“It was bad enough that social media sometimes declares that celebrities are dead before their time, now comedians have started announcing that they are Still Alive on YouTube,” Kamala informed me, as she watched the Samay Raina comeback special on her phone.
‘Main Samay Hoon’ was a phrase heard in every household, during the telecast of BR Chopra’s Mahabharat. But now, it was time to witness Ultimate Kurukshetra. I was determined to play the devil’s advocate, and stand up for comedy, as an art form. After all, India’s got latent talent, which was finding a platform in small comedy clubs, all over the country, though sometimes it got rudely doused by a combination of Beer and Biceps vandalising the venue. I askedKamala, would you rather watch the comedy scene in India die gradually, or join in the fight for free speech? She mumbled irritably, about some men not being funny, as she scrolled through Trump’s latest Truth Social posts.
But to me, it seemed that cancel culture was very much making its presence felt, through the moral policing of what was being said in jest. Indeed, a sense of humour was becoming more difficult to find than an LPG cylinder. Most Indian uncles were laughing openly and aloud, only at their laughter clubs in the park, while finding most young, popular comedians offensive. Some comics were announcing elaborate disclaimers before their show, and applying for anticipatory bail after their performance. RK Laxman, who represented Common Man through his legendary cartoons, had symbolically disappeared, together with his acerbic wit and humorous take on current affairs.
Even Kamala was threatening to cancel me, every time I joked publicly about domestic disputes. So, it felt like the comedy club was the only surviving sanctum of satire, where humour and hubris could still find their Habitat to generate laughter. Kunal had found his Kamra.
Meanwhile, in a nationwide pandemic, sons were walking up to fathers, and unabashedly expressing love. Fathers stepped down from their ivory towers, and said the words that shook society: “I love you too.” Middle-aged men were being cornered into expressing emotions, and demonstrating feelings. The scratch card for emotionally awkward fathers, and the coupon code for dad jokes, were being activated. The Great Indian Father had been resuscitated from his grumpy coma, and was laughing out loud, to prove that he was still alive.
Disclaimer
Views expressed above are the author’s own.
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