The stand-up comedy scene in India is booming right now. Every open mic, every café, has stand-up gigs, with most shows going full house. Some give social media the credit for this popularity, while some owe it to the OGs—the ones who introduced stand-up as a format in India. Comics like Tanmay Bhat, Abish Mathew, Kenneth Sabastian, Biswa Kalyan Rath, Rohan Joshi are among the people Indians associate stand-up with. We speak to Kenny, one of the iconic comics, ahead of the release of Professor Tomfoolery 2 on YouTube.
Excerpts:
Please tell us about Professor Tomfoolery Part 2.
The show is about Indian families and the things we often avoid discussing—the elephant in the room: the relationship between parents, and between parents and children. I hesitate to call it generational trauma, but that’s essentially what it is, explored through comedy.
I wrote it because I wasn’t finding joy in my earlier material—it either felt boring or overdone. That’s when I turned to family dynamics. At first, I thought it might be too heavy or depressing, but it made me happy, so I went for it. The audience initially took it a little seriously, but people in their 30s really connected, and over time, the younger audiences did too. Tomfoolery 2 adds a bit of music, but at its heart, it’s the same show—about family.
Speaking about family and generational trauma, you are now a father…
I did not work the first six-month Emily was born—it is a privilege that I can take off from work, but it was something I realised our parents and their parents could never do. I think what I’m also realising right now is just a shock of the lack of involvement our parents had. But at the same time, I have a lot of empathy for them now. My relationship with Tracy has evolved. I have also come to understand how easy it is to be married—it is like glorified dating. It feels like we are a team, running and trying to keep the world together.
How was it transitioning from a fine artist to a performing artist?
It wasn’t really a choice. Once you have a degree in visual arts, you kind of give up hope. In college, there were two kinds of artists—those who were so committed to the art they didn’t care about survival, and the rest of us, who loved art but constantly worried about how to make a living. So we just threw things at the wall to see what stuck.
I always wanted to make films, even though I knew there wasn’t a clear path. I did everything I could to stay in the creative field—corporate films, shooting, editing, graphic design, wedding photography, theatre workshops. Eventually, I stumbled into open mics. The transition wasn’t planned—it was survival. Now, I’ve come to understand that filmmaking is a business too, not just a creative pursuit. I’m in a good place where I get to do stand-up and also create videos on my own terms.
Did you make a conscious choice while choosing comedy as your main stage?
It happened totally by accident. When I started doing comedy around 14–15 years ago, Bengaluru just had a very small scene. It was at a café or a bar, and we would just plonk a mic stand there and start talking, almost disturbing the people. And then suddenly YouTube came into the picture, and people started coming for my shows. I made a conscious decision to pursue it full-time after I started making enough money from it.
Now I’ve come back full circle. Stand-up requires you to travel and do live shows, which keeps me from being with Emily. So now I’m pivoting back to production and content creation.
In light of the recent controversies in the Indian comedy scene, how do you draw the line between creative freedom and artistic responsibility?
India has had specific laws which make freedom of speech complicated, while America has genuine freedom of speech and so do some European countries. There are laws that can get you in trouble for saying certain things here—like religion and women—and I think these are kept with good intentions. But these are older laws clashing with newer ideas. So your question is tough to answer because it’s not the right environment to answer.
Has filmmaking changed the way you approach comedy?
I’ve always loved films, which is why it still surprises me that stand-up can be just as entertaining. People pay ₹800 for a movie filled with visual effects, sound design, and complex storytelling—and then pay the same to watch one person talking on stage. That contrast feeds my insecurity, so I bring in theatrical elements—light changes, characters, act-outs, storylines. I build the show like a one-act play. I don’t think I could ever do a set that’s just a loose collection of thoughts.
If you had to make a film about stand-up comedy in India, who would you cast?
We have thought about many film concepts around comedy, and always got stuck with casting.
I don’t think comedians necessarily can be good actors. At the same time, I don’t think actors can be good comedians. I feel like we’ll have to do a dual cast, where the actor does the dramatic parts, and when they go on stage, we replace them with a comedian—like a stunt comedian (laughs).
Traveling changes a person, and you’ve travelled a lot for your shows; how has that change in personality reflected in your comedy?
I actually was making a list of the places I have travelled, what I have learnt from them, and realised how privileged I am. I have realised that the default mode of people is actually only kindness. When you travel and meet a lot of people, you become more open-minded. When I was younger, I used to just be reactive. Now, my immediate reaction is, ‘they’re probably going through something’. So now, when I do comedy, and if a group of people does not connect with it. Travelling has given me way more empathy and patience.
Over the years, have you seen a change in the audience’s sense of humour?
Stand-up comedy is, at its core, an American concept—and we were influenced by that. We watched comedians perform for open-minded, well-read audiences, and tried to replicate that in India. But it was too much too soon. We had to scale back, strip it down, and meet the audience where they were. However, now, things have changed. This generation gets sarcasm, dark humour, awkward characters—nuance. Ten years ago, I had to tell audiences it was okay to laugh and clap; they thought it was rude. Today, the comments under videos are sometimes funnier than the content itself. But here, I’m talking about the live audience—the ones who come for stand-up. There are still people who get offended, and maybe they’re just not the audience humour is meant for.
How do you deal with the negative comments and the overwhelming feeling which comes with putting yourself out there?
I go for therapy. I went from a 22–23 year-old kid who was doing well in Bengaluru and Mumbai to the entire country knowing him. Nobody can prepare you for that. How do you deal with so much responsibility, critique, criticism, attention, and praise? Because it’s not normal—human beings were meant to be around 60 people, not being known by thousands.
What are you looking forward to?
I’m going to be making a lot more content. People now are so open — to podcasts, concepts, sketches. The audience has shown me that they are ready for new ideas, so they can expect a lot of new content. Simple Ken—the podcast—is going to come with a new season. I’m going to release something called The Stage next month. It is an ambitious project, and I have collaborated with a different industry for it, so it is something I’m really excited for!