"The next line is Shakespeare level lyrics," says Aravind SA, while talking about Lungi Dance, a song which irked true-blue Madrasis like me. I hit replay as the video ends: this is an excellent piece of stand-up comedy, subtle yet powerful, seemingly straightforward yet artfully nuanced.
As I sit down to write my daily quota, I can't help but pause and reflect on Aravind's writing. Yes, it is insightful. But the magic lies in the pauses in his delivery. It appears to me that he stops just before the narrative is complete. It is as if he hopes that you will fill a small part of it by yourself. Therein shines a rare generosity. It would be easy for him to thrust his views on the audience. Afterall, the stage and microphone belong to him. But he holds back. He allows the audience to join in and share his frustrations or laugh at the oddities. And in so doing, he makes the whole performance a communal experience and elevates the content to include a relatability component.
When you hear about the Bay area tech-whiz prodigies (read: Karthik Kumar from Google, and Eshwar from E-Bay) in real-life, it's likely someone will smirk and say, "you will never make it." No matter where we go, we are surrounded by an overwhelming smugness. A small whisper of a thought flits through my mind when I hear anyone speak about academic or professional achievements: I wish people would stop introducing others using their designations, or alma mater. Aravind picks up on fleeting moments of despair that we all experience, and introduces an alternate perspective. He slips the message in inconspicuously. "It's okay," he seems to say. You instantly feel better. There are more people like you. It's cathartic to know that not everyone has their act together. Aravind simply convinced you of it.
Something about him seems familiar to me. When I discovered it, I was thrilled. Aravind has the effortless ability of Sanjay Subrahmanyan. Have you heard Sanjay sing Papanasam Sivan compositions in the Panguni festival at the Kapaleeswarar temple? When he sings about the presiding deity, you can almost feel the presence of Lord Siva. He transports you to a higher plane and keeps you there until a cascade of swaras begin, and you find yourself taking in the "Siva Siva" on the majestic gopuram. Mylapore comes alive when Aravind speaks about his locality: the temple, Kutchery road, the Academy, Marina, and the glorious Mylaporeans. He paints a canvas, and you slip into his shoes. Aravind draws you in to view the world as he does, and when the show ends, you sincerely wonder why you cannot journey along with him for all time.
The striking commonality of all humor in our age is its ephemeral value. Jokes are designed keeping in mind the attention span of the average Instagram and Facebook user. Aravind's humor lingers after you leave the hall. You could be discussing it with your friends the next day. You could be sharing Youtube videos with your family. Every time you speak about him, you inadvertently think back to that favorite joke, the intonation, the hand movements, and that laugh. You smile, and you think once again about what a lasting impact he has on you.
My Facebook feed is filled with life mantras. "Be positive, the best is yet to come," and "Live, laugh, love" (with a hundred shares and thousand comments) flood my newsfeed daily. If you have to laugh with abandon, go and watch Aravind live. Witness how he wipes away your worries albeit for a short duration. You have likely seen the ad that claims that Disneyland is the happiest place in the world. Aravind quietly recreated it for you in his show.
