Beneath The Banter

The silence in the conference room was thick, and the tension almost tangible.

Sahil cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him.

“You know what’s worse than waiting for coffee from the machine?” he asked, looking around.

A few heads tilted in curiosity.

“Waiting for a reply to an email marked urgent, only to get an auto-reply saying, ‘I’m out of office, enjoying my life while you suffer.’”

The room erupted in laughter, easing the atmosphere.

“Alright, team, now let’s get serious”, he announced dramatically at the morning meeting, “I’ve cracked the mystery of last week’s low productivity.” His subordinates were mostly looking down while his colleagues exchanged wary glances. “It was clearly the lack of snacks in the breakroom. Now, I have refilled the cabinets with healthy snacks. So, as your self-appointed morale officer, I demand action!”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then someone snorted. A wave of laughter followed, rolling across the room.

Sahil Sharma, manager at the Logistics Corp., Mumbai, was the kind of guy everyone wanted around. His humour had a knack for lighting up even the dullest office meetings.

Sahil thrived on moments like these, turning mundane workdays into something a little brighter for everyone.

Later, during lunch, he was at it again, spinning a wild story about a cat he’d allegedly befriended on his balcony.

“She just showed up and looked at me like, ‘Human, feed me.’ So now I’m her personal chef,” Sahil said, gesturing dramatically with his fork.

Priya, who had joined the team recently, chuckled. “So, what’s her name?”

“Whiskerina the Magnificent,” Sahil replied, deadpan.

The table erupted in laughter. Sahil grinned, soaking it in. This was his comfort zone—being the life of the party, the go-to guy for a laugh.

“You really attract drama, don’t you?” Priya asked, laughing.

“Life would be boring otherwise,” Sahil shot back with a wink.

Outside work, he volunteered at an NGO every week. Painting murals with children was his favourite.

“Sahil bhaiya, is my butterfly pretty?” a little girl asked, holding up her painting.

“It’s the prettiest butterfly I’ve ever seen,” he said sincerely. “If it were real, it’d probably win a beauty contest.”

The girl giggled, her cheeks turning pink.

Sahil lived life like there was no tomorrow, at least that’s what his colleagues thought. He is a top performer, people’s favourite, kind-hearted, and a great companion.

Evenings sometimes found him at the pub, where he was just as lively. He could nurse a drink while swapping jokes with strangers, his laughter blending seamlessly with the hum of chatter.

However, the buzz of the day slowly fades when he is home. He parks his car, says hello to the neighbours in the society park and enters his swanky apartment. Once inside, the door clicked shut, and the world outside becomes a distant memory.

Silence.

Utter, suffocating, silence.

Sahil methodically placed his keys on the counter and kicked off his shoes. He freshened up, then wandered into the living room. He sat down on the sofa, opposite the one Meera had always claimed as her spot. It still felt strange, as though she’d just been there, laughing at one of his terrible jokes.

The bookshelf still held Meera’s favourite novels, their spines slightly worn from her eager fingers. The fridge still had her handwritten notes, and labels on old Tupperware lids were untouched. Even the faintest scent of her perfume from a scarf she’d forgotten could take him by surprise, pulling him under waves of longing he had no strength to fight.

The silence wasn’t new. It had been his companion for months now, ever since the divorce. Meera had moved on—at least he assumes so. But Sahil was stuck, living in a house full of memories that refused to leave.

He would sit on the sofa and stare blankly into the void. He often asked himself, “Where did we go wrong? When did the cracks begin to show? Why didn’t we fight harder for each other? Was our love still the same when we got married, or had it quietly changed with time?”

Night after night, Sahil would drown himself in the past searching for answers, only to realise later that it was too late to mend what was broken.

Most nights, he lacked the strength to walk to his bedroom. Instead, he would curl up on the sofa and fall asleep.

It wasn’t something he talked about. Not to his colleagues and not even to himself, most days. He has stopped meeting friends to avoid their pitiful glances.

He would always dodge plans, saying he was at work.

Colleagues were good companions as they knew nothing and never tried to.

“Hey, Sahil!” Priya looked spirited when she stopped Sahil near his apartment. I have shifted here. It’s really a nice society. Sahil, always beaming with happiness, said, “Hey, that’s great, Priya, let me know if you need anything”. “Sure”. They exchanged a nod before going their separate ways.

One evening after office, Priya knocked on Sahil’s door. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet corridor. When Sahil opened it, his face was a mask of polite indifference, a far cry from the animated, jovial colleague she knew.

“Hey, Sahil,” Priya began, holding up her phone. “Do you have the plumber’s number? I’ve got a leaky tap, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Sahil nodded curtly. “Yeah, give me a second.” He disappeared into the apartment, leaving the door ajar.

Priya’s gaze wandered over the dimly lit living room. It looked neat but lifeless.

Sahil returned moments later, handing her a piece of paper with the number scribbled on it. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” she said, hesitating. “Hey you okay?”

