Azeem Banatwalla: Cometh the Hour (2017) - full transcript

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See I don't understand this.

Why do all comics want to put
this pre-film in their stand-up special?

Just start the show!

Nobody wants to listen to you
sitting and doing bak bak all the time!

I'll tell you what the problem is...

All these comics,
they're narcissistic people.

They just want attention
on them all the time.

Hello, excuse me.
Please focus, focus.

But I am not that guy!

I don't want to waste your time, so
I am going to start this show right now.

Hello!



So!

What's happening, Mumbai?

How are you guys doing?
Are you guys feeling okay?

Happy to be in Mumbai?

Not particularly, traffic, okay...

But I've been travelling quite
a lot in the course of this tour.

I've been to many countries.

I went to Singapore recently,
Malaysia, went to Thailand...

He's crossing his legs already.

Wow!

But Thailand, is just packaged
as this vortex of sexual energy, right?

Everyone in Thailand is having sex.

You open the cupboard
in your hotel room,

there's two people having sex.



“Why you disturb us, go away!”

It's great fun but Indian men specifically
get very excited about Thailand.

Any time as an Indian man, you tell
your friends, you're going to Thailand.

They get very excited.

They're like, "Bro!

Brooo!

Broooooo!

Bangkok bro!

Hot chicks bro, hot chicks."

I went to Thailand and
I found out this is a lie.

Listen, half of them are not hot

and the other half aren't chicks.

So fuck off!

It's terrible.

But I do enjoy travelling,
I love travelling abroad by air.

It's a very luxurious experience.

Even in our airports we have these
technological imports from the west.

These things called travelators.

You guys know what
travelators are?

Human conveyor belts.

What purpose do they serve?

You get on a travelator,

walk ten percent faster than
the guy who is not on the travelator.

“Screw you,
walking slowly bastard. Haha.”

Fat people get on and they're like,
"Aha, this is what jogging feels like!"

It's nice.

And when you think about it,
travelators, what are they?

They are escalators with no ambition.

You can imagine the
travelator's father saying,

“Look at Mr. Sharma's escalator.

See the heights he has scaled!

Works in a mall now."

I've realised, Indian men
have no respect for air hostesses.

I've realised this.

I was on a flight recently and
there was this uncle sitting next to me.

He calls the air hostess. She's like,
"Yes sir, what can I get you?"

"Food! Get food!"

"Sir, veg, non-veg, what do you want?"

"Both! Get both!"

He called her again,
"Yes sir, what can I get you?"

He's like, "Booze, get booze!"

"Sir, wine, whiskey?"

"Both! Get both!"

I was like what is this behaviour?

I thought the next time he'll call,
he'll just say,

"Dance now, dance!

Dance bitch!"

Even then she'll be like,

"Yes sir, Salsa or Mujra?
What would you prefer, sir?"

"Both, get both!"

But every time you are travelling
by air in this country,

you will always find this
one bunch of Indian idiots.

Who are travelling
by air for the first time.

And you can tell that this is the case,

because they take
photographs of everything.

"Hey suitcase, suitcase. Take a photo!"

While going through security,
"Hey, frisking frisking."

They see an air hostess,
"Hey item, item. Take a photo!"

The air hostess is like,
"Sir, please let go of my boob."

"No, both, get both!"

But if there is one thing
that unites us as a species...

it is the fact that
we hate babies on planes.

I think we can all agree on this?

I was on a flight, few months ago.
Five babies on a same flight.

One here, one here, one here.

It's like this 5.1 Dolbaby
digital surround sound.

That does not deserve that.

And after a point,
even the parents stop giving a shit.

They're like,

"You cry asshole.
I'm done with this, fuck it.

Airhostess, both. Take both!"

Take it and go.

But it was on this five baby flight,
where I had this epiphany.

Where I realised that the only reason
why airplane windows are sealed shut...

is that you can't take the baby

and just throw it the
fuck out of the plane!

Would be amazing, can you imagine that.

"Waaah! Poof!"

Bye!

If you are flying over Africa, there'll
be African tribals down there going...

"Simba?

What the fuck?
We have no money to feed you.

We'll have to put you up for adoption."

Then Angelina Jolie walks in.

"Did you say adoption? Give!"

It's fun.

I end up travelling quite
a lot in this profession.

I stay in different
varieties of hotel rooms.

I have a bit of a problem
with five-star hotel rooms though.

Two problems.
Number one, I cannot afford them.

And you'd think right?

You pay ten thousand rupees
for a five-star hotel room,

you would think everything
is taken care of within that.

It's not!

Everything in that room is chargeable.

You touch one packet of peanuts,
a guy appears out of the ground,

"Yes sir. Two thousand rupees!"

Everything's chargeable except

for that one bottle of mineral water.

And even about that,
the hotels, they are assholes.

They put a tag on the bottle.

Which says, "With our compliments.”

“We got this bro, we got this.

Ten grand for the room, ten bucks
for the bottle. You chill, we got this."

And what does with
our compliments even mean?

What? You open the bottle and a guy
comes, "Yes, sir. You've lost weight.

Your skin is glowing, sir.

Would you like more compliments?"

But it makes sense to tell
us that the bottle of water is free

because listen, we are Indians.

Unless you explicitly tell us
that something in a five-star is free,

we will not touch it.

If there was an Indian
version of that movie, 127 Hours,

it would be a story of a Sindhi
man who got locked in his hotel room...

almost died of dehydration.

Because he was like, "I'm not
paying tax on this water. Fuck it.

I am drinking my own urine now."

The guy from the hotel comes, "No sir,
drink our urine with our compliments."

Second problem I have
with five-star hotels.

You go to a five-star hotel in India,
which has Indian people using it.

Go into the bathroom,
sit on the toilet seat.

You get done with your business.
Your hand reaches to your right.

And nothing.

