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CRANK'S CORNER

        As I write this, a conflict of feelings swirls in my mind. A dear colleague is getting engaged just as another dear colleague has lost his wife. In terms of human experience, the two represent the extreme opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. Should I rejoice at the former or mourn for the latter? And which of my experience would be acceptable and genuine, and why?

        The world wouldn't mind, in fact would find it perfectly appropriate, if I go into a mood of sorrow and look downcast to mirror the bereavement for one friend while leaving out the rightful celebration that the other friend's situation calls for. Everyday there are thousands of deaths. And elsewhere, everyday there are thousands of celebrations. There is no issue or nothing to be debated as long as one is exclusive of the other. But when there is a clash between the two and a choice has to be made between participating in a glad event and a sad happening, the world generally prefers to go with the grief-stricken. In principle, it is a sensible idea as the bereaved certainly need the solace of the surviving. But insidiously inherent in this scheme of things is a value judgement on human emotional experiences. Happiness, in general, is seen to be guilty, inappropriate and artificial in the face of tragedy, which death is deemed to represent.

        But why? Is death not inevitable and every one of us has to embrace it at some point? Isn't the ultimate, and the only, reality? Ironically this certitude of life sows the seeds of maximum confusion in our mind. It may be because none of us know what we were before birth or what we will be after death. But the idea of 'being' while talking of pre and post-life is itself very nebulous and highly presumptuous.

        Death, by definition, cannot be first hand. And there can also be no survivors to tell the tale of death. Put it simply, even though death is an every-day reality of life, it is an unknown, and the fear of the unknown is a primeval feeling in humans. Fear leads to overexaggerated response.

        But, if you come down to it, there is no better example of overexaggeration than humour and other themes associated with celebration. Just call to mind any of your favourite jokes. And for a moment, cut out all the hyperbole in it, and use the utmost logic on it. Immediately its fizz will vanish, its bouncy air will be deflated. For instance, consider this one: A couple of hunters are out in the woods when one of them falls to the ground. He doesn't seem to be breathing, his eyes are rolled back in his head. The other guy whips out his cell phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps to the operator: 'My friend is dead! What can I do?' The operator, in a calm soothing voice says: 'Just take it easy. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead.'

        There is a silence, then a shot is heard. The guy's voice comes back on the line. He says: 'OK, now what?'

        You may like to laugh, but obviously no friend will be stupid enough to kill his friend to ensure that he is dead. So you cannot use this elementary reasoning here as humour simply cannot stand the test of serious logic and reality. In that sense, humour is the metaphorical equivalent cocking a snook at life's certitudes and verities.

        Even though humour may be a defiant counter-response born in the human breast to the ineluctable problems of existence, it need not be an antithesis to death. James Thurber once famously defined humour as: 'It is when an expected future is replaced with an unexpected future. The more unexpected the more humorous'. But he could as well have been talking of death and its consequences. For, death alters life like no other. And no future is more uncertain than the one faced by a person who has lost his near or dear. In this sense, death and humour represent the two faces of the same coin of fate. So between the laughter of death and the cry of humour, there is little to choose. At any rate, isn't death the ultimate humorist, having the last laugh always.

        So just as I spill a tear for my colleague's departed wife, I also spare a smile for the wife to-be of my another co-worker. It is not a complex contradiction. Crank's Corner trying to be serious is also funny. Sort of.