For the past few months, I’ve been woken in the half-light just before dawn by the noise of crazed laughter coming from the park behind our house. To begin with, it was hard to be sure that it was human laughter and not just the cackle of wild dogs, but later I started seeing people walking home at about 6.30am, clapping their hands and laughing triumphantly to themselves.
I asked a neighbour, who explained that laughter yoga is becoming the most popular form of stress-relieving therapy for the city’s executive elite. I was told to ring a dentist in Old Delhi for advice on how to sign up for classes.
”Don’t go to your park,” he warned, when I tracked him down. ”They know nothing about laughter technique there. We’re the experts.” Dr Umesh Sehgal’s group gathers near the Red Fort at six to avoid the heat. Since there’s no need to stretch into lotus position, this kind of yoga is not physically taxing, and several followers even turn up in their business suits.
Once you’ve dispensed with your inhibitions, it’s also pretty easy to pick up. First we’re told to press our palms together and force out a roar of laughter. Trainers don’t tell jokes, because they tend to offend or fall flat — the idea is to simulate laughter. Apparently it doesn’t matter that the noise is artificial: the health benefits are thought to be the same whether the laughter is fake or genuine.
The circle swiftly moves on to more peculiar themed exercises. There’s the cellphone laugh (hold an invisible phone to your ear, feign amusement), meeting an old friend laugh (a delighted squeal of surprise), chilli soup laugh (a howl of agonised pleasure at the imaginary spices), and the Visa bill laugh (a choking, incredulous eruption). In between each one, the 26 regular members jump from one foot to the other, chanting in polite appreciation of their own efforts: ”Very good. Very good. Ho-ho. Ha-ha-ha.”
Finally, there’s freestyle dance with laughter, when pensioners in saris join the men in suits, flailing their arms and twirling their bodies. A few teenage boys stare in horror, the regular joggers don’t give a second glance.
The concept was developed by a doctor in Bombay, who says laughter gets a lot of oxygen into the body, vibrating and relaxing muscles, which strengthens the immune system, helps breathing problems and reduces snoring. He has devotees all over the world, but recently there has been a surge in popularity in Delhi, which Sehgal ascribes to rising professional pressures as India’s economy globalises. Studies show that Delhi’s workers are experiencing soaring levels of stress and suffering from high levels of depression; some companies have started holding stress-awareness classes, others employ people to teach staff calming breathing techniques and Indian business schools have put yoga on the curriculum.
”Everyone is full of tension and this really helps,” says Sehgal, who has opened around 20 new clubs in the capital. ”To feel the benefits, you only need to laugh for half an hour in the morning — no longer, otherwise it can become dangerous.” But does it work? Jiten Kohi, an accounts manager with a textile company, thinks so: ”I’m constantly fighting to survive at work — but this helps me to stay calm.”
I’m not so sure. I don’t find faking hysteria in public a relaxing way to start the day, and by 10am am not feeling serene. When it’s 45°C life in Delhi isn’t a bundle of laughs. – Guardian Unlimited Â