The first time I watched Vir Das’ monologue at the Kennedy Centre, I was blown away by the performance. His narration — the modulation of tone and tempo, the pauses — elevated it to something more than a few couplets. Vir is an actor, writer, stand-up comic, and satire-band frontman, and he brought out the full palette of these skills.
I loved the contents of his speech too, because they made for an accurate blurb on the realities of India.
Over this week, he has received FIRs, legal summons, wild condemnation on prime-time news channels — although that could be a badge of honour — and scathing critique from many left-leaning writers for missing out on crucial details.
The right-wing outrage is par for the course. To use Vir’s template — just this once, promise — I come from an India where we like mirrors for our hair, not for our personality. Once the nationalist touchpaper was lit, the flame was only going to flow one way. I am sure Vir has his legal counsel in place, so those FIRs and UAPA demands will hopefully drown in cold water soon.
I found some of the criticism from the other corner, one that recognises these problems, odd. Firstly, I am glad that these criticisms exist. Writers should get to air their opinion, and publishers should always be impartial towards copy that carries weight of thought. Counter-perspectives and criticism might ricochet off the walls of an artist, but always leave a keen audience wiser.
While many went down the predictable path of virtue signalling, others were articulate, well-directed critiques of his act. Amongst all the things Vir called out, there was a curious omission. The privilege of caste is unmistakable, and I can see how its absence from six minutes worth of issues left a bitter taste. It is unfortunate, though, that this has led to an opinion that he left it out on purpose, or that he does not even see it.
Stand-up comics suffer from a weird dichotomy in India. The daily news is a treasure trove of material, especially when senior political leaders (guess who) say things like “the climate isn’t changing; we are”. The larger populace does their bit too, like when they came out in large numbers, banging their plates, confident that Covid will not penetrate metallic reverberations. And yet, these comics have to contact lawyers before going up on a stage. The lucky ones get to leave unscathed; some others, not so much.
India is ranked 142nd on the World Press Freedom Index. Last week, Samridhi Sakunia and Swarna Jha were arrested while reporting on the communal violence in Tripura. Last year, Disha Ravi was hauled up for sharing an online document on climate change. Siddique Kappan was picked up by the Uttar Pradesh police while on his way to Hathras. He has been in jail since.
Vir is not a journalist, and I don’t think he positions himself as an activist either, but he is doing his part in narrating India’s stories. Stories create a picture, and repeated illustrations bring attention. If our attitude towards honest journalism is anything to go by, there is a clear aversion towards public expressions of our ground realities. It is borderline sacrilegious to do that in a city and country that we bend over backwards to impress.
In this climate, it takes a lot for anyone to say it as they see it. By taking such a step, Vir is risking many things that we take for granted, not least his — dramatic as it may sound — personal safety.
I am no expert in caste politics, but I think his performance does a lot more good than harm. I have incredible respect for his skills, and the amount of emotion he puts behind his work. He could have put the Two Indias material out as a set of swipe-able pictures on Instagram or a screenshot of his Notes application. Instead, he gave a voice and tone to his words. He let them sink in with carefully timed pauses. He looked into the eyes of the audience as he was speaking, asking them to pay attention. Vir’s effort is sincere. He wasn’t merely making consumable content out of India’s issues.
It has become a niche-cool thing to dunk on Indian stand-up comics, so I urge you to check out his special, For India, on Netflix. Towards the end, you will find a story about the tragedy of 26/11. It is pure and heartfelt; and I hope we retain some ability to appreciate art for those qualities, irrespective of how many imperfections we might find in it.
One of the criticisms of the Kennedy Centre video was that Vir only stated the obvious. Quite the opposite. An obvious sentence would look like this — Indian society needs radical change. The skill of an artist lies in subversion through implication. Vir Das, and all other artists who use their toolbox of skills to push out significant messages, however flawed the curation might be, are vital parts of this movement.
Sure, Vir Das could make that speech at Kennedy Centre because his name is Vir Das. He comes from a background, lineage, religion, and caste that gives him faster access to most things in India. But he could have played out a prestigious solo gig at Kennedy Centre without talking about rape and religious discrimination. India would still be the same, but it would be one blot of ink shorter on the ocean-sized canvas of global awareness.
There will be better, more aware, braver artists. There will be ones who will paint with blood and sweat. Thanks to people like Vir, they won’t have to start from scratch. And I think that is worthy of applause.
Always thought he is not funny. Haven’t seen a single minute of his. I will check this out and then dunk on him. This write up though…<Fire emoji>.
‘India would still be the same, but it would be one blot of ink shorter on the ocean-sized canvas of global awareness’
This is such a loaded thought and so well put. Thank you sarthak!
Sarthak, this was nicely written. Your piece works for me as an opinion on/response to our collective reactions to Vir Das’s video more than an opinion or response on his performance itself. As to the latter, if I take away the grand stage and the weight of Vir Das’s popularity, I didnt find his piece/performance to be much more than a cleverly worded WhatsApp forward.
I understand your point that the sincerity in his voice and his courage in using the grand stage made it more than that. In general, Vir Das’s style, to me, comes across as “practiced”. His tone is careful and measured, which is different from the typical stand-up artist, and I have no problems with that. But when I watch him, I am reacting like I would to a “staged performance” which makes it feel remote. Unless, the content is sharp and incisive that it makes me sit up, and that I did not find in this video.