Turmoil does harbour humour. At least this would be one explanation for the very frequent compliments to the 'grief-stricken' Pakistanis' sense of humour.

The contrast is there for all to see.  Pakistanis are quite fond of coming up with wistful tales about their deprivation. There are voices - sometimes my own uninformed and ungrateful one joining the chorus -- which mourn the death of humour in a land forever caught in someone's quest for grim-faced purity. Eventually I do emerge from my forlorn state, to ask: have we ever in history of this region had so many brilliant minds writing high quality humour at the same time? And in a celebratory mood such as this, I do feel like offering the long line of humourists by my side a few words of gratitude.

Amused, entertained and educated as I have been by the masters such as Akar Allahabadi and Patras Bukhari, really, it is an honour and a privilege to have lived in the times of Muhstaq Ahmed Yusufi, Kernal Muhammad Khan, Shafiqur Rehman, Ibn-i-Insha among the prose writers and to have been treated by such meaningful practitioners of the verse as the great Anwar Masood and Syed Muhammad Jafri. In my moments of want, I have been lucky to have been given a lift by a line by anyone from Syed Zamir Jafri to Dilwar Figar to Abeer Abuzari who is on the list of personal favourites.

They are all a happy part of us, relevant in a country where the term 'serious' is sadly quite often not applied to humourous writings.

Then there are the artistes who have so effectively conveyed the humour across on stage, television and sometimes in films. They have been backed by Kamal Ahmed Rizvi, Shoaib Hashmi and Anwar Maqsood to name but three writers for television while Farooq Qaiser has also been a constant source of light-hearted, fun entertainment for a couple of generations now.

You may count the actors yourself. Yes Munawwar Zareef who continues to be emulated by the current generation of actors. Moeen Akhtar, and many, many others.

In the recent years, the Pakistani humour has found a happy awami forum for its people to thrive in. Today ours is a funnily mobile country. Jokes through the cell phone are a staple of Pakistanis, so much so that the more known providers of this inexpensive entertainment in a group are in competition with each other over quantity as well as quality of their supply.

The mobile phone messages include all kinds of jokes. There are harmless, child-like jokes and a few of the old, known ones that are freshened up with a change of characters or locale to suit the situation. The ones that cuttingly capture the woes of a people denied power and energy and quality of life are regularly traded in. Because of a genuine craving for humour? As a vehicle for letting off pent up anger that could otherwise lead to an implosion? You decide for yourself. For me, the smiles are not wary and laughter is not shallow.The mobile jokes most in demand are the ones that relate to sex and politics - the two sexy topics. The crispiest of them more than compensate for the lame stale variety that often clogs the supply line. One cruelly hilarious political joke that has been repeated this Ramazan is about a late woman politician longing to spend the Eid with her spouse and political heir, up in the skies.

As change eludes Pakistanis, the wits here, including those behind the cell phone humour, are occasionally tempted to recycle the old Musharraf era jokes with a new cast - before they strike with their latest 'original' rib-tickler that is reflective of a genius that can only be admired.

The Pakistani president and the country's ever visible interior minister who stumbles and babbles along with the informal title of 'Baba' are the two pet carriers who can be relied upon to lend, if nothing else, then a smile to the faces of the phone message readers.

Other politicians also make an appearance here and there. There is one who the joke makers say cannot go on Hajj because the pilgrimage cannot be performed long-distance. If this deft, naughty reference to the man's penchant for addressing his followers by telephone doesn't have the audience in stitches, the same joke offers humour of the more direct type: it pokes not the gentlest of fun at a pair of politicians who wouldn't go on the pilgrimage for, given their current heady preferences, "they cannot have" the ritual haircut that is part of the hajj.

Then there is this joke in which people are asked to pray for the long life of a would-be suicide bomber roaming about in their city, and whole sets of consolatory jokes to make up for the lack of performances on the part of the national cricketers.

For those with a deprived youth, the real delight in the treasure of cell phone jokes are the ones that would otherwise be termed too impolite to be told and listened to. Friends who have felt barred by someone's mock piety and tameez do not find it beyond themselves to send him the spicy stuff, leaving the formerly-deprived much the wiser about life. What's more, the inhibitions thus put to rest, they are then able to tell it to each others' faces, as good friends do, pulling some from the fringe and bringing them closer to the dirty mainstream they may have always secretly desired behind their tameezdar exterior.

I have had my fun moments with the lewd of the not so loud variety. I would be lying if I told you that I have not had occasions to have been entertained by the bands of bhaands (street entertainers) that I have encountered at weddings. And I would be lying if I said I have denied myself doses of the double entendre that the Lahore stage under Amanullah and Co perfected over time, before some of the well known performers took the easier way forward; they advanced to the television where they today create humour at the expense of the much caricatured politicians.

Sohail Ahmed with his intelligent 'superior' lines and the gift of mimicking is standard fare in Pakistani households, creating copycats in his trail that have their own galleries to cater to. Those seeking for a bit of good-natured fun will do well to have a look at his recent creation where he re-enacts a conversation between President Zardari and King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia. In my book this rates only slightly lower than the hilarious poem I heard a few years ago in which the Sharifs were shown to be educating the Saudi royalty about kite-flying and basant. You can look up these pearls on the net.

Asha’ar Rehman is Dawn’s resident editor in Lahore.