It's not easy to make people laugh. You can make people cry

Hear the truth spoken by Asim Chaudhry, who declared: “It’s not easy to make people laugh. You can make people cry, there are universal things that we all feel; a pet dog dying, we’re all going to cry. For horror you can give someone a jump-scare, but to make someone laugh is so tough, because everyone has a different sense of humour.” These words, though clothed in the language of performance, carry the weight of wisdom about the human heart. For they remind us that while sorrow and fear are shared across all, laughter is the rarest and most delicate treasure, difficult to kindle, yet healing when found.

To cry is easy, for grief is written into the soul of every man and woman. From the fall of kingdoms to the loss of a pet dog, sorrow is a language we all understand without teaching. So too is fear, for danger has haunted humanity since its first dawn, and the sudden jolt of a jump-scare awakens the instincts buried deep within. These emotions are primal, universal, and accessible. But laughter—ah, laughter is a jewel with many facets, shining differently to every eye. To stir it in one may be to leave another untouched. What unites all in sorrow divides them in mirth.

The ancients themselves saw this. The tragedies of Sophocles could move vast crowds to tears, for the pain of loss, fate, and death are felt alike by all who breathe. But the comedies of Aristophanes were not so easily received—some laughed uproariously, while others were offended or unmoved. To make men weep was to strike the heart’s great drum; to make them laugh was to play upon a thousand strings, each tuned to a different pitch. Thus comedy became the greater challenge, though it was less honored than tragedy.

History bears witness to this truth. In the courts of kings, the jester was not merely an entertainer, but one who risked his life with every word. To provoke laughter from a monarch was to delight him; to miss the mark was to invite wrath. Many a jester learned that comedy demands precision, bravery, and deep knowledge of the human soul. It was a task more dangerous than tragedy or horror, for laughter is bound to taste, culture, and timing. To succeed was glorious; to fail could be ruin.

And yet, because it is so difficult, laughter carries unmatched power. Sorrow weighs men down, fear makes them flee, but laughter lifts them up, binds them together, and gives them strength to endure. In war, soldiers tell jokes in the trenches; in hardship, families share humor at the table; in despair, a sudden laugh can remind the soul that life still holds light. This is why comedians, though often underestimated, hold the power of healers, for they bring joy where grief and fear might otherwise reign.

Chaudhry’s words remind us also of the need for patience and understanding. Just as every heart carries its own burdens, so too does every heart carry its own sense of humour. What delights one may confuse another, what amuses one may offend another. The task of making people laugh is thus not only about wit, but about compassion: to understand others well enough to know what brings them joy. Comedy, then, is not merely cleverness, but empathy in disguise.

The teaching is clear: sorrow and fear will find us without effort, but laughter must be sought, nurtured, and shared. It is a more fragile flame, but also a more precious one. To pursue the art of laughter is to labor for the joy of others, even at great cost. Those who succeed give a gift rarer than gold: a moment of lightness in the midst of life’s heaviness.

So let your action be this: cherish laughter in your life, and honor those who bring it to you. When you speak, when you create, when you share, let your words carry not only weight but also lightness. Learn to see the humor in hardship, the absurd in sorrow, the spark of joy in the ordinary. For as Asim Chaudhry teaches, to make men cry or fear is simple, but to make them laugh is divine.