Kaksha gyarvi by zakir khan full review

When I first heard about ‘Kaksha Gyarvi’ releasing on 23rd November, my mind immediately asked — ‘Right now?And him?’. We have spent the past few weeks listening to women sharing deep personal truths and traumas as well as getting an important insight into how oblivious the rest of us are to their realities. If your last stand-up special displayed a myopic understanding of women and gender relations, a little concern for your new venture is valid.

What has been even more worrisome is the fact that Zakir Khan, one of India’s most recognisable comedians with a massive online influence, has been silent. He didn’t react to the allegations against Utsav Chakraborty, even when Tanmay Bhat had to step away from All India Bakchod. It’s vital to remember that Khan’s first slate of viral clips came from the AIB Diwas event and Bhat infact introduces him on stage in the current special. Khan is managed by Only Much Louder, who have also produced both his stand-up specials as well as the series ‘Chacha Vidhayak Hai Hamare’. The comedian joined the company’s roster in maintaining silence about The Caravan Magazine article on OML’s toxic work culture.

You may think that these facts are not vital for a streaming special review but they do help paint a portrait of the time in which ‘Kaksha Gyarvi’ has come out.


Zakir’s commitment to a special’s theme stays consistent even here as he paints one of the most intimate portraits about school life in India. The first half of the special rides smoothly after the lukewarm filler jokes mainly due to the absence of any female characters (it’s strange to say it as a compliment but more on that later) and the fact that Khan’s sermonising impulse is kept under considerable check. The features of Indian school life are illustrated with careful observation, their ludicrous nature being highlighted with skill. The authenticity is only broken at times when references to ‘PUBG’ and ‘Baahubali’ are dropped to indulge fans.

The show’s strongest bit is a well-crafted description of a single day when Zakir was in the eleventh grade. The smallest facts are vital for Khan as he provides a vivid image of the cast of characters and their idiosyncrasies. The series of events and their impact on his life forms the core of the special.

The less obvious theme of the special makes its appearance only subtly and in bursts. The formation of toxic masculinity in Indian men and the peer pressure which sustains it is referenced throughout the special. The heckles of ‘not being a man’, about men being brave by hiding their fear, and the adherence to male ego convey a deeper message than a walk down the memory lane. One of the most personally arresting moments came when Zakir stated an epiphany, as if it’s now an accepted fact — ‘the sign of a weak-minded man is that he shouts at a woman’. A few minutes later, he declares that people who say men can’t cry are liars; they just need someone to ask us. The brief moments signalled that this time the humour is yearning to come from a place of self-awareness.

The problem is that Zakir’s age old enemy of ‘hero worship’ is still alive. Applause greets him every few minutes and ridiculous cheers are also frequently showered. The audience will remind you of your school days, when inane actions such as talking to a girl invited a collective wave of teases and laughs. ‘Sakhti’ is yelled by an audience member at one point. It’s pretty evident that for those in the live audience atleast, the new ideas he tried to advocate failed to register.

The special cements the belief that Zakir is incapable of extending his empathy beyond straight Indian men. While he offers some relevant insights and relatable musings about the male condition, he can only see women in a set stereotype. She is a ‘Diva’ if she likes being organised. If a group of men need to evolve their ‘personality’, the sure-fire fix is to get a woman, who they aren’t sexually interested in, to be a part of the group. It should be noted that this isn’t illustrated with any story or insight about how a female presence helps men broaden their empathy, but the abrupt mid-show request is conveyed through an innocuous joke. It almost feels like Zakir has a change of heart while working on certain bits and resists exploring them with introspection or nuance.

The most concerning part of the special comes in how he projects Natasha. Introduced with descriptions of her beauty, Zakir views her friendship with an unusual lens. He claims that since beautiful women quickly learn that the world is a rotten place, they don’t talk to men a lot; which makes her choice of him significant. He somehow holds her responsible for the set of events he experiences on the bad day, and makes a series of awfully entitled couplets. He tells the women in the audience that Natasha’s story is infact theirs and requests them to respect their guy friends.

If we are to believe him, men pay the price for whenever their female friends enhance or project their beauty. ‘The lip gloss that you put because you think your lips get dry, its redness has our blood in it’ is delivered as some profound piece of poetry. The self-awareness I was being impressed by so far evaporates as Zakir, comforted in his hubris, casually narrates how he agreed to abandon his friend over the demands of a bully. An out-take at the end describes how they drifted apart in the next grade and clearly posits the blame for the friendship’s demise on her. If he wasn’t done establishing who she should have chosen, he implies that women chose their first boyfriends on the basis of who can emotionally scar them.

The arrogance reaches its peak with this clip, which should have ideally remained hidden as intended. The idea that there’s only a certain type of man who can hurt women is laughably ignorant in today’s world. Natasha is never given any agency or a point of view. She has to simply stand witness as men around her decide amongst themselves who she can and can’t be with. You must assume that your male friends are fighting for you each day but for some inexplicable reason, they will never let you know about that someone, even if he is dangerous. She is placed on a pedestal — an angel — who ends up being projected as a villain for making the wrong choice. Women cannot make mistakes but more importantly, they cannot function as per their own wishes if they don’t pick our ‘hero’.

When Zakir is busy polling women in the audience, if they remember how poor their first partner was, I wonder how men can avoid asking themselves the same. No superior scientific process exists for men in choosing their first crush or girlfriend, and if this is supposed to be a universal regret, it sure as hell remains gender agnostic.

If proudly displaying the sexism wasn’t enough, Zakir insensitively addresses suicide twice. It’s first suggested that students in co-ed schools are weaker in accepting punishments. In the second instance, he makes a rather shabby attempt at addressing student suicides by calling himself a ‘brave’ boy who could tolerate his circumstances. The special makes a good case for why it’s time comedians, like journalists, receive a bit of sensitivity training on mental health and suicides.

One of the most uneven specials I have ever seen ends with one of the most vital moments in Indian comedy. The lesson his father imparts is a part of every contemporary conversation on masculinity in India and the world. The time invested in earning that payoff is squandered away by the fact that in this special, Zakir’s controversial points are almost underlined by him as pause in between the storytelling. The question ‘Haq Se Single’ made me constantly ask — ‘What does Zakir really think?’ — isn’t solved by his second special either because the sermonising makes a comeback during those cut-aways.

‘Look, we are all heroes of our own stories. We all want to win,’ states the comedian at one point, offering a clue to his appeal. An overwhelming majority of the people who watch and enjoy this special will not understand my criticism. The aspirational value he represents for them (at one point, he turns a joke about only poor people in the audience clapping into a euphoric cry to clap and let them know where we have reached) is a strong bond.

Away from the entitled trolls and ‘Sakht Laundas’, who feel every woman is the same, there might also be young men who take comfort from this special. Zakir speaks to them in a language I will never be able to replicate. He offers them support through humour in the confusion of adolescence, higher education, and bullying. When he asks them to be ‘Sakht’ and focus on their studies, they feel relieved.

‘Kaksha Gyarvi’ stirs a strange dissonance. I find myself amazed at the ease with which Khan can exercise his craft. The special also sees some great insights packed in between the jokes where he aims for a deeper truth than before. The allure of it however, fades in the face of a troubling pride which doesn’t wish to separate stories from preaching. A carefully developed pettiness of years and decades which seeks to gain brothers in this common exercise of hate and revulsion refuses to let go of him.

If it still continues to guide his craft, it hampers not just his growth as an artist but even the role of stand-up comedy in this country. It’s time we stop denying this.

Favourite bits: Arrange bag for the next day, Handkerchief, Batra and his friend, deserted lane