750 word essay: How to find my people in a comedy audience

If you find them first, let them know I am looking for them.

I refuse to believe that this is my lot. If I did believe it, I’d have very little to live for. What’s the point of standup if I am not allowed to indulge in a little melodrama of my own making. Where is the fun in jumping to the cold conclusion that my time is up. Technically, it never started. But something has shifted in the three-year gap during which we starved for stage time. “Old men come and go, but the world keeps going round (True Detective, season 1 – all my literary references are three TV shows).” Here, “old men” is me and “the world” is the brand new standup comedy stage that’s currently home to people who I firmly believe belong on YouTube. As viners (homophone – make what you will of that.)

I grew old. But not old enough to discount the merits of countless “Moye Moye” memers who’re holding my hypothetical audience hostage. That’s my tribe. They never leave their homes. The ones who do – I know those men and women, currently buying tickets to the open mic – not my people. They never will be. They were cultivated on a steady diet of “hmm… ahaan… achhaa… samajh gaya” – they’re hoping to catch a cult of personality in the making.

Something shifted since we saw Shashank Arora in Titli. I can’t put a finger on it but was the last time there was a sense of hope - I think it was in every time YRF took a risk. The death of mainstream-propped indie cinema coincides with the death of Indian Standup Comedy. There will be comedy – no doubt. But not on the live stage. Just like, there will be more Titlis – just not in the cinema hall. You’ll see it on OTT. Similarly, comedy has been demoted from one-hour specials to chewable 15-second tablets that I think are hilarious. Some of the best joke writing appears after the customary colon of the static meme couplets (“My back after 8 hours of sleep: Congrats but you did it wrong”).

Vibe change. This is depressing shit and it makes me feel old.

Switch to something lighter until the 750 words are complete. This is now my new obession. I must, I must draw out three quarters of a kilo of words to feel like I accomplished something. This is my peak at 33. I have unwashed utensils lying in the kitchen, forms that need to be filled, vacation packing – but this, over here, this is my priority. And I am not even doing it well. And for who? For what?

275 words more to go.

I took my meds early because I want to take my sleep cycle up a few notches. It is a competition. I am fighting against daylight “SUCCESS MINDSET”.

These last couple of hundred words will be the death of me. Think of something fun and inspiring that makes you want to live to see another day. I was microdosing on a French indie film this entire time. I’d inhale 15 minutes of it in one sitting because I couldn’t take more of “so did she kill him or is their child really not blind”? I am labouring through acclaimed works of art. 300 pages of Satanic Verses. All 100 minutes and 90020204 years of Anatomy of a Fall. Disliked every character in the film, including the blind kid who I think has just been faking it since the accident.

Switch switch switch to happier thoughts.

Ok let’s try “facts, no feelings.” That’s a fairly simple exercise. You have to record only what your five senses take in. No emotion-letting (like blood-letting).

I feel nothing. Zilch. Nada.

At this point you should have stopped reading, fam. Ugh, I can taste your disgust. Even I didn’t like me saying “fam”. It felt wrong, Like watching two of your best friends make out. I said “make out”. I am 33. I don’t know I should stop. I have written car reviews without a driver’s licence but churning out the second installment of my 750-word whatevers has been the hardest writing and I am glad it’s poor so I won’t read it tomorrow. At this point it’s just thoughts on autopilot. Does Fawad Khan — don’t know, lost that train of thought. This typing practice garbage at best. I am no longer motivated to be coherent. I take a yellow pill every morning to be that way and I refuse to bend to its will right now. Good night this is 761 words or more. Sigh.