Of awe and laughter!

Rummaging through a file of pictures that I had taken on a serendipitous trip through the northern Himalayas and then standing that reminiscing alongside an article I came across the National Geographic on how mountains come to be, the latter put in place the dynamics/mechanics of the former, of that which had caught the attention of my camera. The aesthetics, my short-hand for what I think got me glued to the mountains, was a delightful experience worth lodging into timeless memory. The mechanics, my short hand for the causal scrutiny of the aesthetics, explain the how-s, when-s and why-s but for some reason sobered off the sense of amazement that had initially enraptured me. Some ‘things-as-they-are’ flavored by their contexts in time and space are best appreciated as and how they hit one’s immediate perceptions. As an afterthought, I recall a friend who thought that the words of that much-sung hymn, “O Lord My God” were intentional. Hum it along as you are reminded,
O Lord, my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds thy hands have made
I see the stars…
Did you catch that! This friend thought that on considering creation and just the wonder of it, he saw stars…in both their literal and metaphorical sense. O that un-problematized sense of awe and wonder at creation!

On a totally different though connected tangent, meet Le Petomane-the Flatulist, an actual performer during the Moulin Rouge’s heydays I’m told. Sitting more like a fish-out-of-water among theatre buffs watching the production of “Can-Can” I was rather tickled on observing that among the moments that got the more uproarious response was Le Petomane’s solo. As a ‘Fartist’ (which was how he was introduced), he had a cup to his bum-hole that amplified his syncopated farts to the tune being played by the orchestra. Even as I write, I smile and I wonder why? Freud’s patent suggestion was a repression of the olfactory senses by the domination of the visual as homo-sapiens started walking erect. But notice that a private fart is never funny. It becomes funny only when it’s let out in public space. Flatullent humor must be social but before I dissect the dynamics any further, I want to preserve my instinct to laugh when one is let off.

Ps: I must acknowledge a certain blogger's constant nudging encouragement in getting this out.