As a stand up comedian, I have faced more strife than our wonderful Gandhiji in a first class train in South Africa. Let me share with you my instances of untold strife.

At a show in Bangalore, I alienated an audience of 300 plus South Indians. My crime? Cracking a joke about Malayalis that was technically 18% more apt for Kannadigas. I suffered greatly at their hands as they (sobs) refused to laugh at a single joke henceforth.

At another show in Mumbai, I was accosted by feminists because I made jokes about women driving. They slaughtered me with their angry looks and semi-lesbian demeanour. I cried myself to sleep for six days.

At yet another show in Pune, a man with allegiance to a mildly violent politically party quietly told me to drop a joke about the party and their attitude toward North Indians. He horrified me by forcing me to have a friendly drink with him. Oh the horror!
Now, all these complaints are much like a packet of cigarettes for women – ultra mild.

The South Indians (definitely not Kannadigas) did not attack me by flinging sambhar, gunpowder and rasam at me. The feminists did not attack me with their phone numbers and most importantly, the political party did not smash my North Indian skull with a danda. Not even close. Which is all good. Because, I really do like my potato-shaped body the way it is.

And, that’s how it is across India. People are more receptive of jokes against their communities and their customs than you would think. It’s a country where our population explosion is blamed on unicorns, Gods and holy matrimony; and not sex. Definitely not sex.

There have been stray instances of some comedians being threatened by politicos, angry women, drunk women (same as angry women) anguished about their jokes but nothing on the level of the burning angst directed toward Russell Peters and his Ash comment.

This raises the pertinent question – is Russell Peters and Madhur Bhandarkar the same person? I mean, honestly – Have you seen them in the same room? No! Point proven.

But, seriously. Was the man whose comedy was considered too risqué for one of the most tolerant countries on the planet ie Canada, in the wrong? Did he cross the line of Indian sanskriti and dishonour the seed of the Abhishek? What a preposterous idea, Sirji. Russell’s comments were out of line only because he made a basic comedian’s mistake, under estimating his audience’s censorship levels. And, honestly our tolerance levels for people in the spotlight are lower than the drinking capacity of a Marwari toddler.

The reason I’m siding with Peters is completely unbiased – I wish to open for him some day – but, also because some of the people queuing up to curse him are nothing short of ridiculous. The Bachchans, I understand. No one could have suspected that the joyous occasion of Aishwarya Rai creating another person who possibly looks like her, would be met with more villains than Raavan.

Beyond that, it’s a line up of the kind of folk whose opinions belong in a Big Boss lock up. There have been mahila mandals who haven’t found a single media friendly topic to mope about since Indian men discovered mild chivalry. There are the political parties who seem to leap into every protest with the aplomb of a frog on a lotus leaf. And then there’s the Cine Worker’s Union which stepped up in defence of Ash’s ahem… womb. This leads us to believe the child already has a Cine Worker’s card and a contract with Yashraj, 19 years hence.

Truth of the matter is, in India anything you say or do can be construed as detrimental to someone’s ridiculous moral standing. If you wear a short skirt in Tamil Nadu – you offend the libido of 800 men. If you name a movie Billu Barber (true story) – barbers are up in arms behaving like such martyrs, you’d think their scissors gave India freedom. You could quote from Enid Blyton and Tagore fans would lament how you’ve offended them by not quoting an Indian treasure over an imperialistic British person, who, if she were alive would probably make coolies out of us all.

All this, only if you’re in the national spotlight. So, until I make my Holly/Bolly debut in Speedy Pants in 2034, I can pretty much say what I want. Ah! The joys of being almost famous.