Ennakkul Oruvan.

Many considered him to be a saint. His calm demeanor and the understanding nod of his head as he listened to people's laments brought peace to the lamenter's heart. They talked to him incessantly about their outlook of life primarily due to the unpleasant events that life threw at them. He sat next to them and listened to them patiently. From time to time, he assuaged their frayed nerves with his wise words. It seemed their lives depended on his words. Surprisingly, even a saint like him occasionally felt the need to take a break, and, on such days, worried eyes insisted on searching for him everywhere. When the search did not yield the desired result, the eyes and their owners drooped down to earth in dejection. It seemed that their already complicated lives had become worse by his absence. He was the panacea for all their issues and without him life did not seem worth living.  On the other hand, I was nothing like him. Though he was a few years younger than me, I was many years junior to him in the organization. When I joined the organization, I decided that the place and its people would experience a new me - a serious, no nonsense, knowledgeable person. For many weeks, I pasted a serious expression on my face and left it there for days. It was not difficult to be serious. The work was not easy and so I did not have many reasons to smile. So, I went about my business in a resolute manner. At the end of three months, I patted my back, for I believed I had brought about a miraculous change in my character. But I had congratulated myself prematurely. 

The fort that I had built around me was shattered to pieces due to an official trip to Bangalore. At the end of the trip, I turned back to being the disgusting boisterous animal that could not keep its mouth shut. I talked incessantly. I cracked terrible jokes at a pace of 17.23 jokes per second. People wanted to crown me as the king of dad jokes. But I turned down their offer steadfastly. "I don't do no dad jokes. I do poor jokes, PJs". I realize that 'Dad Joke' is the appropriate term to be used in these modern times, but I did not like the phrase - Dad sounds too close to dead and dead jokes sound worse than poor jokes. Also, from history I realized that such jokes were originally called 'PJs' and being a purist, I prefer the original coining. I have tried to explain this point to many, but they pooh-poohed me away. They did not realize that there is more to a joke than laughter. They are a part of recorded history and to prove this point, I will now refer to the initial pages of the book 'Why do dad's joke?' (The UK edition was named 'Why do dad jokes?").

Since time immemorial men joked. Women joked too. But, in general, men joked more than some other men and some women. So, it is considered that men joke more than women. Sometime during the middle of the medieval period, men got together in the evenings and talked till the morning. It is believed that the frequent occurrence of the plague, had forced men to remain indoors after sunset. So, they stayed indoors and talked. As time passed, the men became so involved in these conversations that on most nights they did not realize that the morning had arrived. The topics of discussions and the reasons for the many laughs that these discussions generated have been lost in the sands of time. But it is believed that the first recorded joke was uttered by a man who was not very tall but had a grey mustache on his face (his name has not been recorded but he shall henceforth be referred to as Greybeard). It happened on an October morning soon after the cock crowed. Though the joke is attributed Greybeard, the situation was setup by another man who was tall and did not possess a grey mustache on his face (this man shall not be referred to henceforth). He said "What! Is it morning already? Why did the cock crow?" Almost immediately, Greybeard responded "The cock had a nightmare. You were startled by his startled crowing and your startled uttering has in turn startled the crow, which has flown away now." On hearing these words, his companions burst into laughter. The men and women in the neighbourhood too heard these words but they did not feel amused. On the contrary, they felt a sense of disdain rise through them. They shook their heads and muttered in unison "What a poor joke! Such a poor joke!" From that time, jokes made by men were referred to as poor jokes, PJ for short. Of course, over time every action done by men was associated with the word poor and with the advent of technology PJ simply became the acronym for 'Poor Job'. As a result, men were forced to remove the reference to poor from their jokes. 

In 1962, a group of men met secretly at an undisclosed location in a restaurant named 'The men's place' at the crossing of the 15th Avenue and 68th street in Brooklyn to discuss this grave issue and resolve it. They talked for three hours about a baseball game and decided in 10 minutes that the 'Poor jokes' would henceforth be referred to as 'Dad Jokes'. The clinching argument for this decision was put forward by a certain Mr. Greybeard and it went thus.

