My OJ Simpson

Comedy or something like it

As the frost begins to set in, my runs along the lake have become more infrequent. They’ve also become shorter. My longest runs would see me run 10km from my house to Humber bridge and back. One of the more distinctive sights in Toronto.

On my shorter runs now, I run a little past Billy Bishop airport and loop back. Its also distinctive because it’s an airport that’s technically a little island on the lake. The other one en-route being the CN tower which I cross at the midway mark.

If for some inexplicable reason I had someone film my route, it would almost be like an establishment shot. An establishment shot is a longer shot in a film or a show to establish some part of the story.

Either to tell you something about the story or where it is set. Like this new Netflix show Mali and I were watching called ‘The Mistake’ on Netflix. The opening sequence features the lead running through different parts of Philadelphia. There’s a shot of the U Penn campus. The museum with the rocky steps.

It’s harder to remember these in Indian movies. Some I remember just because of how criminally low the effort was. Like an Upendra movie that I saw where Garuda mall was shown as an airport in Belgium. Easy to connect the dots… while watching it in Garuda mall. Or because it’s been used in almost every other movie you’ve scene. I’ve probably seen St Xaviers more on screen than the number of students I know from there even though my brother’s an alum.

One that comes to mind easily is Namastey London. Not the scenes in London which are a checklist of the usual sights. But a scene in India when Jazz urf Jasmeet is forced into meeting prospective grooms by her parents when they are on holiday.

Including one in Hyderabad. You know because the terrace of the house overlooks the Char Minar. The guy she’s meeting who’s a socially awkward analyst was played by Vir Das. I can’t remember if that was the first I’ve seen him but I know I was aware of him in college. I had seen him in “friend of hero” roles in some other movies. I had heard of him performing at ISB when my brother was a student there. The closest I came to seeing him live was when I was at the NH7 Weekender in 2012. His band ‘Alien Chutney’ was performing, but I missed them on stage. This had less to do with my taste and more to do with my inebriation. It was the first time I was woken up by security at a concert. I had passed out at the mosh pit. I didn’t see him live even when I was living in Mumbai after.

The first time I saw him was in 2015, after I had moved back to Bangalore. I had just joined Uber. And as a last minute sponsor for his show in Bangalore, his agent gave us a few free tickets for the show. I invited Maliha as my plus one, we had just begun to date. This was unlike the first show we attended together before we were dating. I had feigned interest in a band I had never head before (or since) to meet her again. Alt J.

The name of Vir’s show was “Unbelievablish”. It was at Chowdiah memorial and the initial 5-15 minutes were crowd work about how everyone was showing up late. And then he launched into his act which was a comedic version of the drinking game, 2 truths and a lie.

I remember one of them vividly where he was like “Ladies and gentlemen, clap your hands if you are here with someone. Ladies and gentlemen, clap your hands if you are here on a date. Ladies and gentlemen, clap your hands if you are in love…wow it got really silent in here” he said as I sheepishly looked at Mali to see if she was clapping.

UNBEARABLISH.

After the show, we went to UB city to get dinner and bumped into him as he had come to meet someone after the show. We shook hands with him and I hastily said goodbye before he started talking about clapping again.

If we hadn’t met him then, I think I would have completely forgotten the show. The material in itself wasn’t bad but wasn’t very memorable. Some jokes it was almost like “hey crowd, here’s the punchline you know what to do”. But to his credit it was a little political. The way Ponnappa cartoons used to be in the 90s. Sprinkling of satire mixed with “why are politicians like this ya”.

The second time we met him was in 2017. Maliha and I were in Bombay over Christmas. On paper we were both NRIs but I don’t remember carrying a Bisleri with me.

It was a bitter sweet trip. Sweet to be back in a place where you were sweating in December. Bitter to feel how soon a place can move on without you. Returning to the same streets I used to frequent in Bandra felt strange as a visitor. Even Pali hill. Mali and I were playing a game that she had perfected with a friend where they would assign names and personalities to people you’d spot.

Brat in designer clothes? Uday.

Fancy workout gear? Ananya.

We spotted a dude in a fedora walking a dog ahead of us and we both said “Vir Das.”

And then he turned around.

Oh fuck how good are we at this game.

Our international existence and Maliha’s salary had given us a chance to see other comedians since we had last seen him. Like Gad Elmaleh when he was doing a show in Philadelphia. Mo Amer doing a secret gig in the comedy cellar in New York which was well known for having surprise guests.