No jet spray, fucking toilet paper.

And you sit in that seat
in that moment feeling so betrayed.

Thinking, “You bastards...

The ONE place, where you should've
put water with your compliments!”

It's terrible.

But no, it's good
to see you guys out here.

It's good to see you guys laughing.

There is a great statistic about laughing
which says that, every time you laugh,

it extends your life by two minutes.

What a load of bullshit!

Try telling that to Sidhu,
when he is about to die, really!

But we like to do this.

We like to take facts and
back them up with statistics.

People say “Don't smoke man.

Every time you smoke,
it reduces your life by five minutes”

And I'm like, "Cool.

But how do you check?"

Like is there some
HR department in heaven

that has a guy with a calculator,
who's going,

"Minus five.

Minus five.
What are you doing with your life?"

And if laughing does extend
your life by two minutes,

it does makes Yamraj,
the Grim Reaper's job very difficult.

He goes to an old man
who is about to die like,

"Come bloody old man,
time's up. Let's go."

Not very polite these days.

At that exact moment,
the old man is like...

"Yea okay, we'll wait for two minutes."

"Four minutes."

"Bro, just have a cigarette man.
We've got a schedule to keep!"

I love being in Bombay.

Bongay, apparently.

Bongay!

But I love being in this city.

I've lived here all my life.

I bought a car recently.

And I've realised Bombay
is one of the most unique cities

in the world to drive in.

Because it is the only city in the world
where along with memorising directions,

you also have to memorise potholes.

Like you need to know.
There is so much chaos!

There's a pothole here,
three beggars there.

You need to know...

It happens.

And if somehow the BMC fills
up a pothole, you get confused.

Am I going the right way?
I don't know where I live anymore!

And I don't know if this happens
to you guys but whenever I'm driving

and I see a police car on the road,
I start to feel guilty.

For no reason.

Like they are going to
arrest me for having a face.

I don't know why.

And it's not just me,
you'll always see this on a highway,

expressway, Bombay-Pune.

You will always see this
police car in the middle of the road

and there is a train of ten
cars driving just behind the police car.

Because they are too afraid to overtake.

Why?

These are Maharashtrian cops.

Have you ever seen a Maharashtrian cop
engaging in a high speed police chase?

Has this ever happened?

Some Ferrari goes
zooming by and he's like,

"Oh my God. Inspector Gawande!

Don't know why I am holding
your balls and saying this.

But Inspector Gawande!

Engage the afterburners!"

"Sir, this is a Bolero.

We don't have an afterburner.

We have an agarbatti if you would like.

And this bottle of water
with our compliments."

Police do weird stuff on the roads man.

We already have enough traffic,
but Mumbai police feels that,

"No, we must create more.

And what they do is, they have these
check posts in the middle of the day.

Middle of the day, check post.

And apparently,
it is to catch terrorists.

What do they do to catch terrorists,
let me explain.

One barricade here, one barricade here.

One car driving through,

one policeman standing watching.

Who are these terrorists?

Who sit at the window seat of the car,

holding up their bomb, "Yes sir.
We have the bomb.

We were not expecting this cunning trap.

Shit.

Abdul, next time put it in the dicky!"

Doesn't work.

I get very angry when I drive.

Very angry and a
huge part of my angst is

because of this one species
on Indian roads called bikers.

Bikers are the most optimistic
people on Indian roads.

Because for a biker in traffic,
this is the situation.

This is the bike.

This is the gap.

Bike will never fit in the gap.

But let's try anyway!

I do not know what they are doing.

I think they are operating
at a higher philosophical level.

Because in their heads I think
they're not navigating traffic.

They are testing the
theory of relativity.

If I enter this vacuum
with the correct velocity,

it'll create a wormhole that
exits at the end of the traffic jam.

It's not Interstellar,

it's InterPulsar, what's up!

It's terrible, dude.

The worst types of
bikers are these bikers

who ride in the middle
of road in pairs of two.

And they are chilling
having a conversation.

Living life.

Fifty cars stuck behind,
zero fucks given.

And I do not understand
what they are trying to do.

What is this situation?

It's two wheels, two people here.

Two wheels, two people here.

Communication is happening horizontally.

I think this rectangular situation,

that is them pretending
they are in a car.

It's terrible.

But my favourite types
of bikers are these bikers called

Royal Enfield bikers.

Very nice, damn cute guys.

See there are largely two
prototypes of Royal Enfield bikers.

The first type of Royal Enfield biker is
the guy whose body type matches the bike.

Six foot tall,
six foot tall, understood, going well.

But then you have these
five foot tall midget guys.

They aren't fit to ride an Activa,
but they want “Dug Dug” in their life.

And I feel bad for them
when they get on to the bike.

They are just stretching every sinew,

“Yes, I can just about reach
the handlebar and the brake.”

If you take the bike away from them,

it looks like they
are skydiving horizontally.

Aaaargh!

Wonderful.

But the absolute worst types of bikers,
especially in this city

and as a Muslim man I feel
I have the right to say this...

are Muslim bikers.

We know this to be true.

If you don't know who they are,
just drive through Kurla once.

You'll just hear them whizz past you.

And all the best Muslim bikers,
they ride in uniform.

And the uniform is kurta,
surma and skull cap.

And you have to look at
the technological advancement.

That no matter how fast they ride,

the cap never flies off.

It's been aerodynamically designed,
tested in wind tunnels.

Even in the wind tunnels they
rotate anti-clockwise because Urdu.

But I don't know what it is,
like genuinely for all Muslims,

a bike is not a means of transportation.

For us, it is a means of expression.

Like even for me, you give me a bike,
the asshole inside me awakens.

To put it in terms for
younger people to understand,

we did not choose the thug life.

The thug life chose us.

And it happens with everyone.

Go to the most sophisticated
Muslim man you know.

