Bemused

In my long gone youth (not exactly prehistoric times and, no, I never had to shoo off any dinosaurs), I used to be frightened of comedy movies in English. You know what I mean - these Americans and British do not know how to speak proper English like us Indians. They have such peculiar accents and use such quaint phrases that it is difficult to understand exactly what they are saying, so how is one to know when something is funny? (I mean, really! 'I am good'? Good at what? And exactly what is 'Whatever'? Just examples. In my youth, they had not yet descended to these levels).
So, yes, it was always difficult to know when to laugh and when not to. For me, that is. Everyone around me in the theaters apparently found no problem with it. Being left out is such an awkward feeling that I concentrated keenly and laughed once...into sepulchral silence in the theater. THAT was the only total tearjerker scene in the entire movie, supposedly. Ah! It was too dark to see the lovely rose that colored my cheeks though my ears did burn like neon lights making me fear that they would give me away to everyone and not merely the couple of rows of people around me.
Then I hit upon the formula. I just waited till someone started laughing, emitted a couple of 'Haha's and fell silent. Yes, sometimes, it did so happen that I found myself the only other guy laughing - the leader being one other such benighted soul, who ended up with ears burning like neon lights - but practice made me perfect. So, over the years, I lost the habit of looking bemused like a Hindi heroine (Yeah! Yeah! the dinosaur days) waking up from a swoon with a faint query about the exact geographical coordinates of her presence. (Well - the pithily expressed "Main kahan hoon?" which was the only usable dialog if the heroine had not also been struck with amnesia, when she could ask 'Main koun hoon?').
Till I joined the Social media, that is. Especially since the hashtag revolution took over, I have a permanently bemused expression on my face, which could, in the past, well have caused Mehboob studios, or some such, to cart me away and cast me as the heroine of their movies, despite minor problems like my gender and looks.
Take this Indian genius in UK who has found a way to turn the clock back and bring down intolerance in the country. Apparently, all you needed to do was rename (or re-rename) Mumbai to Bombay and, presto, Hindus and Muslims would embrace each other and decide to live in perfect brotherhood. That guy really needs to meet up with that other chap who said "What's in a name?"; Bill Shakespeare (also, incidentally, an erstwhile denizen of the same UK and, maybe, one of the guys who would get resurrected when the clock turns back) really could learn a thing or two. Crackpots like this have popped up and spouted nonsense every other day - in fact, every other minute since the advent of social media - so why is THIS particular crackpot a trending hashtag and not the other guys, who KNOW that the Earth is flat and it is a historical conspiracy that had made us all think it is round?
As for intolerance itself, that is yet another puzzle for me. Two or three incidents in the country -deplorable, tragic and worth condemning - happened but, unfortunately, such has been happening month after month in this country, and indeed around the world. Yet, suddenly, this time it was worth trending as a hashtag and lead to people returning awards (the first time I knew that they GOT the awards in the first place, I am ashamed to confess) and film-stars feeling far more insecure in the country than they did when Mumbai was burning with riots. I sit at my key board, eager to restart the hashtag 'IntolerantIndia' when the news breaks of the reprehensible incident of the Tanzanian student in Bangalore, and the collective Social Media just shrugs its shoulders and moves on to some idiotic mess in JNU. What am I missing here?
I am quite convinced that there are some cheerleaders in Social media whom I am missing. You know - those girls who help the audience to cheer when appropriate, even when the audience knows nothing of the game. Like in the IPL, you know if the ones in red start dancing, your team needs to be applauded and, when the ones in blue dance, you need to boo the opponents. Something like that. So, if only you knew who those cheerleaders were, you could join in on the hashtag bandwagon, without that 'laughing in a sepulchrally silent theater' feeling.
Could some kindly soul please indicate where I am to look for these cheerleaders? I am tired of looking bemused and, if that crackpot manages to turn the clock back, I may end up being the only bearded heroine of Bollywood.