Our international existence also meant most of my reckoning with my identity as an Indian at this point was at immigration. Visas. Random security checks based on my facial hair. And Russian roulette level odds on finding an employer who was looking to sponsor you.

Stuff that could have been part of Vir Das’s material, but was new to me. And yet it seemed worth navigating. In part due to student loans in foreign currencies but also to make my relationship with Mali more pedestrian. As much as I had changed from 2014, when I hadn’t even gone north of Pune, let alone outside India, India had changed. Our identities were much more visible to the outside world by virtue of being different religions. We no longer had to address what would have been our biggest stumbling block if the broader social fabric hadn’t begun to rip.

That I was from CBSE and she was from ICSE.

This identity issue was constantly communicated to us through our married life in India. Starting with being on a notice board for a month to get married. To being rejected for houses when renting in Delhi. And also being informed by Google that I was entitled to a goat and some kilos of rice from Yogi Atityanath for my Ghar Wapsi.

When da Yogi?

All the way to that sweet old Dakhni lady who became a grandmother the same day we had Amal. After witnessing my interactions with my mother and mother in law in the span of that day she asked me when we were alone in the hallway

“Inter Caste?”

An understatement that is only rivalled by calling Rohit Shetty, a sceptic of Physics.

Amal came home just before the 2nd wave of COVID exploded. And in that moment where we were all indoors, one of the other things that exploded was Vir Das doing a bit on 2 Indians. I know it was popular because I was getting rebuttals on WhatsApp, forwarded to me before I saw the actual clip.

If you haven’t seen it, just like his last show that I had seen it was about contrasting two things for a punch line.

“I come form 2 Indias where we had Cholas but no Bhatura but now have Bhaturas but no Cholas”

“I come from 2 Indias, one where Tendu and ten don’t” etc

Only his references were a lot more political and suffused with some of the collective rage around COVID being mismanaged. And predictably, just like someone who was literally told off at a funeral for blaming the government for the death in his family, Vir was belted as well.

Despite all that drama moving from India for us was something that was in the horizon but not a priority. It took the pandemic for me to revert to my travel in 2014. With Goa being the furthest north we had gone in 2 years. And yet I remember it was an off the cuff remark from my manager that made me snap. He said “ I thought Taliban had joined the call” when I logged in on Zoom by accident with Mali’s name.

And the move paid off thanks to Mali finding a job, child care and housing within the span of a few months. Her grinding paid for us to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers when we first moved. Post Malone in 2023. And the third time we saw Vir Das. We bought tickets for his show at the last minute.

He is one of many Indian comedians who performs every other year in Toronto. They come to Canada with the same frequency that I would go the SLV in Banshankari. This show was literally across the street. We live next door to the venue but have never attended a show. Our friend who lives in the building came down to baby sit and Mali and I walked across 5 minutes before it started.

The stand up comic who opened was probably one of the only white people at the venue. And then Vir came on stage and did some crowd work on how people were showing up late.

The show itself was a long riff on how he lost his voice before a show and what he had to do to get back on stage and perform internationally. It was political but a little more measured. It was funnier than the last show we’d seen of his. I also forgot all the jokes a few hours later.

My only thought after was a passing one on if Vir was a talisman for my relationship with Mali? A weird ass one if you will. He kept popping in and out in the decade that we had been together. Through the initial days in Bangalore, our long distance phase across continents, once at my office in Delhi and now when we were in Canada. From our honeymoon phase in Delhi to our current one where we have an almost four year old requesting any errand with “do dat do dat do dat”.

But I think he’s more likely one for my relationship with India. I went from being the “let me dispel your misconceptions about India” guy at the international airport to someone who has lived in Toronto longer than any other Indian city but Bangalore. There’s 2 Indias and I’m currently in the one where I visit once a year.

And yet Amal is there to maintain the balance. She is unabashedly Indian by way of Bangalore. Not just that she corrects me when I call her Canadian. Or that she eats noodles/pasta/pizza with curd. But it’s also innocuous things that are hard to explain given she has spent 3/4th of her life here. Like the way she pronounces words we haven’t taught her.

“What was it you read Amlu?”

“ A po-yem”

An accent Upendra would approve of. And hopefully the uncle at Indian immigration. If he is like any of his brethren he will hesitate as he looks at the parents names. Hindu? Muslim? Love marriage? Inter caste?

And as the stamp is suspended in his hand he will look down to see the rapid movement of a mouth three feet off the ground

“DO DAT DO DAT DO DAT”