Go to Salman Rushdie,

while he is giving
Malala Yousafzai a Nobel Peace Prize.

Go to him and give him a Yamaha RX-100.

In twenty seconds, he'll tear his suit off,
lose all sophistication and say,

"Malala, let's go to Chakala!"

I get very angry when I drive.

I have major road rage.

Major road rage but
I am also a complete pussy.

Full coward.

When somebody cuts me off on the road,

in my head I have beaten
the fuck out of him.

In my head, I have had sex
with his wife and made him watch.

In my head.

But when it actually
comes down to real life,

all I can do is, "Hey!
You drive carefully, okay."

Bastard."

"What did you say?"

"Not you. Not you.

I was telling my son.

Tell uncle you're a bastard."

But we can't have
proper road rage anymore.

I've realised you can't have proper road
rage because we have modern day cars.

And modern day cars have power windows,
automatic windows.

You can't be properly pissed
off with automatic windows.

You want true road rage,
you need to feel that shit.

You need manual windows,

"Oh your mom is such a...!"

You feel that, right?

You feel it.

Window's gone all the way down,
you're still going...

But power windows, are too cool, right?

You drive up to someone
with power windows,

you have to say something cool to them.

"I had sex with your wife."

And the biggest problem with
power windows in modern day cars

is that for the power windows,

you have four buttons
on the driver side.

Now the thing is,

no matter how long
you've owned the car.

You're never entirely
sure of which button does what.

So it leads to this very awkward
situation where you are in the heat of

battle and you're going,

"Hey motherfucker.
I am going to whip your ass!

Ahh fuck.

Hey you come back!

I will get you next time."

It's terrible.

But see eventually when
you are driving in this city,

you will get into an
accident at some point.

And I got into an
accident the other day.

It was very intense.

The guy got out of the car,
"Hey tall dude.

Learn to drive idiot."

I was like, "Who are you calling tall?
Your dad is tall."

He was like, "He's not...

This is factually very incorrect.”

“Okay we will work on this fight later."

But we dealt with this
situation like true Bombay men.

Like only Bombay men can.

We rolled up our sleeves,

we cracked our knuckles

and we took out our cell phones
to call someone else to do the fighting.

Because that is a very
intrinsic Bombay thing.

Everyone in Bombay has that
one guy you call when shit goes down.

You pick up the phone like, "Bhai,
shit's going down! Get over here, bhai!"

We have the concept
of the “bhai” in Bombay

and in northern parts of
the country they have that line,

"Do you know who my dad is?"

In Bombay nobody uses that.

Because we know your dad doesn't matter,

it's the brothers the sort shit out.

You're searching for the wrong relative,
my friend.

But through interaction
with these bhais,

I have noticed a lot
of things about them.

The most confusing aspects
about these bhais is that

they are full macho,
well-built men but they smell of attar.

Like it does not compute at all.

Like they are smelling of roses
and they are coming to beat you up.

In my head I'm like, "Do you want
to pick a fight with me or pollinate?

What's going on?"

Like bees are following around like,

"Bzzzz pollinate with me, dudebro! Bzzzz.

Sabka bee, mawaali bee!"

But I've realised that

through much research that there
are some of these really niche bhais.

Who just specialise
in sorting out accidents.

Like that is their career.

That's what they do for a living.

And I have a business
proposition for these bhais.

I propose that we should
have a bhai hotline.

Where whenever you have an accident,
you just call them up.

Like, "Assalaamalaikum!

Welcome to 786-786 dial-a-bhai.

If it's a small problem, press 1.

If your car's been shot to shit,
press 2.

For our extended services, dial AK-47.

If your name is Sanjay Dutt,
then sorry wrong number."

I get very angry when I drive.

And also, it's because I listen
to the radio while I drive.

Give me a round of applause if you
listen to the radio while you are driving?

You'll know this.

That all radio advertisements
in this country

are made in this parallel universe.

Where logic does not exist.

Think about what I am saying.

Apply this to every ad you've heard.

Every radio advertisement
is a conversation between two people.

Of which one person

is unnaturally excited about
the information he's being given.

Always like,
"Bro, have you heard about the iPhone?"

"Fuck iPhone,
I'll masturbate and come back.

Wow, never heard of this!"

Either that or it's a
conversation between two people

of which one person has a problem.

And the second person gives
him a completely unrelated solution.

He's like,
"Bro, I just found out I have AIDS."

"Oh! You have AIDS?

Here's a pension plan!"

It's terrible dude.

But my favourite
advertisement on Indian radio

is for this service
called Big Basket dot com.

You guys have heard of Big Basket.

They send you freshly cut
fruits and vegetables to your house

because who has has time?

And they have this
ad that plays on the radio,

where this stuck-up sort of
townie woman who is cutting vegetables.

She's cut her finger
while cutting vegetables.

She's very upset about this.

She's like, "Uff!"

I mean I assume she is
doing that because it's radio,

I don't know what she's actually doing.

She'll be doing uff or oh!

But let's go with, "Uff!

I was cutting vegetables.

And Neha dashed into me!"

Now see in a normal world,

you would slap Neha
and move on with your life.

Simple solution.

But not on the radio.

Here the husband pops in.

He was working in another country.

He teleports into the house like, "Hey!

Why are you cutting vegetables,

when you can get freshly cut
vegetables from Big Basket dot com."

I'm like, really?

This is the solution to your problem?

Your offspring is running
around the kitchen with knives,

injuring members of your household.

She is probably juggling
knives and stabbing the house help

while you are having this conversation.

Just lock your kid in the
bathroom maybe that's a good idea!

That's what my parents used to do.

Misbehave, sit in the bathroom,
think about what you've done.

But no, on the radio they
will have an ad for that also.

Like, "Uff!

I was filling up the bathtub.

And Neha drowned.

What a bitch!"

"Hey!

