This is one of those where the title came to mind
first, and probably a rough silhouette of the intent with it. What exactly was
to be put on paper was still unclear. Origins of this post lay in the
wasteland of happenings from the past week wherein it became increasingly
difficult to comprehend when to make light of a situation and when not. As a
result, I used to be pissed with people more than usual. Those who know me
would understand “being pissed more than usual” , in my case, means a lot.
Inevitably, the response was either “relax, I was just joking” or the more
diplomatic “I wasn’t referring to you, it was meant as a general observation”.
As if the pin pricks of having to hear such disguised insolence wasn’t enough,
the increased frequency of it was starting to get to me. Everybody could not
have been wrong, right? Was it me? Was I losing my sense of
humour?
Bitter as I may be, a sense of humour is what I take a lot of pride in. You cannot take the funny away from a sarcastic twisted f#$% like me. That would just be brutal. Call it a shield and what not, but the fact remains that humour is not to be joked around with (this is where you applaud for what I just did there). The root problem that has surfaced time and again is the lack of understanding of implicit humour. People’s ignorance of wit and an overjoyed lackadaisical appreciation for in-your-face-slap-stick humour has always been, irritating, if not something more. Yet, somehow there always was the chance encounter when your humour would be appreciated and lauded. Yes, we all are self-centred a-holes who love an audience. But here I was, the complete opposite, being eyed by others in a peculiar way, spoken of in hushed tones behind my back, as that guy who could not take a joke. When you get labelled as that guy, your inner Hulk takes over and no matter how politely you try to fend off such accusatory glances, the glean in your eyes and the venom you spew just never loses its sting. It set me back. Probably made me look dreary and ill the past few days too. I am not joking.
One good thing it did do for me though was give me calm and serenity. People stopped approaching me with eyes full of hope of getting to hear something that they could take back home, relay in a totally mundane way and then have to apologise “you should have heard it then, it was real funny”. I could just hang around without having the pressure of being the go-to guy when you’re down. I could have my chips down too, for a change. Sure I didn’t tweet a demeaning quip, post a ridiculing status, but I sure as hell got time to relax and drift in to the background, away from all the banter of a gathering whenever I was in one. Yes, I just loved being that guy. Losing the funny was actually not all that bad. I had no complaints.
This is where this post should have ended.
And then it happened today morning.
The word ‘tuppence’ just whisked by and pop came a line to slight someone. Fine, a one off line doesn’t matter, let’s stick to the program of relaxing and not having to be at our best the whole time, I thought to myself. I could do that. How hard can it be to just sloth around? And then came the audience. That seducing captivating appreciating audience of one person that draws you out from your cove till you are totally vulnerable to go over to the dark side yet again. There I was, basking in the glory of acknowledgment for the cynical jest that had been produced in the passing. If this posed me tantalisingly close to the edge of falling over again into the pit of being funny, the slight push came in from the follow-up aphorism. I caved. I just could not live with losing the funny. Its worse than addiction and more liberating too. It comes with its expectations and pressures, but at the end of the day, I’d rather be that sarcastic twisted f#$% I know myself to be.
Bitter as I may be, a sense of humour is what I take a lot of pride in. You cannot take the funny away from a sarcastic twisted f#$% like me. That would just be brutal. Call it a shield and what not, but the fact remains that humour is not to be joked around with (this is where you applaud for what I just did there). The root problem that has surfaced time and again is the lack of understanding of implicit humour. People’s ignorance of wit and an overjoyed lackadaisical appreciation for in-your-face-slap-stick humour has always been, irritating, if not something more. Yet, somehow there always was the chance encounter when your humour would be appreciated and lauded. Yes, we all are self-centred a-holes who love an audience. But here I was, the complete opposite, being eyed by others in a peculiar way, spoken of in hushed tones behind my back, as that guy who could not take a joke. When you get labelled as that guy, your inner Hulk takes over and no matter how politely you try to fend off such accusatory glances, the glean in your eyes and the venom you spew just never loses its sting. It set me back. Probably made me look dreary and ill the past few days too. I am not joking.
One good thing it did do for me though was give me calm and serenity. People stopped approaching me with eyes full of hope of getting to hear something that they could take back home, relay in a totally mundane way and then have to apologise “you should have heard it then, it was real funny”. I could just hang around without having the pressure of being the go-to guy when you’re down. I could have my chips down too, for a change. Sure I didn’t tweet a demeaning quip, post a ridiculing status, but I sure as hell got time to relax and drift in to the background, away from all the banter of a gathering whenever I was in one. Yes, I just loved being that guy. Losing the funny was actually not all that bad. I had no complaints.
This is where this post should have ended.
And then it happened today morning.
The word ‘tuppence’ just whisked by and pop came a line to slight someone. Fine, a one off line doesn’t matter, let’s stick to the program of relaxing and not having to be at our best the whole time, I thought to myself. I could do that. How hard can it be to just sloth around? And then came the audience. That seducing captivating appreciating audience of one person that draws you out from your cove till you are totally vulnerable to go over to the dark side yet again. There I was, basking in the glory of acknowledgment for the cynical jest that had been produced in the passing. If this posed me tantalisingly close to the edge of falling over again into the pit of being funny, the slight push came in from the follow-up aphorism. I caved. I just could not live with losing the funny. Its worse than addiction and more liberating too. It comes with its expectations and pressures, but at the end of the day, I’d rather be that sarcastic twisted f#$% I know myself to be.
