The Laughter league

 

The Laughter league

               …………  full of Life

Arrived at Hotel Panchavati to meet and discuss sale of  property with prospective investor . The restaurant was unusually crowded. Found a table for 4 at one corner. The adjacent table was occupied by a gaggle of boisterous, excited  giggling teen age  girls . As I waited  for client’s arrival , I couldn't help but catch their conversation ,it was loud enough !

It was apparent that they were preparing for some  event.

 Girl 1: : अरे ओ साम्भा भाई कितने आदमी थे ?

  (Squealing all around).

 Girl 2: :  only 4 सर्कार  … after thought “Don’t ask कौन थे ”

   More laughter and squealing

Girl 1 : : वो 4 और  and तुम alone? Right? ?...  (shrill screams) 

 

Girl 2: :  in Kannada ನಾನು ಒಂದು ಪ್ರಶ್ನೆಗೆ ಒಂದೇ……….. ಸಲ  ಉತ್ತರಿಸೋದು  Understand ? ( shrill hysterical squeals)

Girl 1 : और तुम  उसको defeat नहीं कर  पाये ?  ….. Giggles all round

Girl 2: :Try तो  किया री…….

Voice from the group: “ She’s Non Violent ” More squeals and uncontrolled laughter.

Girl 1 : : Useless ,  कालिया, पिस्तौल देना

Girl 2: : Yes सर्कार .Right away सर्कार. Hands over her purse: डिशम डिशम

              (delirious shrieking,screaming, yelling all around)

 Voice from Group: Hey,  ಕಾಫಿ ಬಂತು ಕಣ್ಣ್ರೆ.  Prolongued giggles, banter.                  &  Discordant  Cacophony

My phone rings. Voice at the other end apologizes for delay & informs that the Party will arrive within next 15 minutes . Impulsively a thought occurred there could be more entertainment by this “ laughter league” !

But,as they finished their coffee, the excited group got ready to leave."

I asked one of the girls what was going on, and she replied, “We’re just practicing  funny skit for college day, Uncle."

 

This unexpected interlude proved to be a powerful catalyst for nostalgia, instantly transporting me to my own college days—a time typically characterized by high-pitched laughter & repartee, intense bonding, and carefree expression. It evoked impressions of a "golden age" of life, where friendships were forged quickly and emotions were uninhibitedly shared.

 Memories  like  storming “Chandra Café” after a cricket match to feast on masala dosas and coffee for just ₹ 0:65 apiece, and watching the waiter & cook struggle to keep up was pure comedy  Seeing other visitors curse our marathon sessions while we enjoyed the entire  batch of batter  & shamelessly basking in the annoyed glares and frustrated curses of other guests  was absolute bliss."

Phones and social media have definitely changed things. We used to just hang out more without constantly checking screens. People still want to socialize, but Spontaneous light-hearted banter is becoming outdated. There just aren’t many natural ways to break the ice anymore. There were fewer online distractions then .People had to meet up in person more often, and friendships seemed tighter because of that.

 

 

Wrung & Wrested

 

Wrung & Wrested

 

The life of a “squeezee” bottle is a journey from promising flawless delivery  to a desperate battle for the last drop. It starts with easy, "ad-perfect" dollops, but quickly evolves into a ritual requiring excessive emotional persuasion  and, eventually, aggressive bouts of strangling to extract the last remaining drop. Even when deemed empty and about to be discarded, single minded determination brings it back from the recycling bin for that one final serving. Ultimately, it’s a stubborn, stressful tussle for every last dribble, proving that the final, hard-won blob is the tastiest and   is worth the chaotic effort.

 

 My hand looks  extremely rough, calloused,& wrinkled like dry tree bark  but I’m not bothered.

The  Lady of the House  is suspecting  my sanity right now, But that  hardly matters.

 I know we have a brand-new Squeezee bottle of Ketchup right there in the fridge taunting me, but I don't really care. I am not opening it until every inch of  pride is squeezed out this obstinate one and it is  truly dead.

OLD FEELINGS, NEW INTERPRETATION

 

OLD FEELINGS, NEW INTERPRETATION

 

Sometimes a random memory pops into the head without reason —like an old  minor incident or scene—and it completely changes how we see it a  now.

Impressions from ordinary routine happenings often hold a quiet transformative power, elevating seemingly trivial forgotten events into unforgettable instances of grounding and personal refinement. Life is not defined solely by extravagant deeds, but rather by the accumulation of small, seemingly insignificant moments, actions, and experiences.

 

I visited a friend in January this year  to meet his son and daughter-in-law, who had come with their six-month-old baby daughter from Assam where they live.

 

The door was opened by a little girl flashing a big smile , surely no older than 12 years, holding the baby close to her chest. I couldn't help asking her name and if she went to school. Sadly, I learned she doesn't. Mansi (she pronounced it मंसी ) — that was her name, politely asked me to be seated. She went inside and returned with a glass of water for me, telling me that “saab and ma’am” would be would be right out.

 The host’s family filled the room, the air thick with chatter and laughter. The daughter-in-law sat cradling her baby , the centre of everyone's attention. But my gaze kept drifting towards little Mansi. She stood quietly behind her mistress, nearly invisible in a corner of the room . Soon I bid goodbye and left.

 

At first, I treated the visit as a casual courtesy call, barely giving it a second thought. But  a couple of days ago, the memory suddenly forced its way into my mind, gripping me with its poignancy.

What struck me was the quiet radiance on little Mansi’s  face—eyes sparkling with genuine joy, and a perpetual smile on her face. She looked utterly content in her role. Watching her, I realized she was masterful at what she did, moving with a blend of tender care and quiet dedication that went far beyond mere duty.

 

Recalling the sequence of events I felt really sad seeing the little girl working, because at that  age she should just be carefree, go to school, play & have fun, ,but here she was working.

 

Now as  I sat in silence, grappling with the starkness of that memory: a little girl with a little(r) baby clinging to her hip!, I realized how important it is to be good at whatever you do,no matter what you do. I myself am pretty bad at many things or don’t do things with enthusiasm. It is good to accept things as they are and face them, as that incredible little girl was doing. Happiness is sure to follow.

 

So the moral of this story is that we can learn small or big lessons in life from people around us, people like little Mansi, who probably doesn’t even understand the meaning of a blog .But thanks to her I am writing this.