Why are you drowning
our kids in a bathtub?

Just get a Jacuzzi
from Pepperfry dot com."

But also you would've noticed
on the radio that they play these...

All radio channels by default
are supposed to play these ads

for these outdated government schemes.

Always for these things like,
"Bharatiya Navnirman Rozgar Yojana."

Listen, nobody in this day and age

has any idea what those four words mean.

Your target audience
for this ad is Javed Akhtar.

And even he's like,
"Bro, this shit is messed up."

Or as he would say,
"Janaab, ye tatti gambhir hai.

Irshaad, motherfucker."

Speaking of Javed Akhtar, I have a bit of
a problem with old people in this country.

Like by old people I mean grandfather
level old people in this country.

Because beyond a certain age in India,
old people do not give a fuck about rules.

They break rules and fuck off.

"I don't have time for your rules man.

I got shit to do.

Like YOLO.

You Only Live Old.

They break rules and fuck off.

"I don't have time for your rules man.

I got shit to do.

Gotta go update my passbook."

What is it with old
people and passbooks?

Every old uncle has a passbook.

Which at any given point
of time needs to be updated.

Passbook I've realised
is Android OS for old people.

“I want updates, I want updates!”

But I don't understand
old people at banks.

Anytime you go to a bank,
there is one old uncle there.

They get excited
about going to the bank.

And I don't know when this switch
happens because for most of your life,

your attitude towards the bank is like,
"Aw man, I've to go to the bank."

And then someday something
changes and it becomes like,

"Aww yeah! Let's go to the bank!"

I don't know how that happens.

I think in every SBI there
is one backroom with a VIP,

where there's an Indian
classical rave party.

All the old uncles are like, "Yeah!
Yeah! Wheelchair yeah!"

And anytime you go
to State Bank of India,

there will be this one
random old uncle over there.

He is just making conversation
with random people in the bank.

He'll be like, "Son, what do you do?

Oh you are a teller?
Okay tell me something."

You're standing on the side,
"Why is grandpa talking to the ATM?"

But old people generally get
away with a lot of shit in this country

that young people cannot.

I'll give you an example.

I was at the airport the other day,
going through the security

and I'd forgotten that
my phone was in my pocket.

The security guard got pissed off.

He shouted at me,
threw me at the back of the line.

This old uncle came after me.

I had a phone, he had a
full Croma outlet in his pockets.

There was shit there
he had forgotten existed.

I shit you not,
at one point he pulled out

four handkerchiefs back
to back from the same pocket.

This is P. C. Sorcar
with Alzheimer's over here.

"What's happening?
When will this end?

I did not know I still had this trick."

Takes his hat off,
some pigeon flies out. Amazing.

But for him the attitude
was completely different.

They were like, "Come grandpa!
It's okay, happens in old age!

Oh, you dropped your passbook grandpa.

Come grandpa, come!"

That's the attitude we have.

The best example I can give
you is the last elections we had.

Rahul Gandhi young guy,
Narendra Modi old guy.

You know where this is going.

So Rahul Gandhi said
three stupid things.

We were like, "Idiot, please leave.”

Go to Thailand. Please leave.

Go please.

Modiji come, please! Come Modiji.

Oh but bro demonetization,
thousand buck notes?

It happens in old age!
Come Modiji.

Come. Modiji come.

You dropped your passbook, Modiji."

But see, I am not here
to bitch about old people.

I hate young people equally.

I don't understand teenagers. Like
sixteen year olds of this generation.

I do not understand.

It starts from the fundamental
basic things that they do.

Like the music that
sixteen year olds listen to.

Right now we have this phenomenon
called Electronic Dance Music, EDM.

Where every EDM concert is the same.

There is this one DJ
who is up on the stage.

And he is using all
his creativity and talent,

which is also called a pen drive.

And he pulls off these amazing skilled
manoeuvres like pressing the spacebar.

Like oh! VLC yo, come on.

And all the kids in the crowd,
you'll see this.

All the kids in the crowd,
they do this dance

where they pretend
to slice bread in the air.

Have you seen that?

Then mid-way they get excited like,

“Put it in the toaster,
put it in the toaster!”

They are making toast,
what are you doing?

I genuinely do not understand
what talent it requires to be an EDM DJ.

I was listening to one of
the interviews to one of these DJs.

What's his name?
Axwell, Dicksmall, one of those guys.

He is very seriously
giving this interview.

He's like, "You got to know
when to press the right buttons, man.

You got to know when to
take them up and bring them down."

I'm like bro, you make up your mind.

Are you a DJ or a liftman?

Even pop music these days.

Like back in the day we had
meaningful lyrics to pop songs.

You think of like Sting, Desert Rose.

“I dream of rain, I dream of
gardens in the desert sun”, beautiful.

These days chart topping hit by Rihanna,

"Work, work, work, work, work."

Once more?
Okay!

"Work, work, work, work, work."

For a song that is called Work,
very little work has gone into this.

And Justin Bieber doesn't know
what's happening in his own songs.

He's like, "What do you mean?"

"Sorry."

But Justin Bieber is of course coming
down and performing soon in this country.

I saw Facebook updates of
one of the people on my timeline.

He said, "Just spent the last rupees of
my bank account for Justin Bieber ticket."

I don't know if there
is an emoticon for that.

I was like wow, he spent his last rupees
of his account on Justin Bieber ticket.

Aww!

All his money is gone.

Poor guy doesn't know
show is in Navi Mumbai.

Who's going to give
him money for the toll?

It's wonderful.

I try to fit in with
the youngsters of today.

I do cool things.

I bought a MacBook recently

because I really wanted
to go to Starbucks.

No, they don't let you in!

There is a guy outside Starbucks,
he checks your laptop.

He's like, "Windows?
CCD is down there. Fuck off! Get out!!"

