Humor and its loyalties

Humor belongs to body, humor belongs to soul

If I knew any better, I'd be on its payroll

Humor ain't no joke, its serious if you laugh and choke

It may kill you if you are a poor bloke, whose dream went up in smoke

Humor may be a guy, whose pastime was to deny

Indolent rulers their right and keep check on their might

But then it may be  a gal, on whom it befell

To cheer up the folks in hell, and teary fits dispel

It serves up a plate of snorts and smirks

Past youth and wit it can unearth.

Satiates an old desire to sigh

At the blunder of your folly to pry

It even makes you cry,

fat tears of pure delight

brings home friends on a cold night

And warms up the hearths of love's light

Humor may serve another kind of purpose,

If it roams the rulers' court of jesters

Divesting them of somber expressions

Macabre smiles and sadistic inventions…

Push them of their high horse

Make them seek better recourse…

'cause it ain't no fun for the poor man

If humor cant afford to mess up the rulers' plan

Humor, do you sharpen your wit at their expense

Do you bow in excess to see their vanity's extent?

You are silent when they mock at you

Do I see a twinkle in your eye or a tear push through

Is it so hilarious that it hurts to laugh

Or the silence of the hurt they have caused

Have you given up on your troubles and decided to be wry

Or is it your pun that drives them away, and make them shy

Maybe you played in a yard, laughing on the sly…

Maybe there wasn't any other trade you learnt to ply

Do they see you as a light hearted soul

Is your intelligent banter your parole?

You are the keeper of their blunders' records

Nameless and ageless are your divine methods

Do they know it is you who rule,

Do they know of their shame's mule

Do you want them unblinded, unmuted and dissillusioned

Of their might, of their right to be unquestioned

Are you there by choice or appointed,

Are you moved by the need to be wanted

Isn't there self deprecation where you wander

And I've seen you often surrender

To the claims and fancies of people's hunger

For a little respite

from the harshness of life

Where does your loyalty lie?

On whom do you rely?

Out of every destiny's graph,

Who has the last laugh ?

MIDDLE SCHOOL

She was looking through the window to escape when the other girl called her… she was irritated. Not again!! I will not hear another word of mock concern. “Latha!!” the voice called, “would you eat my tiffin, I’m really bored of the same food everyday”. What! she is bored of food? But, should I take it? I am starving, what will others think? I can’t stand their pity anymore. They won’t say anything but I see their faces every day. I’ll eat, I’m starving. Upma! My favorite, this girl is weird, she doesn’t like it?
Here, your tiffin box, nice and empty. “Thanks Latha…” What is she thanking me for? Oh no, why is she coming back? “Hey you could share lunch with us every day you don’t have to eat alone” hah! I don’t have to eat at all. No thanks, I don’t like to eat in class. There I saw the flicker of pity again. Thanks for your time. Now get out of my face!
Random people come and go out of the class, the middle aged roundish woman has been going on for about an hour now. Ouch! Why did she have to throw chalk at me! “Latha! Enough! Stop looking out of the window and pay attention here!”  I’ll show them why it is important to look. Look! There is life outside, the real one, not the ideal world of rules and norms and science and lovely political systems. Not geography that changes every year in your textbooks. Not history fouled over. The present, the current!!! Its outside, it’s here. Aah, forget it. ill be mute as always. If they want to know, let them look into my eyes.
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“What happened???” have you seen Latha? “who, the mad one no?” she is not mad! “unruly messed up hair, feverish eyes, crazy laugh and always lost ya I know her” well she standing there on the scool terrace and going to jump!!
“What??!!”
“Latha don’t jump”
Why shouldn't I, this is what is real, this is what I’m meant for. Not your books, not your pitiful smiles of mock sympathy. I want to be free of this room, this building, of you all!! My life ! I am coming…
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Why did she do this, who was her friend, do you know what happened.
I think she was a bit challenged, you know what I mean?
No, no, some guy dumped her.
She was wild
I knew something like this was going to happen
Shut up all of you, she’s right here!! She was sick of the empty words around, the weak attempts at empathy. Nobody could enter her world. Even teachers mocked her. All your explanations cannot make up for her silence. Nobody could get through her shell of pain… we killed her!!

WHOSE STORY DO YOU WANT???

Is it a nameless faceless crowd? I thought not.

People differ here, I see them in all their quirky variations. High achievers, low self esteem issues, superiority complexes, glorious dreamers, amazing artists, the super whiz kids…The look uptos, the cant get throughs, the pitiers, the unsavory, the nocturnal, the diurnal, the blind, the mute, the magnifique raconteurs…

And it is the same reason I look at them. It is their stories…

The first month I was the meek one. Walking through the corridors observing all that went on. The charades, the breakdowns, the adrenaline rushes of unknown acquisitions… how they thrilled me, the story teller in me. At first I wanted to stop every such person and talk to them about their story. I was a blank slate wanting to fill in every color. I signed up for every activity I knew the meaning of, and some more. Then I learnt how to persist, and how to let go. What to learn, what to give up, and how to give up gracefully, and gracelessly.

I got a label too. But took a while, a year to be precise, to find the niche. A writer. I knew I was, but not defined. Not all encompassing. My subject still is people and their stories.

Some had fought their parents, earned their way into college, the others who hadn't worked even to make a meal for themselves but were amazing at subtle abstract analysis, confused actors, depressed poets, silent photographers, foodie comrades, the perfectionists, the obsessed, the geniuses and their sidekicks. All of them walking rushing, pacing, lazing, tapping, flourishing through the same corridors. Oh the sheer intensity and quantity of stories they had to tell and the scarcity of time was almost physically painful for me to bear. The great auditorium where the realities of every deserving living thing fought for time and space to capture the attention of the world. The thrill of the pulsating audience, trance-like and spell bound. At other times, the audience stood up and talked, sang, and chanted together.

I was gripped by the energy around me, everything outside the walls seemed mundane. But then the walls expanded, the world around seeped in and I could see the energy, the stage, the actors in everyone around! Understanding individuality and using to cater to the demands of the crowd. The composition of the crowd, its strata was amazing. And just at its boundaries were me and my friends. We fit into them, but we were still meandering at the periphery. More than once we became the outcasts of the system as did many others. The best thing is, nobody is stagnant. People faded, people arrived, people stayed. And stories! Endless stories were passed on to us. People grew. But my childlike lenses have survived...