Laughing out aloud was forbidden. Especially for women and girls. We were told it attracted the evil spirits. Only simpering giggles were allowed. This was enough fodder for laughter. Some one at the back of the room would try to suppress a hysterical giggle, while the chastising session was on, and the laughter would seep like an infectious gas, from in between fingers of a hastily clamped mouth, and the group would erupt into helpless mirth that refused to die down.
My daughter's generation laughs loudly . The elder one executes a mini bhangra step of joy , when she barks with mirth. The younger one has a air hungry, ascending crescendo , not unlike a horse -neighing. A friend of theirs' spits out laughing (actual gobs of spittle flying here , I am told,), and other brings out chaotic joy in bouts of constipated whoosh , as if laughter was being thumped out of her , in spurts , by Heimlich's manoeuvre.
To be able to laugh out aloud is a gift . I have met people who don't laugh . They cannot guffaw .
A pretty cousin just twirls her locks and gives a sad smile , even when watching Jim Carrie's antics . As if She feels sorry for him .
Another grumpy , fat individual ( great potential for a belly wobbling , red faced laughter here ) just shakes her head at Kapil Sharma . Occasionally sticking her tongue out at him , when no one's looking , but no grimace even close to a smile .
My neighbour downstairs , has a booming cannon ball laugh. The sort that shakes walls and cobwebs.He is not a very substantial looking person , but his laughter is audible all over , and makes everyone smile. A lady , I knew , in my childhood , Mrs Mitra, My father's boss, laughed like that . Entire boardrooms , conference halls would fall silent , as they waited Mrs. Mitra to stop . Like waiting for a storm to pass over .
It would silence all squeaks of protest , whispers of gossip , and futile low-volume conversation . She would whitewash all auditory resistance . Being hard of hearing herself helped , and last I heard , she died with a smile on her lips , in her sleep.
My daughter's generation laughs loudly . The elder one executes a mini bhangra step of joy , when she barks with mirth. The younger one has a air hungry, ascending crescendo , not unlike a horse -neighing. A friend of theirs' spits out laughing (actual gobs of spittle flying here , I am told,), and other brings out chaotic joy in bouts of constipated whoosh , as if laughter was being thumped out of her , in spurts , by Heimlich's manoeuvre.
To be able to laugh out aloud is a gift . I have met people who don't laugh . They cannot guffaw .
A pretty cousin just twirls her locks and gives a sad smile , even when watching Jim Carrie's antics . As if She feels sorry for him .
Another grumpy , fat individual ( great potential for a belly wobbling , red faced laughter here ) just shakes her head at Kapil Sharma . Occasionally sticking her tongue out at him , when no one's looking , but no grimace even close to a smile .
My neighbour downstairs , has a booming cannon ball laugh. The sort that shakes walls and cobwebs.He is not a very substantial looking person , but his laughter is audible all over , and makes everyone smile. A lady , I knew , in my childhood , Mrs Mitra, My father's boss, laughed like that . Entire boardrooms , conference halls would fall silent , as they waited Mrs. Mitra to stop . Like waiting for a storm to pass over .
It would silence all squeaks of protest , whispers of gossip , and futile low-volume conversation . She would whitewash all auditory resistance . Being hard of hearing herself helped , and last I heard , she died with a smile on her lips , in her sleep.
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