Nobody Tells Jokes Anymore, like They Did When I Was Younger – The Wire

Nobody tells jokes anymore, like they did when I was younger. Instead, jokes and even humour, to a large extent have almost entirely been outsourced to cyberspace, from whence they are conveyed, facelessly, for momentary amusement and onward transmission, like numerous other contemporary aspects of our humdrum existence. Thats all.

And though fleetingly mirthful, these jokes remain impersonal essentially, a dehumanised utilitarian endeavour that excludes the tone, tenor, body language and drama that normally accompanies good (and at times, even the not-so-good) joke telling. Without doubt, it robs the intended boisterous outcome of the pitch, spectacle, warmth and human connection that personally narrated jokes invariably evoke.

Impersonally e-mailing jokes or disbursing them via social network platforms is, in a sense, simply opting for the easier, more practical and lazier amusement option. Even stand-up comedy is a poor substitute, a part of the subcontracting syndrome, in a world where at a personal level we are increasingly becoming more dour than droll, more worshipful than irreverential.

Its an indisputable fact that as a people most Indians tend to take themselves far too seriously, hobbled by caution; which is why gratification or enjoyment in any form, including jokes, remains sinful and iniquitous. And, then there is always that karmic caveat we all grow up with: if you laugh too much, providence will make you cry in equal measure.

Such inherent deterrence, combined with our increasingly overwrought, politically correct, uptight and self-obsessed milieu discounting for the moment the ongoing coronavirus pandemic has brought us to a juncture where most people have taken to wilfully gagging the gag.

Its almost as if jokes and humour in our drawing rooms, cafes and addas around the country, are rapidly and ironically morphing into a German joke, which, as Mark Twain said, was no laughing matter.

Besides, unimpeded laughter, from the belly upwards, too, is decidedly frowned upon in polite company, and from being the norm in yesteryears, such welcome jollity is fast becoming the exception. These days, many of us often ask, or are in turn asked: Heard any good ones lately? None, is the standard answer. But in an apologetic effort at deliverance and one-upmanship, many of us reach defensively for our cell phones to read out a joke or WhatsApp it to our inquisitor from what has undeniably emerged as the 21st centurys humour crutch.

Regrettably, this swelling robotic syndrome has put paid to those raucous, thigh slapping guffaw sessions, accompanied by shrieks and high fives, in which bawdy and lesser-rollicking jokes and irreverent tales surged freely, years earlier. As an ageing humourist put it, those extravagant reactions were akin to the explosive release of the contents of a pre-shaken soda water bottle. They were not only therapeutic and salutary, but, even years later, hugely memorable.

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The art of effective joke-telling

A plethora of hilarious jokes from innumerable get-togethers in my youth, especially in Punjabi a robust language that effortlessly lends itself to this purpose still remain iconic and incredibly amusing. Most were embellished by generations of irreverent and wicked Punjabis, each one adding quirky, kinky and delectable twists. A large proportion of these jokes had imaginative plots, complete with shades of perceptive social commentary, making them both a delight to recount and to listen to.

However, then and now, the joke tellers narration skills is critical to this jocular enterprise.

A proficient narrator will casually, but calculatedly, induce his or her audience into suspending disbelief as they picturise the unfolding maze of action, before delivering the coup de grace, either with quiet finesse, or a dramatic, action-packed flourish.

Innocently ensnaring audiences into a labyrinth of seeming mundanity before delivering the clincher is the endeavour of all accomplished joke narrators. But for this to work, timing remains essential, and the greater the narrators mastery over it, the more effective the outcome.

In this context, its apposite to recall The Kings Speech, the delightful British historical film from 2010 about Prince Albert later King George VI who has an embarrassing stutter and hires Lionel Logue, an Australian speech therapist, to overcome it.

In the course of trying to make the prince feel at ease, before he gets down to eventually working on ridding the British royal of his impediment, Logue ask him if at all he tells jokes to his friends. NNNNot rrreallly, stammers the prospective king, MMMMY ttttiming is a bbbit ooofff, only re-affirming that execution and performance in effective joke-telling is imperative. Too little and it falls flat; too much and it overshoots. The secret, and not an easy one to crack, is to get it just right, which needless to state, is an art.

This dirge for jokes, and nostalgia for the halcyon days of jocularity, assuredly demands the telling of some old favourites. However, The Wire being a family website, precludes some classic lusty Punjabi tales, which for want of a better definition have universally been prudishly labelled non-vegetarian.

However, one of the perennial vegetarian favourites that I remember and there are numerous versions of it involves the moon-landing by Neil Armstrong. After taking a small step for man and a giant one for mankind onto the pitted moon surface, the American astronaut comes upon a Sardarji tying his turban.

TheastoundedArmstrong, understandably miffed at being pipped to the moon by a sardar, asks how long ago had he arrived.

Partition de baad (After the Partition of India and Pakistan), came the matter-of-fact reply.

Though decades old, this joke has not lost its capacity to amuse, or at least prompt a smile from both the teller and listener. To somewhat intellectualise the point, the joke encapsulates the history of millions of Sikhs who fled Pakistan after Partition for the remotest of placesin their entrepreneurial quest for a new life in which, over seven decades later, they succeeded beyond belief.

Without doubt, Sikhs are to be found everywhere; so why not the moon? Its simple, self-effacing and fanciful logic, but above all its unquestioningly hilarious and compelling.

The other story is set in the 1970s.

It features two Punjabis who own Volkswagen Beetlesl which at the time were the trendiest set of wheels all swingers owned. One of them lived in Delhi and the other in Amritsar, and not having seen their respective Beetles, or each other, they decided to meet halfway one Sunday at Puran Singhs dhaba in Ambala, for lunch.

Simultaneously they set off early in the morning from their individual towns, and a few hours later the one driving in from Delhi arrives outside the Ambala dhaba, but suddenly his Beetle dies on him.

Irritated and desperate, he tries frantically to gun the engine, but to no avail. He gets out and opens the Beetles front, only to find it empty.

Gobsmacked, he is looking into this void when his friend from Amritsar drives up, and with a flourish, parks his Beetle and hops out. The customary jhappis follow, after which the Beetle owner from Amritsar asks his visibly upset friend what the problem is with his Bug.

Problem, he says, its a vada syapa (big disaster). Ive been driving my Beetle for six months and now I discover it does not even have an engine, he fulminates.

Bhape, his friend consolingly tells him, tenu patta nahi German gaddi reputation te chall de hai (Dont you know, German cars run on reputation.)

Pur tu fikar na kaar (But dont you worry,) he comfortingly adds in the clincher to the yarn; I have a spare engine in my Beetles boot which you can have.

Once again, the tale incorporates innumerable strands centered round the classic Beetle that was without doubt, the 20th centurys most popular car, identified with an entire generation of trendies through the 1960s and 70s. The joke ingeniously uses the rear-engined car with its trunk in front, with a ludicrousness that is ingenious.

But then again, this tale too has numerous embellishments, many of which have become victim to political correctness which, over the past few decades, has dealt a death blow to humour from which it is unlikely to ever recover.

The rustic and risqu jokes of that era fostered a certain kind of human bonding, allowing us to process and reflect on our changing world and values. They also helped alleviate the obstacle-ridden grind of daily living, confirming the adage that life is so much easier with a sense of humour. Its simply not funny, not having one.

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Nobody Tells Jokes Anymore, like They Did When I Was Younger - The Wire