Sahil’s lips curved into a practiced smile. “Just tired, I guess. Long day.”

Priya nodded, but something about his tone didn’t sit right. “Well, thanks for this. Let me know if you ever need help with anything, okay?”

“Sure,” Sahil replied, his voice light but distant. “Take care, Priya.”

As she walked back to her apartment, Priya couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. She’d always known Sahil as the guy with the quick wit and boundless energy, but this version of him felt strangely fragile.

The more their paths crossed, the more Priya noticed the cracks in his cheerful façade. At work, Sahil was always surrounded by laughter, his presence a magnet for joy. But outside the office, there were moments when his smile faltered, when his eyes seemed to carry a weight he wouldn’t name.

Sahil often sat of the rooftop alone, staring at the city lights.

Priya joined him one evening, carrying pizza boxes.

“Mind if I crash your party?” she asked, sitting beside him.

Sahil smiled. “Depends. Are those pizzas for sharing?”

They ate in companionable silence before Priya spoke. “You’re always the funny guy, but up here, you seem different. Quiet, almost.”

Sahil hesitated, then shrugged. “Even jesters need a break.”

Priya didn’t push, but she stayed.

Over time, Priya’s quiet persistence and genuine concern began to wear down the walls Sahil had carefully built around himself. She didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, she offered her presence, steady and reassuring, that he hadn’t realised he needed.

The rooftop became their shared space. Sahil did not mind, as the silence between Priya and him was comfortable. Priya would bring some snacks, and they would savor it in silence,

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Priya began softly, breaking the quiet. “Why do you spend so much time up here? It’s nice, sure, but… feels a bit lonely.”

Sahil shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “I like the quiet. It’s a good place to think.”

“Think?” Priya asked gently, her voice devoid of judgment.

Sahil’s smile faltered, and for a moment, he seemed on the verge of brushing her off. But Priya’s patience was disarming.

“It’s just easier up here,” he admitted finally. “No one expects me to be anything. No jokes, no bright ideas. Just me.”

Priya nodded, her gaze steady. “That sounds exhausting, having to be the ‘funny guy’ all the time.”

Sahil exhaled, the sound heavy with unspoken emotion. “It’s not so much that I have to be. It’s just… easier to be what people expect. Keeps them happy, keeps me from thinking too much.”

Sahil hesitated, the words lodged in his throat. He glanced at Priya, her expression open and unguarded. It was rare to find someone willing to listen without trying to fix or judge.

“Thinking about everything I’ve lost,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “About Meera, the life we had… the life I thought we’d have. And how empty it feels now.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. For a moment, Sahil expected Priya to recoil, to look at him with the same pity he hated seeing in his friends’ eyes. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting lightly on his.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “That takes courage, Sahil. More than any joke or smile ever could.”

Her words touched something deep within him, a part of himself he’d kept hidden for too long.

From that night on, their conversations grew deeper. Priya didn’t try to solve his pain; she simply made space for it, allowing him to share pieces of himself at his own pace.

One evening, weeks later, Sahil found himself saying something he hadn’t even admitted to himself“

“I thought I’d be over it by now,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay not to be,” Priya said gently. “But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. Have you thought about therapy?”

Sahil resisted at first, “Nah, I am not in such bad shape that I need therapy.” Priya didn’t press the matter further, but her words lingered in Sahil’s mind long after the conversation had ended.

3 Months later..

“Sahil Sharma,” the receptionist called out.

Sahil raised his hand and nodded. “It’s your turn now.”

He stood up and walked towards the chamber. The wooden-matted door bore a polished nameplate: Dr. Satyajeet Ray, Clinical Psychologist and Psychotherapist. Taking a deep breath, Sahil stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.

Over time, Sahil began to navigate through the tangled web of his emotions. Therapy wasn’t a quick fix, but it gave him space to heal. He began to rebuild his life, piece by piece.

On 4th May, Sahil organised a small gathering after office hours to celebrate World Laughter Day. Standing in front of a small crowd, he raised a toast.

“To laughter,” he said, his voice steady, “the kind that doesn’t hide our pain but helps us heal. And to friends who remind us it’s okay to lean on someone.”

The crowd cheered, and Sahil caught Priya’s eye. She smiled at him, a quiet acknowledgement of how far he’d come.

Sahil smiled back. For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

PS1: This post is dedicated to Robin Williams and to the countless individuals who conceal their grief behind laughter. Robin Williams, one of the finest American actors and my favourite, left the world stunned with his untimely passing in 2014. He was battling illness and grappling with depression.

Who could have guessed that the man who brought laughter to so many was silently fighting his own battles? His loss taught me to look beyond the surface, to read between the lines, and to observe people with more empathy.

To those who silently bear their struggles, I wish for healing, strength, and genuine moments of joy. Let’s strive to create a world where laughter is not a mask but a reflection of true happiness.

PS2: This post is a part of ‘The Chuckle Chronicles Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #EveryConversationMatters.”