He could be your Uncleji, struggling with his English but determined to speak it, making fainty politically incorrect jokes, laughing at them himself. He could be your nosey neighbour, wanting to know if stars are like us. Or he could be your drunk friend, telling you for the fortieth time how he would ride a second-hand scooter to college and why he deserves his shiny new Bentley.
Kapil Sharma is middle-class India’s favourite comic because despite the fame and the wealth, he remains the embodiment of middle-class India. He may be clad in the best brands, usually announced in loud letters spelling D&G and Gucci on his chest; he may be on back-slapping terms with most of India’s finest actors who miss no opportunity to be on The Kapil Sharma Show (on since 2016) to promote their films; and he may have drunk-tweeted no less than Prime Minister Narendra Modi about a bribe he had to pay, but he remains the boy from Amritsar who came to Mumbai as a 21-year-old to walk on Juhu Beach and think he would be “discovered”.
A return from a self-destructive phase battling depression, alcoholism, and a very public spat with former colleague and fellow comedian Sunil Grover, after the first season of The Kapil Sharma Show on Sony, and a new Netflix special which has won him fresh new fans, Kapil is truly not done yet. He succeeds at a time when other comedians have to walk on eggshells or kiss the ring, perhaps because he doesn’t come across as elitist, something Hindutva hates.
“Body-shaming, misogyny, and sexism have been crudely internalised by people now with social media. In such a culture, Kapil Sharma has managed to get away with trying to constantly probe the limits of ‘how far and no further’ and exploit it for his ends. Audiences like it because in north India, this kind of Punjabi, straight-from-the-heart humour is also a reflection of the toxicity that has become the norm,” says scholar Shailendra Singh, from IIT-Tirupati.
For Kapil, though, the Netflix show is an expansion of his universe. “I had to do something new and different,” he says, adding, “I’ve drawn stories from my journey, discussed my experiences and shared my path so far.
I’ve also paid a tribute to my loved ones. So it’s not content I’m sharing with people, it’s my life!”
What makes him so popular in a sea of wannabe funny men and funny women? Noted writer Divya Prakash Dubey says it is the MS Dhoni phenomenon. “This has been Kapil Sharma’s speciality since the time he came into the public consciousness as a contestant on The Great Indian Laughter Challenge on Star Plus in 2007. We relate to him because we feel he is one of us and is now on TV.
And his humour is not intellectual. It’s like how we talk at home, sometimes politically incorrect, especially with respect to women. The husband-wife jokes are so clichéd but yet wherever you go, apart from the five big metros of this country, they work.” Kapil, he says, has shown us that dream journey, of the small-town guy, to big city Mumbai, which we could not even imagine. “You can become an IAS officer or an engineer or a doctor, or a clerk in a government office so you can make a little extra money, but Kapil showed us a dream that was not even on our radar,” says Dubey.
He is like this only
Then there are the questions he puts to celebrities. Have you ever squeezed remaining toothpaste out of a tube like common people do, he asked Saif Ali Khan. Or when do you decide to cast a star child, he asked Karan Johar. When the sonography report arrives or when the child is born? Or even asking Pankaj Tripathi, you are in every film, is it because you are in demand, or is your bungalow heavily mortgaged? “Eighty percent of these questions are what an ordinary person would ask a celebrity if he were seated next to him or her on a flight. He is the voice of the smalltown guy. And by small town, I don’t mean just Ballia or Bhopal or Lucknow. Mumbai also has a smalltown struggling to be part of the big city. There are localities which mirror Ballia or Lucknow or Bhopal,” says Dubey. He gives another analogy: Kapil shows us the possibility of crossing the distance in a train between the unreserved bogies and the air-conditioned sleeper.
Then there is his English, and his ability to be comfortable with the way he speaks it, so much so that he actually sang an English song at the end of the Netflix special. “It makes him relatable,” says Dubey. “He tells us that it is all right not to know how to speak in English. He gives us the confidence to be good at our work, and not worry about the language we speak in,” he adds. With the Netflix special, Dubey feels Kapil has added yet another dimension to his screen persona by discussing his depression and his relationship with alcohol. “He is opening the window to his home and showing us his truth, even if it is not the complete truth. This open-heartedness is very important to make the emotional connect with audiences.”
And to show us that he may be flawed but he is one of us. Aniruddha Guha, the screenwriter of Rashmi Rocket and Malang, who tweeted his appreciation for the Neflix special, says for the longest time, Kapil Sharma was associated with low-brow comedy and over-the-top skits on his show. “While I, personally, may not be a fan of that specific brand of humour, I’ve always found his delivery, his quick-witted improvisations during interviews, even his pauses, to be well-timed and effective,” he says, adding that’s why he feels his Netflix special, I’m Not Done Yet, will work with both the traditional TV audience, as well as the more discerning fans of stand-up comedy.
“While retaining the inherent desi tadka he’s famous for, Sharma delivers a one-hour special that’s insightful, scathing, often funny and, overall, heartwarming. Clearly, a streaming service lends him the luxury to be bolder about his opinion on Indian politics, and he intelligently weaves in themes like mental illness, the price of fame, and India’s middle-class conundrum, in his performance. Yes, some jokes don’t land, and the end is a bit too mawkish for my liking, but it definitely is a far truer representation of the country than most other Indian specials,” says Guha.
Honesty in storytelling
Stand-up comedians who break out globally first and foremost tell stories about their lives and their surroundings, without attempting to make their material forcefully relatable to audiences everywhere. Guha feels many Indian stand-up comedians grapple with this; not quite hitting the tone between borrowed Western ideas and intrinsically Indian concepts. “I don’t know what the fate of Sharma’s stand-up special will be, but it’s definitely a step in the right direction in terms of presenting homegrown political and social issues that are palatable to desi audiences, but which also have the potential to strike a chord with global audiences due to an inherent honesty in storytelling,” he adds.