But I can't have a conversation
with a sixteen year old anymore.

I've tried.

Like I was sitting with
my sixteen year old niece

and all through the conversation,
she kept making faces at her phone.

Like, "Yea, absolutely.
I agree completely."

I was like what's going on? I thought
she is having a stroke or something.

I started doing CPR.
Are you alive? Please.

I said, "What are you doing?"

She was like,
"I'm sending a Snapchat to my friends."

This is how far we
have evolved as a species.

Where it was not enough to
have emoticons on instant messaging,

we have now become
the fucking emoticons!

That is the evolution of man.

Like ape, Neanderthal, man...

Ridiculous.

Can you picture Snapchat
happening in a closed environment?

Just two people sitting
in one room across a table.

Communicating with filters on Snapchat.

Even deaf and dumb people
are looking at them and going, "Pfft!

I think they are retarded, bro.

Oh shit, I can speak. This is weird."

It's terrible.

This Snapchat obsession is too
much and for most teenagers these days,

the most exciting
part of the day is like,

"Bro! I opened Snapchat today, bro.

And I took that guy's
face and I put it on my face.

And now he has my
face and I have his face.

And we have each other's faces, bro.

Now we'll do Sachin Tendulkar,
Lata Mangeshkar, FIR. Yaay."

It's too much.

I find it hard to keep
up with technology right now.

I have a nephew,
he has this virtual reality headset,

VR headset which he uses all the time.

He wears it all the time,
even during family functions.

He's wearing it...

Looking like a low budget Robocop.

I don't understand.

And keeping with the
trend of virtual reality,

we had this thing called Pokémon Go,
last year.

Dude, what the fuck was that?

See, I'll level with you.

I play a lot of video games.

I have played a videogame
called Goat Simulator.

That is the level of geek I am.

Although you'd argue that
most Muslim men have played

some variant of this game at some point.

You know.

Point being,
I have played a lot of video games.

But this Pokémon Go thing
was beyond my comprehension.

I was walking down the road,
minding my own business.

These two kids ran past me,
swiping furiously on their phones,

"Gotta catch them all bro,
gotta catch them all!"

I was looking at them, no context.

I was like,
"Dude, Tinder has changed a lot man.

Got to catch them all? I can't even
match with one girl! What's happening?!"

For those of you who don't
know what Pokémon Go is,

I'll explain to you what the game is.

For those of you who
have played Pokémon Go,

I will explain to
you what you look like...

to regular human beings.

So the process of
Pokémon Go is as follows.

There are these imaginary
creatures called Pokémons.

They are scattered all across the world,

you can find them in malls,
in colleges, in temples.

Although you'd argue that
this is not the first time

people go to temples searching
for imaginary creatures.

But there's a lot of them, right?

And now what you have
to do is that you have

to catch these imaginary creatures.

How do you catch them,
I hear you asking.

Good question.

You have to catch them by
throwing imaginary balls at them.

And then these imaginary creatures start
living inside these imaginary balls.

They've been smoking the good shit.

Amazing.

And that is obviously
standard hunting procedure.

Like you throw balls
at animals in a jungle.

See a tiger, throw a ball at him.

Even the tiger is like,
"Wow, you threw a ball at me?"

My greatest weakness.

Let's play cricket."

What is most interesting is the process

you employ to throw these Pokémon balls.

What you have to do is
that you take your index finger

and swipe it across your screen.

So this means that you are pointing to
an imaginary object that does not exist.

Pointing towards
it and doing this to it.

Now I understand that this gesture

has been the refuge of
many lonely men in this country.

But there is a time and a place.

But what makes things worse
is that you are not alone.

There are twenty other people
trying to catch the same Pokémon.

And now there is a circle of
you pointing to nothing in particular.

Just having this virtual mujra.

Like, "Yeah, gotta catch them all bro!
Yeah! Come on."

I genuinely found this
Pokémon technology very scary.

Because you get a notification
on your phone saying there is a Pokémon

in this building,
you will blindly go and follow it.

If ISIS had hacked this technology,
you would all be screwed.

You'd all be going
searching for your Pokémon

and walk into a building and then suddenly
there's seventeen suicide bombers saying,

"Surprise, motherfucker."

But you are so into your game,
you'll be like,

"Out of the way, Jihadi, I've got Pokemons
to find. Gotta catch them all bro.

Gotta catch them all."

I don't understand children.
It starts from like

the lowest level of child
like two-three year olds.

I hate three year old kids.

They're assholes.

And this is a big problem
in society that we need to address.

That parents are not
slapping their kids enough.

We need to address it especially
at home they'll give full rapaat zapaat.

No problem.

But in public they don't
slap their kids anymore.

I miss that.

Remember the good old days,
when you are walking down the road

and you see a kid being an
asshole and you hear one phataak.

Yes, congratulations.

"Happy birthday to you!”

They used to do that right.

But these days parents
aren't slapping their kids.

That's why all the kids these days
are like, "I want to be a photographer.

Traveller, wanderluster."

In our time, "Engineer,
arranged marriage! Get out of here!"

Discipline.

I have this nephew
I must tell you about.

He's an asshole

Of the first order.

And I was at a mall the
other day with one of my cousins

and his kid is running amok.

He has spilled some aunty's coffee.

He has head butted
some uncle on his crotch.

Uncle is like,
"Who's shitty kid is this?

Crap, I dropped my passbook!"

Annoying!

And I turned to my cousin and said,

"Why are you not slapping your kid?"

And he was like, "No, we can't.

Society will judge us."

I was like, "Dude look around you.

Society wants you to
slap that motherfucker!"

Next time you see an annoying
kid in public, just go slap.

Even if it is not your own, go for it.

Because what will happen
is there will be the slap.

There will be the echo of the slap.

There will be three seconds of silence.

People's heads will turn and then...

applause.

"This man is a hero.

