Let’s be very clear. The outrage over Kunal Kamra’s ‘Naya Bharat’ act (barely a day old and already past four million views) isn’t because he might have called Eknath Shinde a traitor. The outrage is because, over the course of a 45-minute monologue—delivered in his trademark wry, matter-of-fact, exasperated style—followed by a 15-minute song routine, featuring sharply reworked lyrics, he dropped truth bombs with devastating effectiveness and a precision American warplanes currently air-striking Yemen could only envy.
He began by reminding us all that this is a weakened BJP, with only 239-240 seats—dependent on coalition partners—so he can make jokes that would have been unthinkable when it had a brute 350-seat majority. He referenced the Ambani wedding saying, first they gave us free data, then said look at my beta (son). He took direct swipes at the richest of Indians, called out the lack of logic of a community with an 80 per cent majority claiming to be ‘endangered’, slyly suggested we Google how many Gujaratis join India’s armed forces annually (the number is shockingly low, especially for a state that claims to be staunchly patriotic—a mere two per cent, or 28,000 from a population of more than 60 million).
Then he called up a keyboard accompanist, and launched into a series of parody songs, climaxing with a no-holds-barred banger dedicated to our prime minister, titled ‘Tanashah’ (dictator), sung to the tune of the Shah Rukh Khan’s classic Baadshah.
Imaging: Deni Lal
This is the real reason why Kunal is being persecuted, because he went there—to all the places we have been trained in these eleven years into believing are holy or untouchable.
He did not merely flirt or make nudge-nudge-wink-wink allusions, he struck with zero subtlety or fu**s to give, he named and shamed, called out hypocrisy and BS, and he did all this in plain, nonchalant, care-a-damn Hindi, which makes him so much more dangerous than English-speaking Vir Das, or Germany-based Dhruv Rathee, or robotic AI Grok.
On top of that, he seems to have done the biblical thing—like the king in the parable in Luke 14:31, he first sat down—before going into battle—counted the cost and seems prepared to pay it. This is what makes him so dangerous—the fact that instead of caving in like say, a Ranveer Allahbadia, aka BeerBiceps, he is brandishing a copy of the Constitution, asserting his right to roast India’s rich and powerful, and seems positively eager to fight it out in court.
Clearly, he’s trying to make India braver. He’s saying, look, you are allowed to do this, laugh, be irreverent, ask questions, demand answers, know your rights. He’s like the first chill guy on the dance floor at a rigidly formal party, manically doing Govinda style jhatkas and Katrina Kaif thumkas in an effort to get the rest of the crowd to stop being so scared, and just simply do the happy dance of democracy.
See, comedy and speaking truth to power has a long and respected history in India—take Tenali Rama, or Raja Birbal, or even Jawaharlal Nehru urging famous cartoonist Shankar “not to spare me”, or even, most recently, Modi stating on Lex Fridman’s podcast that “criticism is the Soul of democracy”. The tradition of the roastee being the chief guest at the roast is a healthy one—it keeps leaders grounded, creates space for catharsis, venting and fresh perspectives, and reassures the public that their leaders are secure enough to handle criticism.
Go watch Kunal’s ‘Naya Bharat’ if you haven’t already. I didn’t agree with everything he said, but I totally defend his right to say it.
editor@theweek.in