Part 13 of 17 · 2 minWith, Not At

"There is a difference," Amma said, "between laughing at somebody and laughing with them, and it is not a small difference, and she can still hear which one it is."

They were on the veranda. All three of them, in the evening, with the good plant.

"She laughs too," said Bujji. "When we laugh, she laughs."

"I know she does. Do you know why?"

"Because it's funny?"

"Because she does not want to be left out," said Amma. "She has no idea what the joke is. She has not had any idea what the joke is for about a year. She laughs because everybody else is laughing and she does not want to be the only one in the room who is outside it. Think about that for one minute and then tell me it is the same thing."

Bujji thought about it for considerably less than a minute and then his face went.

"The salt coffee was funny," Chinnu said. "That one was actually funny."

"Yes," said Amma. "That one was actually funny. She laughed hardest of anybody, do you remember? She held the doorframe. That one was hers — she gave it to us. The imitation is not hers. You took that one."

Nobody said anything for a while.

"So we can't laugh," said Bujji, gloomily.

"No," said Amma. "That is exactly what I am not saying. This house has become like a hospital and I hate it. She was the funniest person I knew. She once told the milk man she was ninety-four to get out of an argument. She wants laughing in this house. She wants noise. Laugh at everything."

"But not—"

"But not at the parts she cannot help. That is the only rule. Laugh at the monkey in 1971. Do not laugh at the door she cannot open."

Chinnu said, slowly, working it out as she went, "So the salt was a joke and the bolt is not."

Amma looked at her daughter for a moment.

"Write that down somewhere," she said. "You will need it again when you are forty."