The Fault in our Laughs
Laughter is the best medicine, but at what cost?
“Kunal, Guptaji’s son has moved to Dubai. If you say, I can talk to him. PwC is a good company. He was telling me, they have given him a Honda car too.”
“Papa, I told you that I am going on a tour next week. I will earn enough to buy a Honda of my own. Can you stop talking to your friends about me yaar? I am done with it. I have worked hard enough to be here”, Kunal lashes out. His eyes immediately droop regretfully.
“Is this a way to talk to me? Is this what your new friends are teaching you? What happened to you Kunal? You used to earn well, keep fit. Everyone in the society group used to send me your YouTube clips with laughing smileys. Now they turn away and start mumbling whenever they see me. I know and understand everything they say about me. That Verma..he had uploaded your clip about the army on the group. Why did you have to say those things Kunal? You know what they call you now? He had deleted the video soon after as Guptaji must have talked to Verma but you only keep saying these things against India no, why don’t you want to move to Dubai now? It’s anyway ruled by your friends, those bloody..”
“Shut up ya dad! I don’t wanna hear another word from you”, Kunal slams the phone on his bed. He covers his head with a pillow trying to shut the voices in his head. Pruned by the tiresome nights and cigarettes, his eyes fade into a deep slumber.
The room was in a terrible shape. The early morning sunlight seeped in from the window blinds in perfectly straight lines unperturbed by the trail of golden dust specks and stopped abruptly at the pile of crumpled paper coffee cups and the overflowing ashtray. The room smelled like the regrets of youth. The light from the monitor illuminated Prakriti’s face, revealing the deep and dark crevices running under her closed eyes. The stillness of the room was abruptly disturbed by a swift swing of the door, giving a long-awaited release to the rotting air in the room.
“Prakriti! Prakriti! I have been trying to call you for an hour now. What are you doing?” Kunal exclaims. Prakriti shifts in her sleep, trying to fight the forces of the union of her eyelids. Kunal goes out to bring another cup of coffee.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Kunal?”. Prakriti sips on her black coffee. It has stopped tasting like anything now. Her hollow eyes meet Kunal’s.
Kunal seems to be playing chase with a thought. “Kunal!”. “Yes! Yes. It’s not about if I want to. It is that I have to.”
“You really don’t have to, Kunal. You do enough already. Besides, this will keep you on the road for 3 months straight. I can get you much better gigs, right here in Delhi and it’ll pay you twice as much.”
“It is not about the money, Prakriti. You of all people know this, it has never been about the money.” “I started doing this only to change the wrong. I cannot go up on the stage with the same faces in the audience every day. They laugh at my jokes. They come up to me and praise me, but my work here is done. I am not changing anything. I must go into the mouth of the beast.”
“Alright, Kunal. Arguing with you is useless, you never listen anyway. Here is your schedule. You have 3–4 shows every week, sometimes twice in a day. Vadodara, Surat, Ahmedabad, Jaipur, Udaipur, Agra, Lucknow, Kanpur, Gorakhpur, Allahabad, Varanasi, Aligarh, Ayodhya, Indore, Bhopal, Patna, Ranchi, everything that you asked for.”
“Prakriti, you are the best!”. Kunal reaches out for the schedule but she pulls it back.
“I have one condition though and you are not going to like it.” She tears a piece of paper off her notepad and scribbles something on it and passed it to him. The note has a coffee stain on its corner. Above it, it says “Kapil Yadav: 993032002”.
“What is this?” “He is your driver for the tour. I know you don’t like it but keep him close, listen to whatever he says and do not wander off without telling him.”
“What the fuck is this? I don’t need a babysitter Prakriti.” He crumpled the piece of paper and threw it in the corner.
“If not as a friend, listen to me as your manager. Your safety is my duty. Just talk to him once. He is the best in his business.”
