What's So Funny

Certain human emotions are universal, and I’d always supposed the expression of those emotions to be so as well. For instance fear initiates fight or flight, anger manifests itself in yelling, pain causes crying. But what produces laughter? Or, put another way, what makes funny things funny? Because in the past few weeks, there’ve been dozens of instances when Nepalis laughed at something and I was left scratching my head.

I should preface this by acknowledging that these are my own impressions and may not be representative of all Nepali comedy. Your sense of humor, for all I know, might match that of Nepalis’ more than mine. Moreover, with my second-rate understanding of the language and culture, it’s quite possible that I’ve been oblivious to some of the more forms sophisticated forms of Nepali humor. But, in my experience, the following examples are pretty typical of what makes the people in my village laugh.

During a soccer game, I injure my toe, let out gasp of pain, and hobble off the field. Laughter. One of the boys takes a ball hard to the face. Pointing and laughter. While fishing, I slip on a mossy rock and nearly fall into the water. From the complete strangers sitting nearby, laughter. What to do these occurrences all have in common? Clumsiness and pain. Or, in the words of my Nepali friend, “We think it’s funny when people get hurt.” Not seriously hurt, of course; it’s more like slapstick with a touch of sadism. I cringe, they laugh. Had most Nepalis had internet on their phones five years ago, I imagine “Scarlet Takes a Tumble” would have been a national sensation.

On another thread, Nepalis love to joke with me about marriage. Virtually everyone I meet asks if I’m going to marry a Nepali and take her back to America. Some even offer to search for a potential wife for me. I can’t always tell if they’re joking or not, but what little humor that conversation ever held has long expired for me. When I asked my host brother about why people inevitably pop the marriage question, he replied simply, “They think it’s funny.” Since that conversation, he now explains to people that you shouldn’t joke with Americans about marriage, death, or other serious topics.

On the subject of death, I’ve never really understood Nepalis’ attitude towards mortality. The loss and rituals are taken seriously, for sure, but death also seems to be acceptable as a subject of humor. A friend’s host family once joked about a young girl who had committed suicide. Another time, they asked if she’d like to go have a look at the body of a woman strung up in a tree. Surfing Facebook last month, I came across a Nepali meme of a man trying to hang himself on a banana tree, which had bent under his weight and left him kneeling on the ground instead of suspended in the air. Most of the comments were mocking.

Regarding Nepali comedy, I’d heard mixed reviews (i.e. raves from Nepalis, universal disapproval from my American friends) but I’d never watched any myself. I did know that the humorous moments were accentuated with an absurd assemblage of boings, honks, whistles, and waps. After some prompting, some of my village friends convinced me to give a show—the funniest one on TV, they said—a chance. The episode took place in tents, suggesting a location affected by the earthquake. Its plot was this: a young guy with a weird voice (whom I’ll call Red Hoodie) tries to secure the affection of a girl. He initial pursuit is flirtatious, but after repeated rebuffing his behavior escalates to the point of harassment. He asks her to be his wife and puts his arm around her multiple times despite he physical resistance. She calls the chief of police and implores him to protect her. He places a guard at the entrance of her tent to keep Red Hoodie at bay. All of this, based on the reaction of my friends, seems to be funny.

But Red Hoodie has a few pals who will help him in his quest. We meet one of them, (let’s call him Slim) speaking to a dog in a languid, meandering voice that implies his stupidity. To his surprise, the dog responds in a very deep voice (roaring laughter from the audience). The second is a beatnik (that’ll do for his name) with hair like Tito from Rocket Power (laughter at this, and a comment that “his hair is so silly!”). Beatnik’s catchphrase, “slow motion,” provokes laughter as well.

Together, the three friends approach the policeman keeping watch and begin asking him casual questions. Where is he from? Gorkha. Was his home affected by the earthquake? Yes, it collapsed. Did he lose anyone in his family? His grandmother, he replies dolefully. At this point, Slim and Beatnik become dramatically commiserative and lead the guard away from the doorway, allowing Red Hoodie to sneak into the house. As he resumes his skeevy courtship, the three other men sit in a nearby field, the policeman sobbing on his companions’ shoulders while they shed contrived tears for the dead grandma.

Something tells me that in the states, this gag, akin to joking about Hurricane Katrina just two months after the fact, would not be well received. Too soon, we would shout unanimously! But my five fellow viewers all found it hilarious.

Next, the woman complains to the police chief. He relieves the policeman who failed in his duty and posts another. To dispose of this guard, the friends commission a seductive female friend to lure him away from the door. He, too, is replaced, but the friends drug his successor, causing him to faint. These schemes, though maybe less morbid than exploiting a man’s grief, are not really funnier. And, each time, Red Hoodie invades the woman’s tent to hassle her some more.

I stopped paying attention at this point, but I assume the show came to some conclusion. All in all, I’d laughed exactly one time during the half-hour episode. My friends, on the other hand, had visibly enjoyed it. When they were walking me back to my room, they suggested that I must not have understood the dialogue. No, I got it, I said, I just didn’t find it amusing.

Still, while I consider a lot of Nepali humor melodramatic and inane, I’ve had plenty of good laughs in the village. Last night my host mother told me that my host sister will often laugh all day about some incident or other, her each recollection inducing a fresh bout of giggling. These recalled incidents include my falls, which have grown more frequent with the slicker roads of the monsoon season. We all agree that this is pretty funny.