It’s a joke,stupid!

I am referring to comedian Russell Peters who made some off-the-cuff remark about Aishwarya Rai Bachchan’s talent or lack of it. And everyone and their father apologised to her and her in-laws. So what if she is hugely awarded and her peers and the public have always given her films a thumbs-up. The point is the guy made a bad joke and instead of being sent to Coventry he has seen a huge surge in popularity. Or notoriety. Either way,he hit the headlines. Simply because we forgot to let a laughter track blank out the din/clatter.

You see,we are Indian and umbrage is our birthright and we shall have it,to misquote a really famous Indian statesman. Even if it is one of the least attractive qualities a person can have,we have made it in our ­official national sentiment,and use every opportunity to endorse it.

Taking a joke or having a sense of humour means that you don’t take yourself too seriously. If you have that quality,it means you are open to suggestion. Open to change. Ergo,open to improvement. That is the single-most charming trait to possess. A closed mind,on the other hand,breeds ugliness. Rigidity and rudeness.

Once upon a time,we weren’t like this. All the comments that are now considered racist or offensive came out of affection. And from the people themselves. Gujaratis made jokes about their parsimony. Parsis boasted about their quirkiness. And the Sardars owned the official joke book of India. A fact that made me really happy. My people told the best jokes about themselves. It was our thing. Along with the kukad and the whisky. We were funny people who saw the humour in the cliche and cocked a snook at it with great irony. We took great pride in our tag as the confident Indians who were happy to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. And seriously,the humour was wonderful and inspired. Bordering on the wonderfully politically incorrect. I recall a particularly wonderful series after the Punjab crisis. We Sikhs even made light of terrorism.Yes,it was an attempt to cover our pain and hurt. But I like to think this ability helped us heal. Today,there is peace in Punjab. And yes,humour did not turn a political rebellion on its head — but not taking it to heart helped the Sikhs go back to their natural glory.

Now before anyone takes “umbrage” at my simplistic explanation for painful national events,I have to say please stop. Nothing I have said is meant to be offensive. If it is,please blame it on my ignorance and move on. You see,my people are no longer the cool turbaned Singhs. We,too,are humourless. Even though cinema is celebrating Sikhism,we object to everything. From a tattoo to a name,we occupy a space of paranoia that has us convinced that we are being made fun of – ­instead of being feted. The grim gene has spread like an epidemic.

But this inability to smile,or to see the glass as half-full instead of half-empty,has turned us into dull people who celebrate the banal. We need praise like a vampire needs an aorta. It’s become our life blood. I think this dourness stems from a genuine fear. You see,humour ­often is a reflection of the truth. Let’s be honest,a joke sometimes is an exaggeration of reality. Embroidered or disguised,it is an unalterable fact. And that isn’t palatable.

But if that is the case,I am seriously concerned about our future. And not ready for the truth myself. ­Because the future of laughter then lies in the hands of boors and fools. The kind of bumpkin who favours the slapstick. Or worse,sniggers at someone else’s mishaps. The strangest thing happened to me the other day when I was walking on a crowded street. I narrowly missed crashing into a cyclist coming from the wrong direction. I flinched and nervously stepped back in haste. Two young men behind me doubled over with laughter. And continued to titter long after I crossed the street. They found the idea of me getting hurt hilarious. Not particularly polite,don’t you think?

tothemannerborn@expressindia.com