It is not every day that a stand-up comedian describes his audience as “lab rats” out loud. But for Manjeet Sarkar, that is exactly what trials were for, “If they laugh, the joke survives. If they don’t, the joke goes extinct faster than a government promise. Except these lab rats paid for the experiment,” he adds.
For the first ten outings, Manjeet Ki Baat was on probation. Now it has grown into a full-fledged comedy special that Manjeet is touring across the country, with Chennai next on the map. The title, of course, is a wink. “We live in a country where ‘Baat’ has become a broadcast,” he says. “So I thought, why not hijack the format? It’s satire, but also me owning the mike. And this show is an update on how I was attacked by almost every community in the country for my jokes.”
The show, he says, is sharper and calmer than his previous special, Untouchable, which was fuelled by the lived experiences of growing up on the margins. “Untouchable was raw anger and the experiences of a kid from the vulnerable part of our society disguised as jokes. Manjeet Ki Baat has more layers, and the appeal is wider. The anger is still there, but now it’s like aged whiskey. Sharper, smoother, and burns slower.”
Among his favourite sections is a bit on death and Indian politicians. This comedian has had a few brushes with mortality, which, paradoxically, gave him a poetic view of it. “Death is the most beautiful, philosophical thing in the world. And our politicians know that. That’s why they want citizens to experience it sooner,” he says with a smirk, refusing to reveal the full punchline.
Part of this special was written in Canada, where he lived briefly. The distance allowed him to step away from being an emotional consumer of Indian politics and become a rational observer. “From outside, it looks absurd, funny, and heartbreaking,” he notes.
This vantage point shaped much of Manjeet Ki Baat, a set that trains its eye not just on politicians but voters. “Distance gives perspective. I saw things clearly when I travelled across the world and met people from all over, comparing all of that to my own country. In Canada, I had the privilege to remove myself from the situation for a few months. I could avoid being an emotional consumer of Indian politics and be a more rational one. I tell you, it looks absurd, funny and heartbreaking,” he says.
On why voter behaviour makes for compelling comedy, he explains, “The kind of politicians who come to power reflect the mentality of the people who elected them. Blaming the government is easy, so I wanted to talk to the voters behind the politicians, irrespective of their political views or parties.”
For this comic, the difference between an entertainer and a comedian is honesty. “Otherwise, it’s just comforting words, the same as relaxing music. Comfort is where truth goes to die. A good joke should itch a little.”
In Chennai, he hopes for an audience that is more open to ideas than outrage. “They’ll listen first, react later. That makes it easier to take risks on stage.”
He admits he doesn’t tread carefully when writing jokes. “I’m more cautious in my writing. I don’t ever say stuff to intentionally offend people. If they get offended by one of my jokes, then probably it’s true, and their insecurities couldn’t handle it, even with all their privileges cushioning them,” he says.
As for safety concerns, he brushes them off with humour. “I have no precautions to take! I’m a funny dude creating art. I don’t know martial arts and find the idea of roaming around with bouncers very funny. If something happens to me or my show, then the attackers would only be proving me right and make my jokes about them more relevant,” he quips.
Success, for him, is mutable, often irrelevant. “We’re all going to die,” he says.
What matters is being honest on stage, even at personal cost. “The alternative is guilt and regret. I’d rather bear the cost of being outspoken.”
Off stage, the comic lives a quieter life, books, junk food, single malt, and music from hip hop in the morning to Bengali old songs at night. Vacations are usually in Coonoor, where he brews coffee and reads with a valley view. His quirks include shopping for pants in the women’s section, “they’re way more stylish, except for the tiny pockets”, and a keen sense of fashion rooted in hip hop. “I may not be the best-dressed comic in the country, but I’m definitely the most different.”
Looking ahead, he shares: “For now, the next big focus is a special for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival,” he says.
But if Manjeet Ki Baat were his last show, he knows what he would want the audience to remember, “That he didn’t do the easy stuff. And he didn’t lie for easy laughs like a lot of comics do,” he concludes.
₹499. On August 30. At 3 pm and 5 pm. At Punch - Unpaid Therapist, Alwarpet.