“I do not care about my security. Those Sanghi bastards thrive on this fear. How can I preach that and keep a babysitter on my side? I can not care less about their threats and what they say. Your job is to get me the shows and you get paid well enough for it in return. I can take care of myself.”
“Kunal — ’’ her voice broke and tears started dripping from her eyes, meandering through the crevices and falling down her cheeks.
“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He went up to her and ran his fingers in her hair and wiped off the tears. “I know how much you care about me and how much you — I am sorry. You are the best. I cannot do without you. I must go and prepare for it. You should also go home..get some sleep.”
He heads towards the door and stops to pick up the paper. He looks at her. The sunlight is much brighter now. It makes her wet cheeks glisten. The room smells of the regrets of youth.
“This WhatsApp will be the death of our family”, said Asha.
She was wearing a pale yellow saree and remembered that it was bright mustard when Kapil had gifted it to her. Neha, the daughter of Kapil’s boss had given it to him on Diwali. Her eyes were strangely still with resolute. The chapped lips and wrinkly hands chronicled the grueling work that she had done in the harsh cold. She fit perfectly into that gloomy winter evening.
“What has WhatsApp done to you? Why are you after my life?”, Kapil said, shifting in the cot and turning his large and well-built frame away from her.
WhatsApp had done a lot to the family. Kapil had lost his job because of it. He was watching a video sent to him on a WhatsApp group while waiting for Neha and her friends outside a café on the Hudson Lane. They barged in at a very unfortunate moment when the speaker in the video had launched into a passionate tirade against the Mullas. He quickly shuffled to mute the phone and turned off the video but the phone fell from his hand. It was a silent ride home which felt quite long. He could hear Neha’s friends mumbling to her. He knew that he was in trouble but when Mr Singh called him in, the next morning and fired him, he wasn’t expecting it in the least bit. After all, he had been with the family for over 10 years.
His chain of thoughts was clipped suddenly. “Listen, Guddi’s fees are due this month. Masterji was saying he can’t do much to keep her in. The administration has become strict. He was saying we should send her to the Government School.”
“There is no way I am sending Gudiya to that wretched place. You know what kind of people’s children study there. They are all very cunning and manipulative. I can’t have Gudiya go there.”
Kapil sat up and stretched his arms and his bones made cracking sounds. As if on a cue, the haze in the sky cleared and the sun shone an orange glow on his face. He adjusted his moustache and gave it a nice curl. It looked like a golden bow now and Asha’s eyebrows heaved at this sight.
“Then get up and go out. Talk to Deepakji, he will have some work for you at the factory. Driving around in that AC car all day has spoiled you. Give me this mistress of yours and go take a bath.”
Asha snatched his phone. Just as soon as she did so, the phone started ringing. It was an unknown number. The Truecaller bubble said ‘Kunal Comedy’. Kapil seemed wary of it at first but today seemed to be a day of coincidences, so he picked up the call.
It was a bright Sunday morning. The sun had come out with all its glory after weeks. The birds chirped outside the window. A gentle stream of cold breeze whizzed in from the small gap at the window edge. Inside, there was utter chaos. It was as if a hurricane had come in and left in its wake, clutters of clothes, toppled bags, and swung-open cupboards. An alarm clock blared loudly and then, there was a rap at the door. It seemed to have failed its purpose and another loud banging followed. Kunal scuffled in his sleep and tried to open his eyes. However, they were met with a strong golden glow of the sun and he quickly shut them again. Suddenly, he got up panicking and looked at his phone. It said 11:11 AM. There was a loud knock at the door again. He got up and wore his slippers. Before he could make his way to the door, his phone started ringing. ‘Kapil Yadav calling..’
