Laugh

I wish I had been born deaf. That way, I wouldn’t have had to hear them for those few moments. Those few moments, in a primary school in 1993, that forever changed my life.

It was in my Chinese primary school that everything happened. I had a friend, my best friend actually, called Nehru. Like any other kids, we played together, laughed together, and never really thought deeply about our friendship. We were children, carefree, with nothing much to worry about. It didn’t matter to me that my skin was fairer and his was a dark ebony. At that time, I didn’t really comprehend the meaning of race or religion. A friend, was simply a friend.

But not everybody was like me. To many others, Nehru was an alien, an outcast, like a black fly floating on top of a bowl of porridge. They jeered at him, called him names, and constantly mocked him. Now that I think back, they didn’t know the amount of hurt they were dealing, and neither did I. Nehru always ignored them, and so I thought if he didn’t say anything, then everything was okay. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

But there is always a limit to everything. And one day, as I walking home with Nehru, It reached that boundry. We passed by the seniors while leaving the school gate. All it took was a moment of eye contact. Nehru’s gaze met the seniors’ and though Nehru quickly lowered his head, the deed was done. The seniors formed a ring around us, and like an executioner tightening a noose, came closer and closer and closer. It was suffocating me.

One of them started pushing Nehru, and making snide remarks about how he smelt. And with every insult he spitted, the people laughed. The crowd grew and grew, and the laughter grew with it. From sine remarks, they were now using direct insults. I heard an outpouring of words, many which my father had forbidden me to use. And they chanted those words to Nehru like monks reciting mantras, except they were cursing him. Shocked, I gasped loudly, and that landed me in trouble.

“Hey you! Are you his friend?” shouted a senior. I stood agape, unsure what to say. “ Cuz’ if you’re his friend, we got a yummy sandwich for you kid!” “Sa..sa..sandwich?” I stuttered back. “A knuckle sandwich you moron!” I was stunned. He was going to hit me. I was so terrified at this prospect, even my parents or teachers had never hit me before. He was coming closer, cracking his knuckles. Crack! Crack! They went. And so, I made the second worst decision in my entire life.

I laughed. “ Friend? Of course not! He’s an Indian, he smells and is black!” But the senior was still unconvinced. And then, I made the worst decision in my life. I punched Nehru. He just stood staring at me, more shocked than in pain. The seniors nodded approvingly, and joined in the savagery. We beat him to pulp. I beat him to pulp.

Two days after that, the whole gang was called to the principal’s office, including me. Nehru pointed out those responsible to the police, but spared one person- me. The rest of them were questioned and subsequently expelled, but I- the cause and coward, was free.

After the incident, Nehru transferred to another school. I never saw him again. And to this day, the laughter still haunts me. Laughter- the most terrible sound I have ever heard.