Give him a national award!"

But there is just so much
complexity in young kids these days.

I was at a Baskin Robbins
outlet the other day

and there were these
three or four girls.

They must've been
four years old at best.

They were running around
the shop doing, “Ringa Ringa roses”

and all that fun stuff is happening.

And then one of these girls
went to order her ice-cream.

The guy behind the counter
asked her what flavour she wanted.

I swear to you, verbatim.
This is what she said.

"You know I like Bavarian chocolate.
But I don't like like it.

And my mom says that chocolate
makes you fat anyway.

So what would you recommend?"

Four year old girl!

She went from Teletubbies
to Sex And The City in three seconds.

Even the guy behind
the counter was confused.

He was like *gibberish*

Last I heard he just said,
"Yeh gormint bik chuki hai."

And he fucked off.

But there was none of this
complexity in the ice-cream decision

process when we were growing up.

The ice-cream decision
process was simple.

It was binary.

It was just yes, no.

None of these flavours,
forget binary, it was unary.

It was just yes.

"What flavour do you want?"

"Yes."

"He'll have one Yes, please."

That's it.

So much complexity.

I have a two year old niece or nephew,

I don't know, I've made them
up for the sake of this joke.

But you see two year old
kids playing Angry Birds on iPads.

When I was two years old, you gave
me an iPad, I would put it in my mouth.

I'd be like, "Look daddy, I'm a doggy."

But I judge kids these days.

I judge the ten-twelve year old kids

because they have so much
shit that I didn't have growing up.

Like they have like smart phones,
iPhones, Samsung S7 phones.

I had this one phone growing up,
a lot of you would have had this.

It was called a Nokia 1100.

How many of you guys had that phone?

Just, what a phone!

What a phone!

You throw it around, you feed it to your
dog, your dog shits it out, it STILL works.

These days,
you want new features on a phone,

you have to wait for a software update.

On a Nokia 1100,
you want new features, you just drop it.

You pick it up,
new colours on the screen.

It's amazing.

And if you drop an iPhone, to repair
it you have to pay five thousand rupees.

If you drop a Nokia 1100,
to repair it you just drop it again.

Problem solved!

I judge kids.

Ten-twelve year old kids,
they have PlayStations, iPads.

I had none of that.

Age ten, I had this one hand held video
game which a lot of you would've had.

It was called 999-Games-in-One.

All of you guys had that.

And you got that game
thinking “Wow, 999 games!

I will never be bored again.”

Until you realise it's
three games repeated 333 times.

Snake, Tetris, Space Invaders.
That's it.

And the same way, that I judge these
kids for having PlayStations and iPads.

My dad used to judge me
for having 999-Games-in-One.

He'd come to me, very judgmental.

"What is this game you're playing?"

"Dad it's a game called Snake.
You guide a snake, if it dies you lose."

"Even we used to play snake.

We had to go into the
jungle and find a snake.

And if we lost, WE died!

Bloody kid.

What else? What other games?"

"Dad this game called Tetris. You build
stuff with blocks, you get high score."

"I've played that also.
You know what my high score is?

This house!

Bloody kid."

That was my dad's tagline,
whenever he was shouting at me.

"Bloody kid."

I'm like, "Dad you're so nice."

But so as you can see with
these crazy thoughts in my head,

I was single for a very
long period in my life.

Engineering was also to blame for that.

And so what I would do is, I had no
game in college. Like zero game at all.

So my only strategy
was to go after women

who were already in dodgy relationships,
hoping to get a rebound.

And lot of men have done this.

Basically in the Facebook generation,

what you do as part of the strategy
is that you stalk women on Facebook.

And you're always on the lookout
for that one sad status update.

Because women only post sad shit when
there is trouble in their relationship.

On normal days it'll be like, "Rainbows
and unicorns and wombs lalalalala..."

But when there is trouble
in their relationship,

there's deep philosophical quotes.

“It takes the devil inside of me
to know the devil inside of him.”

And that's when we as single men descend
like vultures into your comment section.

And we put in a little innocent
comment saying, "What happened?"

If you are desperately single
you will say, "What happened, dear?"

And then the girl will reply saying,

"Oh nothing.
But thank you for your concern."

“Concern!”

Ladies let me tell you this right now.
That is not concern.

That is hope!

So I got married three years ago and in
general it's very hard getting married

in this country because there is a lot
of things that you have to take care of.

First thing is that you have
to start teaching people grammar.

Because there are two words pertaining
to getting married in this country.

The first word is wedding,
which is the day of the ceremony,

the day you get married.

The second word is marriage
which is the rest of your married life.

Now in India, we find there is no
difference between these two words at all.

One of my friends, she came up to
me so excited, "Azeem I am so excited.

I am coming for your marriage."

"All of it?

Like listen, I am up for threesomes
but this is just creepy man. Come on.

We will have to
change the wedding card now.

It's going to be Azeem
weds Sana featuring Priyanka.

Sounds like a Pitbull track now.
I hope you are happy."

But it's very difficult, it was
very hard for me getting married because

I'm a thin person.

And as a thin person in this country,
you live a horrible life.

Because everywhere you go, your friends,

your relatives are constantly
asking you to put on weight.

"Put on some weight bro.
What are you doing with your life?"

At which point I take a bite
into my double cheeseburger and say,

"I am trying motherfucker.
It's not working."

All thin people back me up on this.

On behalf of all thin people,

I just want to say that we
don't look like this out of choice.

Stick figure is not the form
factor that we were going for.

A lot of my fat friends, they don't
appreciate the struggles of thin people.

They'll come up to us full judging,
"Look at him bloody thin bastard.

So thin, he's gone jogging?

Bloody bastard."

And guys I just want to say
I am not jogging,

it's just sometimes
when I go for a walk,

the wind picks up behind me and

I don't have to a choice,
just have to go with it.

