Making people laugh

It is one of my strengths, as well as a serious weakness, that I am always looking to make jokes.  Laughter is a unique human quality, and It seems to me that shared laughter is one of the greatest social activities, so I (almost) never miss the opportunity to  tell a joke, make a face, do a piece of mime.  Even (or actually especially) against myself.  In some cases, this is a defence mechanism – if I laugh at me first, others joining in takes away the sting – and the joke is with me,  not at me.  Self-deprecation is in itself a gentle joke, and I do it a lot; the problem arises when people think you just being remarkably honest.

This consistently jocular approach can have its drawbacks.  I remember describing my (then future) son-in-law as “not as stupid as he looks.”  It is a common enough phrase, meant and normally taken as praise.  My daughter, alert to any potential slight, brooded on this for a while, then called me up on it.  If I had explained what I had intended, all would have been well.  But I didn’t (I too had been brooding upon her silence), and accused her of being over-sensitive, and the row lasted until the next day.  When people don’t realise you’re joking…

In India, I regard it as my particular challenge to make people laugh (or at least crack a smile.)  They are as ready to laugh as anyone, but there are a number of obstacles to be overcome.  There is the language barrier, for a start, but there are ways around that.  When I hand my credit card over to make a payment, and we are waiting for it to be approved, I generally make a crossed fingers gesture.  I used it twice yesterday, at the supermarket and the off-licence, and it worked both times.  And resulted in warmer treatment.  Result.

Then there is the over-deferential attitude, which works in both directions.  Those in power do not expect people to joke with them, and generally it comes as a refreshing change; everyone likes to laugh.   (Except for the most po-faced, of course, but that just makes for a greater level of difficulty, and all the more achievement when you crack it.)  And at the other end of the (social) scale, I also try to make drivers, street-sellers, security guards, people in the street, whoever, laugh as well.  They do not expect it; in some cases they do not expect to be addressed at all, except in admonitory terms.  So that too has its challenge.

Because I am entirely democratic (or indiscriminate, take your pick) in my approach,  I joke with Geeta ma’am, I joke with the boy who sweeps the floor.  Most especially, I joke with the people I teach, where it is a potent weapon,  especially for a Drama teacher.  When I meet a class for the first time, they are frequently frozen to the point of catatonia; what is going to be expected of them?  So I need to put them at their ease, to get them to relax.  In India especially, there is a great fear of making a mistake, and its potential consequences; it is my job to reassure them that  making mistakes is what learning is all about, and that its consequences are not disastrous (unless you are flying a plane) but to be welcomed – it is part of the process.  So laughing at mistakes, providing it is the mistake that is being laughed at, and not the person make it, is a way of defusing it.  And I have yet to meet a class for whom this is not true; generally after about twenty minutes they are relaxed and ready to do Drama… and laughing.

What about those occasions when laughter is entirely inappropriate?  Well obviously I get that wrong sometimes, joke when I shouldn’t, cause upset.  But it’s not an automatic thing, and I do generally recognise which response is correct.

But as I say to the kids, “I’m always joking… except when I’m not.”  Which is a joke, of course.