The Socioeconomics of Humour...

You are in Nigeria. Dazed and confused at how different the African heartland looks from home. A group of Nigerian girls pass by, looking at you with the look of visitors in a zoo. Then one of them comments "Oyimbo" (Yoruba slang for 'foreigner')and they all burst into loud giggling.

You are at a bash thrown by your boss. He introduces you to his boss. In the middle of the conversation, your boss pokes fun at the way you wear your tie. You are forced to laugh because everyone else is.

You go to a stand-up comedy. You sit in the first row. The comedian decides to take on the typical dresses of Africans and their apparently futile designs. You are laughing till your stomach hurts. Then he does a mimicry of how bosses act. He walks up near you, and in the manner of a stereotypical boss, pokes fun at the way you wear your tie. You laugh out gaily, planning to gift your boss a ticket to this place on his upcoming birthday.

Different situations give rise to different versions of humour. But what purpose does humour serve? Why has it survived so long in the evolutionary process? Why did it originate? Do other species crack jokes or attempt comic relief?

Chemical Psychology says that humour releases certain endomorphins that lead to reduction in the stress levels. Laughter clubs springing up all over the world subscribe to this view.
Sociology explains that laughter leads to bonding and establishes group membership. Remember the Nigerian women who laughed at you for being a oyimbo. They might not have known each other before, but all it takes is sharing a joke.
Anthropology insists that humour helps spread goodwill. Isn't that why we smile when introduced to someone.

But look around you. Are the people who crack the most jokes and think they are funny always the most stress-free or better team players or share a more benevolent personality. Most likely not.

With the evolution of our species, humour has also evolved. From being a stress-reliever to a group bonding tool, it has evolved into a superiority assertive. Don't we laugh at those weaker, worse off or more unfortunate than us. Don't we accept the ridicule of those stronger or higher up than us, even though its not really funny for us. Don't we relish the thought of being able to tell our boss, " I don't need to laugh at your jokes any more. I resigned this morning."

Look around again. And who better to look than men when it comes to domineering attitudes. Don't the macho males ridicule the not-so-macho ones and establish their superiority. Don't the beta ones get back at the alpha males by using humour. Don't women indicate who they think is the stud by choosing whose jokes to laugh at. Is ability to ridicule the new pecking order. Or is it overcompensatory behaviour for lagging elsewhere. Does the ability to make fun of someone give one an added survival advantage. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't.

This, Here, Now...

As the darkest hour of the night comes to pass, and as the sky readies itself to welcome the sun, the willowy fog of clouds and mist continues its journey across the valley. Rising from the foothills and onward across the green expanses on inclines, the fog makes its way.

A calm serenity this valley exudes. A home among the heavens, at the top of the world. The peaks of hills stand tall amongst the clouds. A few hours ago they lay at the mercy of these clouds as they rained down upon them. But now, they tend to the mist like guardian angels.

The mist and cloud speak of the dark past. In the past tense. A sense of hope and reclamation springs forth. Just like the billowing smoke in the aftermath of a war. When all that could be done was done. When houses were razed, and people were razed and everything that could be razed was razed. When the perpetrators were left powerless, bereft of anything they could destroy, bereft of anything they could take away. When all that remained was time. And hope. For things could only get brighter, sunnier and better. The smoke stands testimony to the helplessness of the destroyers, of the healing of time, of the impermanence of the worst. The mist and the clouds speak the same language.

The never-ending, limitless expanse of mist across undulating land stands as steady as time. Continual, steadfast and careless to a whim. Careless of what happens around. Of what it passes. Of what it has passed. Of what it will come to pass. Composed and unfettered, it glides along. Giving hope wherever it goes. Whenever it goes.

If there is a thing to be, it is this.
If there is a place to be, it is here.
If there is a time to be, it is now.

Mumbai Uncorked...

Everyone who has lived for a considerable time in Mumbai knows that it is one of those things thats almost impossible to define. The feelings and the emotions that Mumbai arouses will never be felt elsewhere. It is these that bind all Mumbaikars well beyond the need of any geographical borders - Mumbai is open country.

No one is ever an outsider to Mumbai for too long. Mumbai accommodates. In its motley of local trains, in its numerous skyscrapers, in its share market rallies, in its Udipi restaurants and on its Chowpatties and Bandstands. Everyone is welcome. They always have been. An urban spectacle, conspicuous by its huge contribution to government revenues and by the miniscule amount that comes back, Mumbai carries on.

Sometimes, this treatment is humiliating, frustrating, even revolting. But, as Roark Howard would have said, '...the pain goes down only to a certain point, and then it stops...', Mumbai keeps at it. In the long run, the only competition will be with itself.

The rains lash Mumbai like a jealous mistress. She keeps coming back. Year after year, the monsoon keeps its date with Mumbai. And Mumbai welcomes it. Even though it hurts, Mumbai adores her. Amidst flooded roads and dank winds, aartis and pujas welcome the reunion. Even in the wake of life brought to a standstill, the tumultous relationship endures - welcomed and respected.

Mumbai may not be the most modern city, neither the most well-planned. But its magnificence lies not in what others did with it. It lies in what Mumbai does to itself every single day. Day after day. Without respite or let-back. Taking all in its stride. Mumbai goes on. Mumbai rocks.