The Saddest Part Of A Comedy

A few days back, I watched a play, Indicinelive iii. It was a hilarious parody of the insane society we Malaysians live in: of by-election romances, of friendship during tea breaks between protestors and riot police; of plastic surgery by our famous personalities; of MPs fighting obesity as they gulp down too much coffee- it was a riot of fun, laughter, and a generous serving of how we see the world in ironic, humourous little pieces.

Like everyone else, I laughed, and laughed, and then laughed some more. All of us present found it all incredibly funny. But as the audience began trickling away, chattering about their favourite scene, the most comical actors; the wittiest line- I sat there, rooted to the chair, staring at the empty stage.

Maybe it was all the laughter getting to my head, maybe I was just plain tired after a long day, but at the end of all the humour, all the joy, I was sad. I thought to myself: The issues, the characters- they were all so real, so reflective of us. I wondered, how many of us are going to bring back more than a few laughs tonight? How many of us are going to lie at night, eyes open, thinking about the corruption, the scandals, the violation of human rights that the show highlighted? How many of us will have a conscience? And even if we do, how many of us are going to do something about it, not just say it is the way of things?

How many of us are going to care?

As I sat there, staring into blank space, a friend of mine came over. She gave me a quizzical look, and asked: What's wrong? Didn't you find it funny? Don't you agree with what they said?

And I said: "Yeah, I do. And that's the saddest part of it all."

The saddest part of it all.