in if all its conflicting forces were allowed to mature unhampered. After all, every conspiracy theory tries to go against the establishment of a certain system of beliefs and functioning, and in effect professes a return to the originally prevailing chaos.

Septic Sceptic

I inherently mistrust people - people at workplace, people in relationships, strangers, and practically anybody and everybody who is not 'family'. I even mistrust my family at times. Sounds paranoid, doesn't it? I somehow feel that people always work to cause you intentional or unintentional harm, and mistrusting their every action provides me a magical shield with which I can safeguard my personal interests. It prevents me from being impulsive. I weigh the pros and cons in my head, analyze the situation and psycho-analyze the people invovled in it, before I reach a conclusion or decide on a response. Seems like a scientific experiment, done ad-hoc and distastefully. I probably am sounding egocentric and too much of a non-believer in the goodness of mankind. However, this is exactly what I have come to realize out of experience, or whatever little of it I've had so far.

It all started with the concept of a 'best friend' at school. I would, the unsuspecting and naive person that I was, place my complete trust in someone I would choose to call my best friend only to find myself 'betrayed'. They would move on nonchalantly to make friends with many more and revel in their companionship while treating me as 'just another friend', and I would be left all shattered. An instant opposition to this argument would be that the friendship above was really a child getting into one, and not a mature adult.

But as I grew older, I was into much deeper and meaninful relationships with a host of people who had varied upbringings and perspectives. But one thing that still remained a constant amidst all the change was the lack of consistency in their responses towards me. Viewed from my standpoint, despite my staying the same always, their perspective towards me kept changing with time. I guess it was the 'Theory of Relativity' at work. From my frame of reference, I was static, but the things around me transformed overnight into something unfamiliar and alien. Maybe it was my perspective that was undergoing a transformation, and much too erratically at that for comfort.

Later, I realized it was more a problem with me than anybody else. Maybe I was expecting a bit too much from others. I thought the best way to remedy that was to stop expecting altogether. A rather radical solution, but it worked nonetheless. I was a believer still, albeit a strange one - one with a null set of beliefs. The will to defend myself from the pain and anguish manifested itself first in mistrusting strangers and caught on gradually with respect to almost everyone I knew, till one fine day, I suddenly woke up to the realization that I had turned into a perpetual sceptic, an abslolute non-believer. Since then I have struggled to strike a balance between the two extremes.

I guess the urge to balance stems from the fact that both the extremes offer something unique that is desirable in all inter-personal interactions. While being a sceptic acts as your defense mechanism that is so essential for maintaining your individual identity, being a believer in goodness of mankind lends you a certain spontaneity in thought and action that is refreshing for the soul of a relationship. Where and how the equilibrium is reached varies with each individual.

Delusional Delirium

Stress - that dreadful monster that scares the living daylights out of one and all. Many throw the towel in, most struggle to stay afloat, some manage to hold on to the rope, and fewer still bask in its glory. I want to survive, and better still, flourish. What do I do? Deploy stress-busters!!

No prizes for guessing that the potent wonder-drug of my choice is called 'delusional delirium'. This sounds like I want everyone to turn into a hysterically euphoric psycho-neurotic, when all I want is each one of us to generate a self-sustaining illusion of general well-being; much like a controlled fusion reaction within one's self that powers the mind, body and soul to seek happiness and prosperity, outside, by acting as the driving force for sanguinity and the will to succeed, from the inside. This is hackneyed. Let me elaborate.

I am experiencing an ever-increasing visibility of animated gestures and moods around me everyday. People talk, behave, dress and act loudly to draw others' attention. Cartoons, caricatures, jokes and comic strips are hugely popular with kids and adults alike. They serve as potent weapons to disarm people without offending or hurting them and at the same time drive in valid points that would have otherwise been impossible to make understand. Concepts of Art of Living, Alternate Healing and the like are all aimed at healing the mind more than the body. They all serve to create an illusion that allows you to escape reality. Living with an illusion is not insanity. Infact it serves to provide an avenue to let go of the steam within by envisaging a world where only you call the shots. Once you learn how to control your mind, to see the other side of things, where you are in control, you automatically start feeling better.

The catch ofcourse being that you do not allow yourself to get carried away in your self-generated figments of imagination, lest you actually turn into a psycho-neurotic. Resist the urge to perform the act of this clinically executed self-destruction. The mind has a lot of power. It can make happen miracles by just wishing them. All you need is the will and the determination. Learn to control it. Don't let the boundary between illusion and reality get too blurry. But this seems like an impossible task. Illusions act more like black-holes. Once in existence, they work overtime to eventually suck the entire self into their field of influence and shut all doors of escape on you. The trick is to keep performing 'reality-checks'- a control mechanism that helps your fusion reaction reach a state of equilibrium and avoid uncontrolled escalation. A sensible reality-check is to frequently visit the real-world and express the desire to be led willfully, accept your flaws and work upon them in order to eliminate them permanently.

A time will then come when you will be without flaws and be in complete control of your self and the world around. It is then when reality will transform into illusion, and illusion will don reality. This is the fusion I envisage for one and all.

I have cooked up illusions of my own and hope to tackle stress in all its youthful glory. Still experimenting. Will let you know the results.