“Shit shit shit.” He rushed to the door and opened the latch. He was startled out of his sleep as his eyes slowly looked up and were met with a big round face, plump and glowing. On it rested a spectacular moustache and big milky white eyes. He was wearing a long pale blue Kurta, an orange Gamchha, pants and a pair of worn-off brown leather juttis. He was tall, taller than Kunal had expected. His broad shoulders extended into strong arms with throbbing veins and fair hands, one of which was extended towards Kunal. Kunal extended his hands and shook them. His hands were soft. Soft as the grassy field of Lodhi Gardens on a winter morning. Soft, yet firm.
“Aao Aoo. 5 minute do mujhe” Kunal recollected himself and ushered him in. 20 minutes later, they were on the road.
“Sir..I have heard about you. You are a famous person”, said Kapil looking up to the mirror.
“Haha. What have you heard about me? I assume it’s all bad.”
“Sir, aap toh woh Tukde Tukde gang wale ho na? (Sir you belong to that Tukde Tukde gang, right?) saw your video about demonetisation, Sir. I, myself had to stand in the line for the whole day Sir. But I think it’s our duty. To improve India, this much toh we can do na Sir. Besides, my 8 hours in that line is nothing against the 18 hours that Modiji put in every day. Is it?”
Kunal guffawed at this and exclaimed, “You and your imbecile friends. You will never get it.” Kunal put on his AirPods and turned on the music.
Kapil, who had failed to notice this, said “But Sir, what I do get is that for 50 years, governments just promise their voter base about benefits they will be offered. My forefathers lost their land after the partition and came to Hindustan. For long, these governments kept dividing us into Jats and Gujjars and Yadavs to carve out their vote banks. For once, someone is recognizing us who do hard work to earn their living and recognizing us all as the same Hindu brothers. Everyone around me evades taxes Sir, but I am an honest man. But, it hurts me when I read that so many crores of the taxpayers’ hard-earned money are lost in all these scams. You tell me Sir who else do I vote for?”
Kapil looked in his rearview mirror. Kunal leaned back with his mouth slightly open and was already snoring. Meaty clouds had taken over the sun and it seemed like it was late evening already. Kapil straightened back into his seat and readied himself for the long journey ahead.
“What’s common between Rs 500 notes and Modiji’s degree?” Kunal exclaims into the mic.
“Booo…” ,“Grow over Modiji for once”, “Thank you, next”.
The boos and whistles grew louder.
“Fuck it..thanks for nothing Agra. You’ve been a horrible audience.”
Kunal threw the mic down and quickly left the stage and rushed for the door. The manager rushed after him but he was out in a flash. Kunal went to the parking lot and looked for the car. Kapil, seeing that Kunal was out unusually early, went up to him.
“Kapil, go buy me a couple of cigarettes. Here are 50 rupees.” Kapil quickly went over to the paan shop on the other side of the road and brought two cigarettes. Kunal took them from Kapil and went to a dark alley beside the parking lot, and suggested that Kapil follow him. Kapil hesitantly followed and turned into the alley. Kunal took out a small pouch from his back pocket and opened it. At first, Kapil thought it was a Paan Masala packet but quickly realized that it was something else. He squinted his eyes to inspect it closely and left out a gasp. It was hashish. Kunal started emptying the cigarettes and rolling them into a joint.
“Why don’t you come inside my venues to watch my show?” enquired Kunal.
“Sir, I am a simple man and I can see where I am welcome and where I am not. Besides, I’ve lived enough of my life in the parking lots. I am comfortable here.”
Kunal finished rolling the joint, lit it with a lighter and took two brisk drags from it. He extended it to Kapil. Kapil shook his head. Kunal took 2 more drags from it.
“Why? I thought you will appreciate this stuff.”
“No sir, I have a family to take care of. I have long left these things. They cause nothing but harm.”
“So, you did use to do this. It’s okay. Take just a couple of drags no..” Kunal insisted and kept it in front of Kapil but he refused profusely.
“Sir, this is a public area. If we get caught, then what? The cops will demand a month’s salary worth of bribe. Please, let’s just go.”