"Everyone enjoyed the jokes I cracked before I got married and even during the first few years of marriage. But for the past few years whenever I crack a joke, my kids protest by simply saying 'Daaaaaad' and my wife who used to laugh at my jokes, looks at my children and says 'Your daaaad'. It seems my jokes have become bad jokes... Oh my god! That's it. Bad Jokes, Dad Jokes! We will refer to our jokes are 'Dad Jokes'."

The book goes on to detail how the phrase 'Dad Jokes' spread throughout the world and even details of the situations that resulted in the conception of some of the best Dad Jokes. I will not go into the details here as this write up is not about Dad Jokes. So, I will continue with my original narration. But not before I mention two points.

1. Some of you might find the above narration chauvinistic. Please understand it does not reflect my opinion, which only turns chauvinistic twice a day. The article is about Dad Jokes and as of now, dads are mostly male and so the author of that book (not me) was forced to talk about men. But please notice, there are references to mothers and neighbours and children some of whom don't fall under the category called male.
2. Being a purist, I refuse to accept the term 'Dad Jokes'. I don't do 'Dad Jokes', only 'Poor Jokes'.

Getting back to the topic of the saint and I, it will not be an exaggeration to say that he and I resided at the two ends of the human spectrum. While he ruled over the kingdom of peace and calm, I thrived on chaos and confusion. Yet, there was a similarity between the two of us. Many people believed we were one. Meaning, they could not differentiate one from the other. I did not think so nor did he. But many have mistaken me to be him and talked to him as if they were talking to me. Since I don't like talking to people only a few people talk to me, and they have never confused me to be him. Once he narrated an incident where a person talked to him long about the work that I do in the organization and when he tried to tell the person that he was he and not me, the person looked at him suspiciously. The person thought that I was trying to shirk my responsibility by claiming that I was not I but someone else. He concluded the narration by saying that he shook away the person with great difficulty. I looked at him as he narrated the incident. I could not see any bit of me in him. He was a handsome fellow with a charming smile. On the other hand, I can only use the phrase 'hand some' to refer to the two hands that I possess. As for my smile, no one has ever commented about it. So, one had to stretch the word similar beyond its elastic limits if it was to be applied on us. And yet the question remained - why did many people believe we looked similar? We never found the answer to this question.  

A few years back he left the organization. With time, only a few people talked about him. Recently, I had to work on an activity that was his responsibility when he was a part of the organization. It was a nightmare and I considered it my good fortune to have gotten through it alive. When I was working on it, I required information from him and talked to him. Our conversation was brief, and we barely touched upon personal matters. I never felt comfortable talking to him and I believe he did not feel different either.

Once again, I started forgetting about him till the other day a young girl stopped me as I was getting out of a room by saying "My mother is a big fan of your wife." I was surprised by the statement and the surprise probably showed on my face. She clarified immediately "she visits your wife's clinic frequently. My mother says she is a good doctor." Instantly, I realized whom she was referring to. I told her that she was confusing me with him. She looked at me confused and asked, "Are you not him?" It was my turn to be confused. 

"I am not him. Don't you know who I am. We have been working together for the past six months. I am ..."

"Of course, I know who you are. But isn't that doctor your wife?"

I said no and mentioned that she was his wife. She did not remember him and asked, "Who is he?"

"You don't know him?"

"No! I have never heard of him."

"He has a daughter and two sons, twins."

"Aren't they your children?" 

"No! They are his children. I have a son" 

"You mean the three of them are not your children?"

"No!"

"Oh! I thought they were."

I started thinking about this conversation as I walked back to my office. I started wondering if he and I were the same person. Was he my alter ego, the good version of me? But what about the children? He had three and I have one. How can my alter ego have a wife and three children of his own? Or am I his alter ego? Do I even exist? I get the feeling that there is more to my life than what meets the eye ... Or should I say "... what meets the I?"