What passes for popular comedy in today’s time is nothing but a big dose of cringy stereotypes mixed with over-the-top, slapstick humour. “The Kapil Sharma Show” and “Tarak Mehta Ka Ooltah Chashma” are prime examples of these.
Good, Indian cult comedy shows are so rare, you can count them on the fingers of one hand. At the risk of sounding older than my years, I must confess that they don’t make them like they used to. Think “Khichdi” or “Sarabhai vs Sarabhai”.
While I thoroughly enjoyed watching both the shows, I have a soft corner for the latter because it feels closer to home. I remember watching it on this channel called “Star One” back in the day, but you can still watch it on “Disney+ Hotstar” now.
Let me tell you what it is that I like (and dislike) about the original season of Sarabhai vs Sarabhai (2004-2006) so damn much.
Why I Like “Sarabhai vs Sarabhai”
I think that poking fun at the Sarabhais, a rich, Gujarati family living in Cuffe Parade (one of Mumbai’s more affluent neighbourhoods), is excellent fodder for comedy.
I am so used to marginalised people’s pain being misused for humour that for once, to my absolute delight and relief, it is almost cathartic to watch a funny show punch up to produce laughs.
Having lived in Colaba for close to a decade and watched some of these wealthy families up close, I can confirm that the ensemble cast of Sarabhai vs Sarabhai portrays their posh eccentricities quite masterfully.
The show gives you front-row tickets into the sometimes hollow, sometimes deep (but always entertaining) lives of the motabhais.
Meet The Sarabhais
Maya Sarabhai (played by Ratna Pathak Shah) is the domineering mistress of the Sarabhai household, who tends to be quite set in her elitist ways. Her “tortured” husband, Indravadan (Satish Shah), is the playful and immature one.
The couple has two sons, Sahil (Sumeet Raghavan) and Rosesh (Rajesh Kumar). The latter is a poet and actor, while the former is a doctor (a cosmetologist to be precise). While Rosesh is a single, momma’s boy, Sahil is married to a woman from a humble, working class background, Monisha (played by Rupali Ganguly).
You may know her from the hit TV show ‘Anupamaa’, about a middle-aged woman overcoming the stigma of divorce, to find herself and love once again. But, she will always be Monisha to me. Monisha walked so that Anupamaa could run. Ganguly played the role of a Punjabi kudi without missing a Bhangra beat.
The main conflict in the show arises from the class divide between Monisha and her mother-in-law, Maya. They literally live in opposing houses. But, you would be wrong to dismiss it as just another saas-bahu saga, because there’s more to this than meets the eye.
Do Opposites Attract?
Maya and Monisha certainly don’t. The former prefers to be all prim and proper, while the latter is more happy-go-lucky. Neither of them speaks a language the other can understand (metaphorically, of course) and this generally leads to a comedy of errors throughout each episode.
Similarly, Sahil and his brother Rosesh butt heads too, because the former is a conventional overachiever, while the latter is an aspiring artiste. Full disclosure, I am on Rosesh’s side as he is one of my favourites on the show. His manner of speaking and amusing poems never fail to tickle my ribs.
On the other hand, all the married couples in the show are formed of opposites who got attracted to each other. Be it Maya-Indravadan or Sahil-Monisha, what drew them to each other was how different they were from their worse halves.
To give you another example, take Sonya and her husband. She is the daughter of the older Sarabhai couple, who also happens to do bhavishyavani (read: she has psychic abilities). Meanwhile, her husband, Dushyant, is shown as a simpleton and a lovable clown.
While I would argue that Sarabhai vs Sarabhai (season 1) is leaps and bounds ahead of most comedy shows then and now, it certainly has problem areas I don’t want to ignore.
The Cost Of Comedy: Ableism
Maybe, it is not the best idea to apply today’s morals to a yesteryear show, but I am going to do it anyway, knowing that there is nothing wrong with calling a spade a spade.
For instance, Madhusudhan phupha, a deaf man and relative of the Sarabhais, is routinely used in the show for comic relief at the cost of his disability. A lot of the jokes involving him revolve around the lack of his hearing ability.
Many humorous films, shows, skits etc. have exploited disabled characters to evoke laughter. In this way, laughing at someone’s disability gets normalised. Think Tusshar Kapoor in the “Golmaal” series.
Pop culture products tell us it’s okay to laugh at people’s disabilities, thereby making them the objects of ridicule. Sometimes, they do so using super obvious cues like laugh tracks (soundtrack containing laughter) played at strategic intervals.
Now that I look back, I feel guilty about laughing at Dushyant too. He was clearly coded as a neuro-divergent man. Let me give you a couple of points to prove why this is an accurate reading—his lack of understanding of social cues; and his special interest in anything and everything mechanical or electrical.
You may think I am reading between the lines where I ought not to, but for someone who doesn’t exist on straight lines, but between them, what else am I going to do?
Humour From The Margins
Let me present another problematic instance from the show to you. I remember the episode starring Mallika Sherawat as a village belle from Haryana and domestic worker, whom the Sarabhais employ. She “uses” her sex appeal to lure Indravadan, Sahil and Rosesh. The gullible men end up giving her money, without realising they have been conned.
There is a not-so-subtle joke about the Haryanvi woman mispronouncing “wrap” (from wrapping a present) as “rape”, while the men in the scene continue lusting, as you may have guessed by now. Taking one of the most traumatic experiences someone can go through and using it as fodder for sexist comedy i.e., perpetuating rape culture—not so cool!
Before you think or comment things like “you can’t take a joke, can you?”, I want to admit that maybe, that’s kinda true! You may think of some of us as sensitive snowflakes for calling out stand-up comics like Vir Das and Dave Chapelle who hurt us, but you will also be surprised to find out that I (and a lot of other queer folk included) thrive on our self-deprecating sense of humour.
A lot of people process their stress and trauma using humour. A nervous giggle during a tense situation, such as during a big meeting or right after suddenly receiving the news of an accident, are examples of the same tendency.
But, here’s the thing: I’m not so sure if it’s such a good idea to put myself down in order to make others feel better. I don’t want to be the butt of jokes (not even my own). Do you?
As Hannah Gadsby put it so powerfully in her genre-bending, Netflix stand-up special “Nanette”:
“I have built a career out of self-deprecating humor and I don’t want to do that anymore. Do you understand what self-deprecation means when it comes from somebody who already exists in the margins? It’s not humility, it’s humiliation. I put myself down in order to speak, in order to seek permission to speak, and I simply will not do that anymore, not to myself or anybody who identifies with me. If that means that my comedy career is over, then, so be it.”
