From Stand-Up to Fall-Flat

In their pursuit of virality, Indian influencers have embraced a vulgar and regressive aesthetic, leading to the infantilization of entertainment.

Ranveer Allahbadia, better known as ‘BeerBiceps’ to his legions of followers, has built a brand as India’s go-to self-improvement guru, doling out self-help wisdom, career advice while hosting a podcast featuring top entrepreneurs, celebrities, even high-profile politicians. Last week, he took a hard fall from grace. Appearing on comedian Samay Raina’s YouTube show ‘India’s Got Latent,’ Allahbadia posed a crass question that set off a national firestorm. Allahbadia asked the contestant to choose between witnessing his parents in an intimate act every day or joining in once to put an end to it.

Multiple complaints were lodged against Allahbadia, Raina and co. across India under laws meant to curb obscenity. Raina, whose typically vulgar brand of comedy has always skirted the edge of what is deemed socially acceptable, deleted all episodes of the show.

Then, in a move that has become predictable in influencer culture, Allahbadia issued a public apology, head bowed, voice suitably penitent.

Seeing these clips of Raina, Apoorva Mukhija and others doling out crude, profane innuendos, an obvious question, and concern, that arises is what kind of culture is being promoted by these imbeciles under the guise of ‘edgy’ humour?

India’s social media influencers have become omnipresent, wielding as much cultural power as Bollywood stars or cricketing icons. But in their pursuit of virality, they have embraced an aesthetic that is often crude, juvenile and downright regressive. India’s stand-up comedians, who, rather than honing wit or satire, increasingly rely on sex jokes and cheap shots to generate laughs.

Take Vir Das, for example, whose Two Indias monologue stirred controversy for its politically charged tone. Or Munawar Faruqi, who has repeatedly landed in trouble for his jokes about Hindu deities, yet never seems to venture into equal-opportunity provocation when it comes to Islam or Christianity. Indian comedy has largely failed to develop into an art form of nuance, restraint and intellect. Instead, it seems obsessed with provoking outrage, often at the expense of taste or originality.

The structure of India’s Got Latent is borrowed heavily from the American show Kill Tony, where comedians perform rapid-fire stand-up and are subjected to harsh, often humiliating, critiques. But what works as dark humour in America does not necessarily translate in India, where social mores are different, and the tolerance for explicit content is lower.

Is banning the solution? The very attempt to censor these shows might only accelerate their popularity. Historically, moral panics have only driven content underground, making it more appealing to rebellious youth. Recall that in the United States, rap and metal music were once vilified for promoting violence, misogyny and Satanism. Politicians held hearings, warning of societal collapse. Religious groups called for record burnings. But what happened? The music thrived, became mainstream and those very artists who were once condemned as dangerous became cultural icons.

Even if the Indian government or social groups succeed in shutting down influencers like Raina, Allahbadia or Munawar Faruqi, I fear their content will only become more desirable. It is almost axiomatic that the more ‘forbidden’ something feels, the more young audiences crave it.

The issue isn’t just that influencers and comedians are pushing boundaries but that they’re pushing them in the most unimaginative ways possible. Indian comedy has regressed into a playground of crude one-liners and social media-driven outrage. Bollywood, once capable of crafting stories steeped in poetic lyricism and cinematic finesse, has also surrendered to the lowest common denominator. Streaming platforms, once heralded as India’s creative renaissance, have increasingly embraced gratuitous vulgarity under the guise of being ‘bold’ and ‘uncensored.’

The tragedy is not that these shows exist, but that they are among the most popular content India has to offer. It speaks to a broader decay in artistic ambition, where the shortcut to success is to provoke rather than painstakingly craft something enduring.

Going by the history of cultural bans in India, the effect has been negligible. Even if ‘India’s Got Latent’ is pulled down, a hundred other versions will spring up, some even more extreme, feeding off the controversy.

Instead, India needs an audience with better taste. The real problem isn’t Samay Raina or Ranveer Allahbadia but the millions who find their content compelling. It is a market-driven problem: as long as cheap, trashy humour generates clicks, views and revenue, it will persist. The only way to change this is to create a culture where intelligence is rewarded over crassness, and where genuinely good content is appreciated over shock tactics.