Wait for land breeze
to turn into sea-breeze

then I can come back home,
study geography on the way.

It's terrible.

But this is my problem
with society in India

that you're not allowed
to make fun of fat people.

People get all emotional like, "No man.

Don't make fun of fat people.

You have to appreciate
the person inside."

I'm like fuck,
there's a person inside him?

How much is he eating?
Is he mad?

But thin people,
people make fun of us all the time.

Because what are we going to do?

Beat you up?

Which is why invariably, all
the thin people will back me up on this.

You have this one line which
you've heard at some point in your life.

Where people will come up to you
as a thin person and they'll judge you

and they'll be like, "Hey skinny fucker!

Don't you get food at home?"

I hate that line, “Don't
you get food at home?”

And as Indians we are assholes.

We'll go to fricking Ethiopia.

We'll see a starving kid and be like,
"Hey, Tatenda Taibu.

Hey, Henry Olonga.

Hey, Zimbabwean cricketer name.

Don't you get food at home?"

They'll be like, "No!

I don't even have a home.
You want to buy me one, asshole?"

"Simba?"

But see the one place you
never want to be as a thin person,

it's at an Indian wedding.

Because at all Indian weddings,
there exists this one species,

some of you are in tonight...

called the aunty.

And the aunties, they prowl the night.

They roam around the reception
hall in packs of four.

In matching sarees,
holding laddus like hand grenades.

Just throwing it at
the nearest thin person,

"Eat! Nobody will marry you! Eat!!"

Like, "Aunty it's MY wedding, relax.
It's okay. We have sealed the deal here."

But the one thing I will never understand
about Indian weddings is the dancing.

Because at all Indian weddings
there is a fixed template

which is at about 10:30-11 at night...

really shady Bollywood
songs start to play.

And people start forming circles.

Now once the circles have been formed,

they send out scouts.

To the far ends of the reception hall.

To find that one poor idiot

who doesn't want to dance.

Usually me.

And they throw you in
the centre of the circle like,

"Dance, dance!
Why are you not dancing bro,

why are you not dancing bro?

One-two steps bro, one-two steps."

I'm like, "I can't dance, I have no
coordination in my legs. It's a bad idea."

"Arrey, how you don't have coordination?
Everyone has coordination."

"What do you mean HOW?

The cerebellum and neural
networks are not connected.

What do you want me to say?"

"Arrey, screw your cerebellum.
Do balam pichkari bro! Balam pichkari."

"I do not want to dance."

"Oh!

Fine bro.

But you should eat something,
you've become damn thin these days."

Listen if you want to dance,
go ahead and dance.

You don't have to force
other people to dance with you.

For instance, I like to read.

But you will never see
me showing up at a wedding

with a copy of Lord of The Rings.

Just going to be, "Hey read no, read no!
Why are you not reading bro?

Make circle and form book club bro.

One-two pages bro, one-two pages.
Come on."

Doesn't happen.

But I got married and my
mother's very happy about this.

I have a mother, yes.

That's usually how
it works out biologically.

But I have an Indian mother
and all Indian mothers, they do this.

Irrespective of who they are.

Indian mothers, they spy on you.

Under the pretext of cleaning your room.

Like the moment I leave my house,

my mom puts on this Sherlock
Holmes cap and magnifying glass.

"According to
the wrinkles on this bedsheet,

a girl slept here seventeen days ago.

What do you think, Watson?"

My dad's been dressed
up as Watson for no reason,

"Please let me go to work, we have
no money left. Why are we doing this?"

But every time as a single guy,

I would come home and
see my room clean, I would panic.

I'm like, "Shit.
What has she found now?"

Running around the room trying to hide
the evidence like a Gujarati in a tax raid.

Hide the evidence.

And then my mom walks in, full swag.

Like, "So?

So?

So?

I was cleaning your room and
I found this pack of cigarettes."

I'm like, "Oh!

I'm sorry mom, I didn't know the back
of the tube light needed to be cleaned.

But okay."

And even when they are cleaning,
Indian mothers they do this.

They pick up something that
you've deliberately, purposefully,

thoughtfully kept over here.

And she'll pick it up,

she will keep it here.

Because that's where
she feels it should be kept.

Which leads to a situation where like,
"Mom, where is my watch?"

"Your watch? Come son, come."

Takes me to a drawer
that I did not know existed before.

"Here is your watch."

And then the clinching dialogue.
I love this one.

"Son, what would you do without me."

I'd be able to find my
fricking watch for starters.

But you can't say such things to mothers
because mothers have delicate emotions.

I've realised that mothers
are a lot like girlfriends.

The key difference,
and pay attention here.

The key difference is that
you can break-up with your girlfriend.

You can't break-up with your mother.

It's a very awkward
conversation to have.

"Like you know mom,
we've been together really long time.

First nine months was very nice.
First nine months, superb.

I need to see other mothers now, man."

Go out and get drunk and

start drunk dialling
your friend's mothers like, "Hi aunty.

Hiiii!

I was wondering if you want
to make parathas for me sometime.

Also, have you seen my watch anywhere?
I can't find it."

But no matter what happens, Indian
mothers you have to give them this.

That an Indian mother has
always got your back, right?

You can come home and say,
"Mom, I failed my exam today."

She'll be like, "Okay son. Don't worry.
You will do better next time."

You can come home and say, "I
ran over three people in the car today."

Like, "Okay son, don't worry
we'll blame the driver for it."

But if you come home and say,

"You know mom,
I won't be home for dinner tonight."

"Excuse me?

You won't be home for dinner tonight?

Who the hell is going to eat this food?

Do you know there are
children starving in Africa?

They have to run around catching
babies from the sky on top of that.

Do you have any idea
of their struggles?"

I'm like, "Fine. Send it to them.
Clearly, they need it more than I do."

