Azeem Banatwalla brings Generational to Chennai with a sharp take on loneliness in the digital age

I think it just happened. Most shows I write start with a couple of loose ideas, and then I see what structure I can stumble upon to make it a coherent piece of work that’s not just funny but also tries to make a deeper point.

I don’t necessarily think it’s the phone itself, but the phone has become the medium for social media, which, in turn, is capitalist, big-data-driven algorithms infiltrating our lives. Or, in simpler terms, it allows us to escape everything we see going wrong with the world, with literally limitless content that’s conveniently curated for us. It’s what television was to millennials, in a way. But far worse.

I wrote this show for a festival where there are so many brilliant artistes and different styles of comedy. I wanted to do something that would stand out a bit. I have always enjoyed playing with PowerPoint and visuals, and the first stand-up special I ever watched was by a wonderful comedian named Dave Gorman, over 20 years ago, which involved storytelling through comedy plus visuals. So it’s something that was probably inevitable for me.

Not at all. This material is written for global audiences. Of course, there are some more hyper-specific references that change from city to city, but the bones of the show remain the same everywhere.

I think the jokes started as an outlet, but then seeing the response to these bits in open mics and trial shows showed me that, ironically, I was not alone in being lonely. It’s something that genuinely happens to so many people post-30.

I think I’m comfortable with who I am as a comedian right now. Obviously, much growth to come. I cannot even watch a few seconds of myself from 10 years ago, I was awful in every single metric of comedy, from writing to delivery to stagecraft. I never really look too far ahead, beyond a few months. I honestly never think about what I will be five or 10 years later.

You get better at anything you do over the years, so the material tends to come to fruition much quicker from the moment I start writing. I do tend to get jaded a lot quicker now, with how hectic tour schedules can get when there is the temptation to make money and capitalise on being “hot” or “viral.” So starting to write new shows feels harder. I’m trying to sit still and live more, which I think will give me newer directions in where my material goes. For the last few years, it’s just been angst at infrastructure, for the most part. I think the material you see in the coming years may be more introspective and will hopefully involve fewer bridges.

Whatever I can make funny is material. Whatever isn’t is my life. In the modern age, it becomes tempting to turn everything into “content” or something you can monetise, but I’m trying to do more things I love and just enjoy them for myself. I’m trying not to turn play into work as much as possible, because it gets exhausting to be switched on all the time.

I think I got to experience the few years that India had a club culture with the Comedy Store and Canvas Laugh Club. Most of my generation of comics grew up as club comics, and I think all of us have internalised a lot of basics in terms of etiquette, stagecraft, and overall show hygiene, which I often find missing in modern club line-up shows. But still, it works. It’s unfortunate that not enough people in India are fans of comedy rather than comedians. They aren’t always open to discovering unknown artistes and new styles at clubs. For a lot of people, going to a Habitat or a similar comedy club is just a tourist checkbox more than a cultural experience. Plus, the insane barrage of content on social media and an algorithm curating only what they already engage with is counterproductive to creating a scene where people are exposed to newer styles.

There are, and there always will be. Sometimes they push the form in directions you didn't expect it to go, and sometimes the direction it takes is not what you necessarily resonate with as an artist. But I've learnt that you just have to do what you believe in, adapt when needed, and let other artistes and the industry take whatever course they need to.

The version of me off stage is honestly just a boring, geeky person who nerds out over sports, motorsport, sim racing, videogames, and my cats. I would honestly retire from public life the day I have enough money to have a comfortable house of my own and savings to pay for my hobbies and interests. I have no aspirations for fame or crazy wealth. I just want to be as good at my work as I can.

Yes, clown comedy has fascinated me ever since I was exposed to it at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2017 and then the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. It’s my personal favourite style to watch. I’ve done some workshops, and I hope that one day I will be good enough to integrate elements of clowning into my own shows.

Hopefully, that effective communication about what they’re going through, instead of using mental health buzzwords as a crutch, will help other generations understand them better. Understand your triggers first, before asking the world to sidestep them.

A six-month break, which will inevitably become three weeks as I get first bored and then anxious about doing nothing productive with my time. Maybe I’ll revisit my news comedy show, Fake News, or spend some time working on other art forms like a screenplay or music. But mainly, I want to have a routine, spend time with my cats, and focus on being healthy.

I get to spend so little time in most places I visit for comedy that my primary connection is always food and drink. I love visiting Sangeetha Veg Restaurant when I can, and picking up Mysore pak and various forms of murukku from Sri Krishna Sweets. And my friend and stellar Chennai comedian Aravind SA always has a new coffee place to recommend.