I met him about a month back, instantly affronted by the fact that he giggled at my name. And ofcourse, said it wrong.
In formal shirts &crooked laughs conversation with him flowed like Mumbai's traffic doesn't—on and on and on, almost till you want to hit a speed breaker!
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In formal shirts &crooked laughs conversation with him flowed like Mumbai's traffic doesn't—on and on and on, almost till you want to hit a speed breaker!
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Full of anecdotes and jokes, this man's pitara of memories seemed bottomless. From escapades in his small town home with his neighbour's daughter to more audacious runs in city malls—he was the heart and soul of every conversation.
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You simply had to look at him, ask a question and there would be words.
"Do you talk in your sleep, too?" I asked him by day 2.
He chuckled, told me yet another anecdote.
"He's the funniest guy you'd ever meet," said of him everyone I came to know.
Only, there was cincher.
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"Do you talk in your sleep, too?" I asked him by day 2.
He chuckled, told me yet another anecdote.
"He's the funniest guy you'd ever meet," said of him everyone I came to know.
Only, there was cincher.
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He was so much more than just a funny guy—a sensitive person, a good friend, someone who loved math but got nervous around numbers, an inept cook, a serial muchie-muncher, a super generous host, a nostalgic man with a weird past who believed strange things about storing wine.
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And this is why, listening in circles to what he had to say, sometimes I'd grow distinctly uncomfortable.
As he would inch towards his comic climax, chins would bobble with soundless delight; someone would wipe away a tear; someone would let out peals and screams of laughter.
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As he would inch towards his comic climax, chins would bobble with soundless delight; someone would wipe away a tear; someone would let out peals and screams of laughter.
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At him?
Because after all, the butt of his every joke was he himself—Our small-town hero who would inevitably find himself in a pickle thanks to a mixture of bad-luck and gullibility.
Laughing through tears, people would pat him on the back, and exclaim—
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Because after all, the butt of his every joke was he himself—Our small-town hero who would inevitably find himself in a pickle thanks to a mixture of bad-luck and gullibility.
Laughing through tears, people would pat him on the back, and exclaim—
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"Oh Brijesh, only you!" And soon, "Pulling a Brijesh," became a term of its own.
Joke completed, as laughter would ebb & flow—some repeating his catch phrases—I'd turn to watch him because those were his most telling moments.
He'd be sitting back, a small smile on his face.
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Joke completed, as laughter would ebb & flow—some repeating his catch phrases—I'd turn to watch him because those were his most telling moments.
He'd be sitting back, a small smile on his face.
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Completely withdrawn.
Watching with detached discernment this world of laughter he had conjured.
Watching this version of him that induced laughter—this version that would be remembered by these people as "the funniest guy they've ever known."
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Watching with detached discernment this world of laughter he had conjured.
Watching this version of him that induced laughter—this version that would be remembered by these people as "the funniest guy they've ever known."
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A guy who he... wasn't?
And so, on an evening filled with too many beers, while faery lights blinked too excitedly behind us, I brought this up. "They aren't laughing with you. They're laughing at you," I said. "How can you enjoy being 'impossible' and 'ridiculous'?"
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And so, on an evening filled with too many beers, while faery lights blinked too excitedly behind us, I brought this up. "They aren't laughing with you. They're laughing at you," I said. "How can you enjoy being 'impossible' and 'ridiculous'?"
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In one of rare moods of thoughtful silence he gave me a this for an answer, "We take ourselves too seriously, yaar. Fuck dignity and self importance. Without them life is so much better."
***
If you've ever told a joke to a whole group of people only to receive—
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***
If you've ever told a joke to a whole group of people only to receive—
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—confused looks in return, you know how deeply personal laughter is.
We laugh when words or situations sink deep within us, touch a memory here, a feeling from long ago we stored there, trigger both & emerge as a happy sound. We can't laugh at something we don't relate with.
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We laugh when words or situations sink deep within us, touch a memory here, a feeling from long ago we stored there, trigger both & emerge as a happy sound. We can't laugh at something we don't relate with.
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And that's what makes laughter so personal.
Watch the jokes someone laughs at—especially if it's dark humour. It'll tell you a lot about their fears.
Listen to the quality of their laughter—the volume, the tone, the openness. It'll tell you a lot about their vulnerabilities.
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Watch the jokes someone laughs at—especially if it's dark humour. It'll tell you a lot about their fears.
Listen to the quality of their laughter—the volume, the tone, the openness. It'll tell you a lot about their vulnerabilities.
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Watch for the jokes someone misses—it'll tell you about what might move them, even break them in years to come.
Listening to Brijesh (name changed, duh :p ) telling his stories over and over again I've learnt so much about him, people and what makes them laugh.
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Listening to Brijesh (name changed, duh :p ) telling his stories over and over again I've learnt so much about him, people and what makes them laugh.
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I've learn that behind every "funny guy" there are as many layers as perhaps the build up to his jokes.
I've learnt that sometimes being laughed at is healthy, keeps one's ego in check, heals insecurities, exposes absurdities—this ever delightful mirror called laughter.
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I've learnt that sometimes being laughed at is healthy, keeps one's ego in check, heals insecurities, exposes absurdities—this ever delightful mirror called laughter.
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So here's wishing Brijesh - resident funny guy (and so much more) - many more years of stories and laughter. 🍷
Fin.
Fin.
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