Kapil began leaving for the car but Kunal remained undeterred. Kapil went to the car and sat inside it, waiting. Fifteen minutes later, Kunal had still not come back and he became apprehensive. He unlocked the car and went towards the alley. Right before turning, he saw three shadows and realized that something was up. He went in to find two men holding Kunal by his collar. Kunal turned and saw Kapil.
“It’s okay, Kapil. They are policewale. I am sorry, Sir. I will not do it again.”
“We don’t care about it. Give us Rs. 10,000 or come to the station with us. Raju, take him into the jeep. He won’t understand like this”, said the shorter of the two men.
Raju, who was holding Kunal turned him around and pinned him against the wall. The two men had unruly stubble and were dressed in sweaty faded shirts.
Kapil, who had been silent all this while, grew suspicious of the men and broke his silence, “Who are you? Show me your IDs.”
“This fucker wants to see our IDs haan. Come here I’ll show you my ID.” Raju left Kunal and started charging towards Kapil.
Kapil swiftly turned his hand from his back and revealed a knife. Seeing this, Raju was stopped right in his tracks.
“What are you doing Raju? He won’t use it. Go, grab him!”
“Try your luck”, said Kapil calmly waving the knife. Kapil gestured for Kunal to run to the car and threw his keys at him. Kunal caught them and dashed for the car. He waited nervously for 2 minutes on the driver’s seat before he saw Kapil running towards him. He started the ignition and Kapil swiftly jumped into the passenger seat. The two men turned from the alley and started running towards the car but Kunal was quick to manoeuvre it out of the lot and onto the road. He saw that Kapil had a bruise above his eye. They drove back to the hotel without uttering a word.
Kunal sighed at reading the post on his phone. “Volume badha do, Kapil”. Kapil tried to say something but couldn’t find the words. He turned up the volume and ‘Jeena Isi Ka Naam Hai’ blares through the car. He looked outside, it was a beautiful sunny day. There was a board overhead, it said ‘Agra 312 KMs’.
Great. Now my people have also turned against me.
“Leave that phone of yours, sir. My wife always tells me that it’s the root cause of all our worries and I am starting to believe her. You get too worked up looking at it. I have observed this many times.”
“It’ll do you well to observe me less and focus on your driving. Y’all will never understand. I tell the facts. It’s so easy and straightforward to see what is right and what is wrong. I thought this trip would do me some good, but it’s all going so badly. I just want one person to understand and change their ideology. I just want to change that one life for good. I just want that little bit of gratitude. Is that too much to ask?” sighed Kunal.
“Stop here. I feel like a chai, don’t you?”
Lakhu da Dhaba, Vaishno Khana
“Indore today, Bhopal, Patna and then Ranchi, and then you’re free from me Kapil”, Kunal said, sipping on his tea.
“Haha. Sir, kahaan free? I am never free. Some other client will come then and I will be off again.”
“Kapil, you’re not really bad haan. I misjudged you. You have been a great help on this trip. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Kapil took a sip from his cup and smilingly said, “You have your moments too, sir. Haha. My daughter wants to grow up and become an engineer. I know that you were an engineer. I would love for you to meet her someday. I miss her a lot. She has an annual function in 5 days where she’s leading a play but we’ll be on this trip. I am so proud of her.”
Kunal gulped the rest of his tea. “Ab chalo, varna we’ll be late.(Le’t go now or we will be late). Inshallah, I’ll meet her soon.”
It was quite breezy and cold for an August evening. The rooftop bar was brimming with people and the stage was set. The place was dimly lit but a sharp bright spotlight pieced it all to illuminate a lanky figure wearing a plain black t-shirt and with a cap on, who seemed out of place in this well-dressed crowd. It was Kunal.
“This other day, I met another of those Andhbhakts. I asked him what do you think about demonetization? He said Modiji works for 18 hours sir, I only stand in line for 8 hours only. I mean, how dumb do you have to be?”
