Page 16 of 12 Years
‘Yeah, well, I’m so trusting that when I first saw the ad—the one that showed girls running after you if you sprayed the deodorant on yourself because it made you irresistible—I actually believed it.’
Giggles from the crowd.
‘No, really. I sprayed like half a can on myself, and then went out to the shopping mall. I went inside some women’s clothing stores. But nobody moved even an inch closer to me. I sprayed the whole damn can all over myself. Even then, nothing.’
The laughs I got felt like a rain shower.
‘That’s when I figured that they were lying. If their deo spray actually made women go that crazy and made them run after you, imagine what the situation would be like in the Axe factory? Things would be out of control, with mobs of women at the gates every morning.’
Loud chuckles.
‘All that aside, while testing the deodorant, I even ended up in a lingerie store. No Axe effect there either. But I learnt that there’s something called the push-up bra,’ I said.
Many women in the audience nodded.
‘Now, some names just don’t translate well from English to Hindi. Take the push-up bra, for example. What would you call a push-up bra in Hindi? Dhakka-maar bra?’
Giggles ran through the crowd.
‘Anyway, let’s leave the push-up bras aside, which, some may argue, are a form of deceptive advertising.’
A few scattered laughs. I saw Payal smile but shake her head in disagreement.
‘Moving on, any food lovers out here?’ I said.
Up went some hands.
‘They say food can also become an addiction. You heard that?’
The audience nodded.
‘I sort of get what they’re trying to say, but addiction is a strong term, don’t you think? Because it isn’t like a drugaddiction or even an alcohol addiction. Drug addicts and alcohol addicts have been known to shoot and stab people to get money for their fix. Food addicts don’t do that. Like have you ever heard of someone holding a person at gunpoint for some jalebis? Or that a Punjabi mom stabbed someone over a plate of gulab jamuns? Though that may have actually happened somewhere. Probably in Chandigarh, Sector 17. “Give me that gulab jamun, you chudail,”’ I said, stabbing at the air.
Loud laughter in the entire auditorium this time. Payal laughed as well, this time hysterically.
I cracked a few more jokes before ending my act. Mudit, the emcee for the night, came on stage.
‘That was Crayon Club’s homegrown rising star, Saket Khurana, everyone. Let’s hear it for my childhood chaddi buddy.’
The gracious crowd sent me off with a huge round of applause. As I exited the stage, a man came up to me.
‘Do you do corporate shows as well?’ he said.
‘Huh … Yes, I guess. Why not?’ I said.
We exchanged numbers. I looked up to the heavens above. Thank you, God, for looking out for me, I said, and mumbled a silent prayer.
‘I hope you haven’t paid for that drink yet,’ I said, walking up to Payal.
She sat on one of the high stools at the club bar, a glass of white wine in one hand and her phone in the other.
‘Oh hi,’ she said, her eyes shining as she turned around. ‘Good show.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes. You’re getting better. The jokes, the delivery, your gestures and voice modulation.’
‘In other words, last time I sucked,’ I said, laughing.
