Why are Indians so sensitive?

Dear Lord, give me strength. Help me understand: Why are Indians so bloody sensitive? How far along in our collective journey as a Nation must we be before we learn how to take a joke? Or ignore it at the very least?

A few days ago, I watched Rahul Subramanian’s new standup comedy special on Amazon Prime, called ‘Kal Main Udega’. It’s an unconnected, stream-of-consciousness monologue during which he shifts gears effortlessly, covering a diverse range of subjects: driving, recreational drug use, the staple flying experience, tennis, and a whole lot more. His loud, flamboyant delivery — with generous use of colloquial Mumbai Hindi and its amusing inflections — elevates many parts of the set that would have otherwise, just based on material, fallen flat. The set is uproarious at times, predictable at others, but consistently enjoyable.

Anyway, so there’s this four-minute bit where Subramanian pokes some fun at DJs and club-goers, and their sheep-like actions. It’s not particularly novel — DJs have been at the receiving end of jibes since they started existence. Making fun of professions is never not funny.

Subramanian jokes about the stuff they say while performing, the outrageous monikers they pick, the way they put their headphones on. Some of it is fairly mundane, some of it hysterical. At one point, he says he hates DJs. No great shakes, right?

Subramanian uploaded this clip to YouTube, which is when things truly went downhill. DJs took offence, presumably because it hurt their sentiments (by sentiments, I mean very fragile egos). “How dare he, a stupid comic, make fun of my art?” they asked. And so they lashed out. Not All DJs, of course (for the pedants in the house), but many DJs.

Poor Subramanian had to write a long, heartfelt note on his social media pages explaining that, in fact, he doesn’t actually hate DJs. That it’s okay to make jokes about such things. He also added screenshots of the kind of verbal abuse he was being subjected to — all of it vile, some threatening rape and other violence. Subramanian also says that some people waited outside a gig he had in Gurgaon (where else?), presumably to beat him up.

Like a bad sketch

There’s still a cherry waiting to be placed atop this royal sundae of rot. Subramanian was reportedly slated to perform at a comedy festival in Pune, but had to be removed from the line-up because of “security concerns”. No, this is not the plot of a badly written YouTube sketch. It is actually happening, in the World’s Greatest Country. (Did we get a UN award for that too?)

It’s easy to laugh at the postmodern absurdity of the whole thing. But let’s move past that and understand what it really means. When did we become so touchy and hypersensitive? What is up with the collective psyche of the country that any joke, any ideological statement, must be met with extreme resistance? How are we so thin-skinned we can’t take a joke in our stride? Ever?

Yes, comedy is a powerful weapon. Humour need not necessarily be given a free pass and anything questionable must be called out. Keeping the fairly reductive and binary “punching-up/ punching down” maxim aside, it’s still important for artistes to introspect the impact of their words: whether they’re attacking an already oppressed section of society for cheap laughs, whether their words reveal their own prejudices or bigotry. But hello? Ordinary jokes about an ordinary profession?

It is perhaps reflective of a deeper problem. Where, instead of laughing it off, ignoring it, critiquing it, starting a debate, or retaliating smartly, we lash out. We attack. We threaten. It’s a toxic by-product of what’s otherwise happening nationwide — where any thought or action that doesn’t fall in line with ‘nationalism’ is sought to be suppressed. The persecution of free thought, with the looming threat of violence, is filtering down everywhere, even to comedy. We’ve become (even more) humourless, (even more) entitled, (even more) precious. We believe that vengeful overreaction is completely acceptable because — that’s just how it works. It’s a frightening idea.

A freelance culture writer from New Delhi, the writer wishes he’d studied engineering instead.