In Tathastu, Zakir Khan offers a masterclass in winning over his audience

There is perhaps no other Indian comedian working right now as polarizing as Zakir Khan . Khan’s male fans tend to hang onto every word the comedian utters on stage, turning his catchphrases into pop-culture lexicons. (Case in point: “Sakht launda.”) Most women I know are wary of his brand of comedy that frequently touches upon the frustrations of dating from the perspective of bare-minimum men who feel entitled to any woman’s attention and affection. Even though these jokes are designed around the unfair singlehood of the average nice guy, it’s actually women who end up as the eventual punchline. Still, it’d be inaccurate if I didn’t underline that the reason Khan finds a boisterous audience wherever he goes is also because there is really no other Indian comedian who can engage a crowd like him. Most comedians know what to tell their audience but Khan is the kind of performer who knows exactly how to tell a joke to his audience; his lyrical bits at once become a marker of individuality and universality. Khan’s greatest advantage is that no other comedian can sound like him even when he sounds like an everyman. It’s this precise quality that Khan successfully brings to _Tathastu_ , his first comedy special since 2018’s middling Haq Se Single. On offer is an assured storyteller deciding to not limit himself to the narrow definitions of a comedy special. In the last few years, the diversity of comedic styles seemed to have prompted an urgent recalibration of whether every comedy special being put out on a streaming platform actually qualifies to be called one. Most people — especially Indian comics — will keep repeating that the sound of constant laughter is non-negotiable for any comedy-special. Otherwise it’s just someone giving a speech on stage. By that logic, I’d argue that the confessional nature of Tathastu — Khan’s bildungsroman of sorts — doesn’t exactly make it a “comedy special.” Yet you’d be hard pressed to find another Indian comedy special this year that truly does justice to comedy as a performing art. That in itself, points to the faults in our presumptions of what a comedy special is supposed to sound like. After all, laughter is just a device — the purpose of any comedic voice should really be to justify the indispensability of their own voice. Whether they choose to do it through snappy punchlines or by uncovering hidden truths. Khan, a terrific stage presence, does that by looking inward. Unfolding over 90 minutes, Tathastu is a striking ode to the lives of two artists and three generations of a family. Khan divides his set into three chapters, meant to reflect the three most formative periods of his own life — his modest childhood living in a joint family in Indore; leaving the comfort of home in his early 20s in the hope that he’d make a name for himself; and lastly, the period of his life when he got discovered as a comedian and fame finally came knocking at his door. The comedian has an innate ability of transporting his audience into his own life with visually evocative storytelling, a trait that he beautifully utilizes in Tathastu, talking fondly of the life he once lived in Indore. One standout moment in the initial minutes involve Khan underlining the irony of his oppressed Muslim aunt (“We are Muslims from Rajasthan. So you can imagine how subjugated our women were,” Khan says to rapturous applause) being forced to memorize a speech about the importance of freedom while toiling away in the kitchen. Armed with candor and an animated physical presence, Khan introduces his extended family members as colorful characters before acquainting the audience with the levels of miscommunication between all of them and the extent of his disreputation in the family. There are rewarding bits on Indian parents using violence against their kids as their prime weapon and Khan pursuing an artistic calling partly, in order to take revenge from his own family. Khan, who performs comedy exclusively in Hindi, switches things up here — he frequently sets up the crux of his bit in animated Hindi only to deliver the punchline in English with a deadpan face. The English phrases that make their way into his set are usually millennial lingo which end up acting as a sacred inside joke between the audience and him. (At one point, Khan tells a joke about imagining a fragile, old man’s head suddenly falling on his lap in chaste Hindi. And then, he casually follows it up with: “That’s not the head I’m looking for). This push and pull between these two languages seems to have a ripple effect on the efficiency of Khan’s jokes, somehow making his hold over his audience even more hysterical. Khan builds his comedic routine on the power of repetitions, retelling distinct character traits from various vantage points throughout the course of the special. By the halfway mark of Tathastu, it becomes amply clear that Khan’s new special exists to serve the memory of his grandfather’s eccentric ways. The world knew Khan’s grandfather as a talented classical musician but living in close proximity with him had given the comedian first-person evidence that he might just have inherited his funny bones from his grandfather. And then almost without any notice, Khan’s quick wit makes room for deep introspection as the comedian processes the death of his grandfather and recalibrates his own beliefs. That, even this chapter is bookended by a satisfying joke about a group of mourners laughing at a funeral is the biggest evidence of Khan’s mastery over his own craft. The switch between pin-drop silence and the sound of collective laughter happens within the blink of an eye. The comedian straddles tonal contrasts with a relentless ease that doesn’t feel gimmicky. Even parts that I personally found clichéd, like Khan’s Baghban-esque language of emotional manipulation, worked simply because of how genuine the comedian sounds while saying it. (I wish I could say the same about Khan continuing the trope of the talkative girlfriend even here.) In fact, Khan’s own identity as a leading Muslim comedian lends Tathastu much of its tenderness. At a time when the ruling government insists on rewriting India’s future as a Hindu state, the very existence of the special is a beautiful acknowledgement of the contributions of Muslim artists (Khan’s father is also a singer, as is his younger brother who contributed a song to the special) that have shaped the social fabric of the country. Tathastu is now streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

Poulomi Das is a film and culture writer, critic, and programmer. Follow more of her writing on  Twitter. Read all the  Latest News ,  Trending News ,  Cricket News ,  Bollywood News ,  India News  and  Entertainment News  here. Follow us on  Facebook,  Twitter and  Instagram.