Even if it is full of familiar tropes. The middle-class police official’s home in Amritsar where the father’s income was much less than the family expenditure; where the father on his deathbed made him promise to look after his sister; and where the rich girl he finally married was always out of reach while he was growing up. Vijay Parthasarathy, whose doctoral work at the University of Texas at Austin examined how stand-up comedy shapes modernity, says intellectuals and woke elites tend to view Kapil’s success as problematic, given the frequently suggestive and misogynistic nature of his material.
He seems a reflection of any Indian man who brazenly pushes boundaries and normalises toxic masculinity. But his mass appeal is, in fact, founded on the ability to project himself as a man of the people. As a comedian who first rose to prominence after winning a reality TV competition, he creates the impression that anybody with some talent could become him, says Parthasarathy. He’s experienced his share of ups and downs. To his fans, he is tremendously likeable.
“His shows function as a kind of medieval carnival where conventional order is suspended and the powerless can take potshots at the powerful via the medium of Sharma himself: a classic Bakhtinian buffoon, a carnival clown who is able to poke fun at well-known figures like Akshay Kumar, even Narendra Modi, and get away with it. His jokes may be mediocre, the sound-effects cheesy. But his rebellious edge makes him unpredictable and charismatic,” adds Parthasarathy.
Born in 1981 in an analog world, he also carries with him a whiff of nostalgia for pre-liberalisation India where the TV reception was poor, where a five rupee note mattered, where news would be heard on the radio, and where Diwali always meant firecrackers. Not surprisingly he is very popular with the parental demographic, especially those fond of telling their children of the struggle they have endured.
Going deeper into India
For Netflix whose performance in India has been underwhelming by co-founder Reed Hastings’ own admission, it is also an opportunity to go deeper into the country they want to lean in. Founders of BeingU Studios, Gurjot Singh and Akshit Lahoria, who produced the special for Netflix, say the response from viewers has been outstanding. “There has been an outpour of love and appreciation from all around the world for this digital innings,” they add.
Kapil has been doing this for a long time now. After his win in The Great Indian Laughter Challenge, he competed as a singer on Star Ya Rockstar in 2011, finishing second. He tested his funnybone with Comedy Circus on Sony for seven seasons from 2010 to 2012. From 2013, he did Comedy Nights With Kapil, the desi version of BBC2’s The Kumars at No. 42, with a pretty wife, a swinging daadi (played by a cross-dressing Ali Asgar) and an infantile spinster bua. He then signed a contract with Sony for The Kapil Sharma Show in 2016, which continues. He has also been the lead in two movies, Abbas Mustan’s Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon (2015) and Rajiv Dhingra’s Firangi (2017).
Sameer Nair, who started The Great Indian Laughter Challenge on Star One, and is now heading the production house Applause Entertainment, says he finds Kapil’s smiling style of comedy disarming and friendly; a style that allows him to get away with almost anything. Indeed, it is insult comedy but its gentlest. The Amritsar-born comic dabbled in theatre at the city’s Hindu College and later at the Apeejay College of Fine Arts in Jalandhar, where he pursued a diploma in commercial arts. He then worked as a drama teacher at Hans Raj Mahila Maha Vidyalaya and BD Arya College in Jalandhar. When he won a Punjabi comedy show, Haste Hasate Raho, in 2005 Sharma realised he had a knack for stand-up comedy.
Given his popularity, it is no surprise that Netflix chose him for a special. Tanya Bami, series head, Netlfix, says, “We are always looking for authentic stories and formats to entertain audiences and as we dive deeper into telling stories from India especially in comedy, we knew that Kapil’s story was one that we had to tell. What’s unique about this stand-up special is that apart from all the jokes and quips, it is about Kapil’s personal journey. We wanted this experience to be an expression about something he felt deeply about, giving an insight into him as a person. Kapil was extremely excited about working with Netflix and trying something different. The result has been a hilarious ride about some of his faux pas, to his personal relationships with family.”
And the families at large in whose lives he brings some needed joy, whether it is declaring his abiding love for Deepika Padukone, or asking Priyanka Chopra with faux innocence whether goras (white people) also do the “naagin” dance at weddings. As comfortable discussing private jets with the cast of SS Rajamouli’s RRR as he is gently commiserating with Neetu Singh about her husband’s passing away, he is Everyman—not too thin, not too good-looking, not too sophisticated. He may have developed a taste for single malts and branded athleisure, but he remains the boy from Amritsar who continues to milk the story of gatecrashing Shah Rukh Khan’s party and tagging the prime minister in his tweet.
The common touch
Kapil Sharma’s comedy is like him, like us.
Gain in Translation
Kapil Sharma has turned his lack of English speaking skills into a badge of honour. Here he is, with some of his best English translations from various shows.
Laaton ke bhoot baaton se nahin maanta
Translation: The ghosts who are made for laat (kicks) don’t agree with baat (conversation).
Ab pashtaye kya ho jab chidiya chug gayi khet:
Translation: You don’t need to worry because chidiya (the bird) has done everything.
Usne apna kaam kiya aur karta chala gaya:
Translation: He finished his work, again he is doing. I think he is mad.
Woh bachche paida kar rahi hai:
Translation: She’s kidding
Aap karen to rasleela, main karoon to character dheela:
Translation: If you’re doing then it is love, if I’m doing what is the problem, dude?