The audience gave him a loud cheer at this. Kunal was feeling as if he’s back home now. Suddenly, a sharp blow hit his head from behind and everything went dark. A warm acidic liquid seemed to be rushing out from his insides and he smelt something rancid. His consciousness started fading and he fell. He felt someone kicking his stomach and he opened his eyes to take a look but he couldn’t turn his head up to see who it was. However, in that brief stint of vision, he saw a familiar silhouette from the crowd rushing towards him. The blood had tinted his vision bright red, but he saw this amorphous body fighting his attacker and pinning him down before he closed his eyes again. He knew who it was.
Fifteen minutes later, Kunal felt something cold on his head. He opened his eyes. He was in a bright room and his eyes grappled with the shining light. Moments later, he adjusted his eyes and saw the manager of the bar who he had met earlier by his side and Kapil who was holding an ice pack on his head. His white Kurta was smeared red all over, and he had a bruise under his left eye, similar to the one above his other eye. Kunal got up to see that he was in the bathroom of the bar. The flashes of the moments right before everything turned dark, came back to him. He knew that Kapil had possibly saved his life today.
“Thank you, Mr. Mehta, I am sorry for what happened today but before we discuss it, can I get a moment alone with Kapil?”
“Of course Kunal ji, Rajesh will be outside to take you back to your hotel if need be. I am sorry for what happened. We have caught that goon and handed him over to the police. I am really sorry.” He handed a couple of towels to Kapil and left the washroom.
“I..I did not know that you were there, Kapil. You saved my life today. Thank you..”
Kapil did not utter a word and barely nodded.
“Look. Kapil, I did not know that you were gonna be there in the audience. I got too carried away by the crowd and blurted many things that I did not mean. I am sorry if I hurt you.”
Kapil kept the ice pack on the side and got up to leave. “Kapil. Listen to me. I am really sorry.”
“Is this why you chose me to be your driver? Is that why you stuck around with me even though you’re too good for me? Am I a source of jokes for you? You pretend to be my friend only to come here, where you belong, to laugh about me with all your high-class friends? I am sorry sir, but I am leaving. I don’t want your wretched money. Please find someone else to do this for you.”
Kapil slammed the door and left. Kunal looked in the mirror and saw a sorry figure stare back at him. He picked himself up and went out.
“Rajesh ji. Hotel chaliye.”
He turned off the screen of the phone and got down from the car. He looked up and the sun shone brightly from between a metallic arch reading ‘Little Flowers Public School, Rai, District Sonepat’. He removed his cap and went inside. The garden smelled of fresh blossoms and there was a white and pink tent erected in it. He went up to the rows of red plastic chairs and sat in the corner. The speaker on the mic announced, “Up next, we have a reimagination of the Tempest starring Guddi Yadav…”
About the story:
Humour is the most powerful tool of rhetoric. For many years, humour has been used as a disarming and effective force against social prejudices and problems. However, in the current public sphere overwhelmed by politics and operating in binaries, this same force has largely been reduced to a way to score points over each other and feel better about ourselves. This demagogic and mean form of humour, as represented in this story ‘The Fault in our Laughs’ is exclusionary. It encourages the creation of highly impervious sides of ‘us’, existing only to win over ‘them’ through internet points. It is important for the flag-bearers of the legendary tradition of comedy to rethink and steer the future of comedy to be an inclusive and happy space. Comedy works so well as it understands the smallest things about human nature, and hence the first step towards reclaiming its noble nature, is for comedy and the comedians to be humans again.
About the author:
Abhishek Gupta is a part-time procrastinator and a full-time curious being. A jack of all trades, his interests lie all over the place. He loves food, video games, movies and sports. He likes to quiz, cook and dance to Bollywood beats like nobody’s watching. Above all, he loves a good laugh, especially when he is the one cracking the jokes. He lives to help build an inclusive and peaceful future, and hopes that people would just take everything less seriously and learn to step into others’ shoes.