She's like, "Fine, fine. Go out.

Go out. What do I care?

What do I care?"

And then you leave the drama,
she turns back.

"I'm just going to clean his room!"

I've been married for
over two and a half years now.

When you get married,
all your friends will be like,

"Bro, why are you doing this bro?

It's hard work, bro.
You are screwed.

It's over. It's over.

Why are you doing this?
Who will come to Thailand with me?”

I've been married
almost three years now.

Life's been pretty sorted.

I went to my dad and I asked my dad,

"Why do people say that
it is difficult to be married?"

My dad looked me in the eye.
And he said,

"Give it time.

One day you will know.

That day will come.

Bloody kid."

"Thanks for the positivity, dad."

See once you're in a
relationship for long enough,

you will learn that you have
to pick your battles with your partner.

There are some fights
that you cannot win.

No matter how hard you try.

For me and my wife,
like I have resigned myself to that fact

that I will never get to a social
gathering or a party on time with my wife.

Because I know she
takes a while to get ready.

But then I started thinking,
why do women take a while to get ready

and I've figured it out,
ladies and gentlemen.

See, the biggest bottleneck
in the getting ready process

is the picking out of the dress.

Because this is what my wife does.

She opens her cupboard and
her cupboard is not a cupboard.

It is a jungle.

There are clothes there that are so old,

they have mutated and transformed
into living organisms, alright!

You open the cupboard, there are like
bras flying around like pterodactyls.

“BRA! BRA!”

Fuck!

Scary!

But this is what my wife does.

She opens her cupboard

and she stares.

And continues to stare

and then thirty minutes into staring,

into an endless barrage of clothes.

She concludes,

"I have nothing to wear."

How?

I'm looking at that
cupboard and I'm like,

"In one cupboard you've managed
to WinZip all of Zara's summer

and winter collection."

How is this possible?

But see once you've been married or
been in a relationship for long enough,

you will realise that the same things
start happening over and over again.

You start having the same conversations
with your partner over and over again.

And I've realised in my relationship,

every conversation we have
can be summed up in three words.

And these three words are,

Something, anything and nothing.

Every conversation.

Wife comes up like,
"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"You want to do something?"

"Okay, let's do something.
What do you want to do?"

"Anything."

"Anything specific?"

"Oh nothing,
why don't you think of something?"

"Something like what?"

"Anything."

"Listen, why do I have to think
of something? You think of something."

"Fine, let's not do anything."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

Women are geniuses.

Women have these amazing ability
to give us as men what we want.

At the exact moment...

that we do not want it.

And the best example
I can give you is this genius invention

that women have come up with

called the silent treatment.

Because see, as a man no matter how
much you love your girlfriend or wife

or hooker or whatever you're into.

No matter how much you love your girl,

in some tiny corner of
your brain you are thinking,

"When will she stop talking? When will she
stop talking? When will she stop talking?"

And then one day, she stops talking

and now when your universe
is turned upside down.

You're like, "Why is she not talking? Why
is she not talking? Why is she not talking?"

And when this happens, as a man you start
looking back at your past 24 hours.

It's like solving a murder
mystery but backwards.

Because you know who the culprit is.

It's you.

Now you need to find the
evidence to identify the crime.

You start thinking,
okay what did I do today?

I had breakfast, no that's not it.

I went to the bathroom.

No I have permission to do that.

Accepted friend request
from ex-girlfriend.

Oh! That's the one!

And once you have identified your
crime as a man, you have two options.

If it's a big crime, you are screwed.

Start preparing your apology,
there is no way out of this.

But if it's a small crime,

you can counter her silent treatment
with your own silent treatment.

"You won't talk to me?
I also won't talk to you.

Alpha male yo!"

This lasts for one hour.

After which you realise
you have to apologise anyway.

And then you go to apologise like,
"Baby, baby! Say something."

"I don't want to say anything."

"Baby, say something."

"I will say nothing."

"Baby, I am sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

But there is that little
interim period at the beginning of

the silent treatment whereas
a man you can enjoy the silence

and get away with it.

“She's not talking to me.

This is nice, I like this.

Oh shit, she's looking.
Look sad. Look sad. Look sad.”

It happens, right.

So now me and my wife, we live
with my parents obviously because

it's Bombay and I do this with my life.

An generally my wife and
mother get along pretty well

but eventually that little saas-bahu cold
war in every household will start happening.

If it didn't happen,
Ekta Kapoor would not have a career.

It starts happening and it's
slightly started happening now.

Where my wife come running
to me and she's like, "What is this?

Your mom's not talking to me.

I don't understand what I did."

And I was like, "AHA!

Now you know what that's like."

Because see, this is the first time that
she's in a relationship with a woman.

She has no idea how to
deal with this situation.

My mom's skill level is too high.

For the younger people,
I'll put this in FIFA video game terms.

My wife is semi-pro
and mother is legend.

There is no comparison.

My mom's like, "I've been preparing
this for forty years, you bring it!

I practiced on my
mother-in-law for 10 years!

And she's dead now.

The Lannisters send their regards."

But as a married man living in the same
house with your wife and your parents,

at some point it will happen
where you will fight with your wife

and your mother at the same time.

And this is the worst
time of your existence...

as a multicellular organism.

Because my wife is not talking to me,
she is pissed off.

I'm like okay, can't sit in my bedroom.

Alright, I'll go out and
sit in the living room.

Go in to the living room, my mom's sitting
there, she is also not talking to me.

I'm like okay,
where the hell do I go now?

Alright, I'll go out
and sit in the kitchen.

Go into the kitchen, my dad's there.

"Hi, what's up?"

He lights up a cigarette,

he pours a drink and hands it to me
and he says,

"I told you this day would come.

Bloody kid."

You guys have been fantastic.

That's been my show, thank you so much.

Thank you.

Thank you guys!