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A queer case of comedy

Indian-born U.S. comic Vidur Kapur's stand-up act succinctly captures the phenomenon of marginalisation of fringe populations in the U.S., writes RAKESH MEHAR

GAY ABANDON Vidur Kapur: `A lot of people, some gay and some not, came up and thanked me for talking about things that don't get talked about much here' PHOTO: BHAGYAPRAKASH K.

The heterosexual population might still be able to content itself with the classic "Cogito ergo sum". One of the most interesting descriptions of the life of a gay Indian, though, is comic Vidur Kapur's "I'm Indian, I'm gay, I'm f***ed."

Kapur is one of the few — if not the only — gay Indian comics in the world. And at Taika recently he had the audience in splits with an unusually clean stand-up act that deals primarily with what it means to be Indian, gay and an immigrant in the U.S. "The Indians all say, `He's gay'. The gays all say, `He's Indian.' And everyone else says, `He's a terrorist.'" he begins, breaking into a performance of little over one hour that succinctly satirises the phenomenon of alienation. "As an Indian, you're already marginalised. People don't know your country or your culture, and they're not interested," he explains after the show, with a seriousness that belies the hilarious performance that has gone before it. "Being gay means you're in another minority that still isn't really visible except in entertainment. And as an immigrant, even if you have an American passport, no one thinks of you as American."

It is that feeling of unbelonging, together with a strong grounding in Indian culture that fuels Kapur's comedy and shapes his life and personality. References to his roots in the India of the '80s abound in his act, including Simi Garewal ("She's the Indian Cher, a 60-year-old woman who's trying to look 16"); his conservative or pseudo-liberal relatives; having to learn Shakespeare in a South Indian accent; and singing nursery rhymes in Hindustani classical style. "Here people get where you're coming from right away, and that's what you miss being an immigrant," Kapur says. "Even my Jewish boyfriend says I listen to too much Indian music all day." The difference, he clarifies, is that while his boyfriend grew up in the U.S. and so has his culture around him, Kapur lived in India till he was 17 and best identifies with Indian culture and films like Sholay.

However, while the cultural rift does feature prominently in his show, the inability of those around him to understand his sexual orientation is at the heart of his comedy. He brings up numerous instances of relatives, including his grandmother who could not, for the life of them, understand: "What is this gay?" For the first two decades of his life, Kapur struggled to fit himself in with the mainstream, and even followed the career path that his parents had dreamed of for him — studying economics at the London School of Economics (LSE) and working as a consultant for Booz, Allen and Hamilton, a prestigious U.S. firm. "I was always miserable, but I decided I would drown myself in my work." Luckily for him, a number of traumatic issues came up and he went into a crisis and had to seek therapy. "He told me to let go of my parent's expectations for me, and decide who I was and what was important to me." Despite coming out, though, it took Kapur more than a decade to realise that his place was in the performing arts.

Doing what he does and being who he is, Kapur had reservations about performing in Bangalore. "I haven't been in Bangalore since 1984, and I was scared because I had a vision of the city based on the past. I thought I would get killed. But Roy, a good friend who brought me down here, convinced me that Bangalore is ready for a gay comedy act." His fears were laid to rest soon after he began when the crowd responded enthusiastically to his stand-up. "People in India are so starved for material about diversity. A lot of people, some gay and some not, came up and thanked me for talking about things that don't get talked about much here."

What is really interesting about Kapur is that his act is surprisingly free of vulgarity for something that is so focussed on sexuality. But that, says Kapur, is because he doesn't need to be vulgar. I talk about sexuality and sex only in connection to where I'm coming from, so there's no need for me to get graphic. You can be edgy without being pornographic," he asserts.

His act done and the fawning audience on its way home, Kapur looked a happy man. Indeed, settled into such an innovative niche as he is, he has little reason not to. "I can always be confident that there's not a single person who sounds like me or can copy my material." After all, how many other gay Indian emigrants to the U.S. would stand up and make jokes about it.

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