Disturbed by my own laughter

A colleague came by turning my computer towards her to see what I was doing. She was imitating me because every time I pass by her I do the same thing just with an evil intention to disturb her, today it was her turn. She saw my blog commenting who would read those lengthy posts if it were not in a printed form. I boasted her I had got comments from readers, some in my email and some in the blog itself. I said see the comments and she pouted in disbelief. I guffawed saying most of the comments were my own. I heard myself laugh the way I have never laughed though I knew it was not a planned chuckle. I was surprised at my boisterous laughter which made me silent soon after the realization that it was not my laughter. Had I forgotten the way I laughed just because I hadn’t laughed for a while now, however it does not mean I have been unhappy. I do admit something has been lost in the process, may be its my depression. A trivial thing it may sound but it disturbed me drowning me in deep introspect.
The city did not interest me as it usually do while I was walking toward the bus stand. I missed observing things, people, shops, curios, lamp-posts. When I was in the bus-stand, I was swept with the crowd; there was nothing that could not interest me. I was soon observing the people brought to the stand by purpose or without purpose. I observed the way people talked, the movement of their hands, twitching of their face, the fringes in their dress, latest fashion in the street. The laughter was still reverberating in my head, I knew I was busy observing my world just to avoid the laughter and it was a pretty successful attempt. All of a sudden I realized I haven’t seen the city beyond the route between my home and office, its been a real long time. I knew 8 years was not a long span of time at that instant when I was remembering my days in 11-12 class. Those were loony days of my life. Loneliness is not the absence of people around one, it’s the feeling that one is so away from rest of the world. Yes, I didn’t have many friends then still if numbers were to be spoken of, I have lesser number of friends these days, but I was lonely then, today I enjoy my aloofness. It was not so those days. Those days once in a while I used to take bus that followed a longer route than my regular buses, just because I loved watching the city. I loved the attempts of city to remain alive in the evening. That was my best time. I have rarely recalled those feats; today I wanted to do the same. The bus was empty and I was sitting next to the window, my head resting on my arms which themselves rested on the window of the bus. I am so inconsequential to the world, it does not care if I am watching it, studying it. Truth cannot be extracted from a case, a specimen if it is made aware that it is being observed. I loved watching the movements of lips of children of the crowd, I cannot see the words, their low sound is engulfed by the meaningless noise of the crowd and the meaning of their utterances only become the contribution to the noise. The crowd has no voice (unless it is a demonstration, a rally i.e. the crowd with common cause) still has many faces. It has no shape but it has its existence. People separate from the crowd like the glints from the fire, either they merge into another crowd or vanishes in their inconspicuous homes. I am just the part of the crowd, my guffaw which is not mine is lost in the mob. Yes, that very guffaw that though comes out from me is not mine, I have never heard myself laugh though. My laughter was theatrical. I imagine- I raise my head until I see the ceiling of my cabin, open my mouth wide and spurt the laughter that is not mine. There was nothing to pretend, I was only mocking myself, dismissing the fact that my work has been praised. Now I feel my own magnanimity, the fake enormity of my existence. Here in the crowd I just want to ascertain how trifling my existence is. How my preposterous laughter is meaningless? Why I do not exist for the world when I feel so significant to myself? Not even the dog that is following the crowd begging to be a part of the crowd, a contributor and a representative from his species, has a notion of my existence. Everyone wants to be part of the crowd, I realize somebody has taken the seat next to me. I look at him, he is busy in something I cannot fathom. I keep looking at me observing his small ear, neatly combed hair, birthmark in his cheek, his blue jacket, his smoothly ironed pant, his clean boots, a small spot of dry mud in his left shoe, his long nails, his restless fingers playing among themselves. He becomes aware of my observation, pulls his jacket, looks at me, his small black eyes look irritated and angry. I turn toward the window and smile back. With this smile I have recovered my originality, the fake guffaw has left me.