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Months after Kaviraj Singh’s stand-up video resurfaced, he's facing backlash for his derogatory jokes, bringing us back to the age-old question of what really qualifies as comedy and where we should draw the line.
Derogatory comedy has long been described by many comics as the easiest trick in the book. It’s the kind of humor that doesn’t ask for much from the performer because it’s cheap, quick, and guarantees a reaction without the heavy lifting that sharper material demands. All it takes is leaning on a stereotype, tossing in an insult, and exaggerating it just enough for the punchline to land. The audience reaction that you might be hoping for might come, almost by default. And that’s exactly why so many in the industry call it low‑hanging fruit because it’s right there for the taking, but it rarely tastes fresh. The comics who want their work to be remembered for wit and originality rather than shock value usually keep their distance from it. They know that the reaction it gets isn’t born out of genuine cleverness or connection and is more like a reflex. And in a time when audiences are far quicker to call out lazy writing, that kind of humor can feel dated the second it leaves the mic.
Which brings us to the question, “What can really be called good comedy?” It’s a conversation that has flared up once again after a standup set by comedian Kaviraj Singh that's widely discussed for having problematic jokes. The debate isn’t just about one set or one performer but about the line between edgy humor and outright insult, and whether crossing it is a sign of boldness or simply a lack of imagination.
A few months ago, comedian Kaviraj Singh put out a stand‑up video titledAre Women Becoming Men? At the time, it was well‑received among his audiences and maybe even brushed off as casual problematic humour that most people have become used to. But in the last few weeks, that same video has put him right at the centre of a heated conversation about how women are talked about in Indian comedy. The backlash really caught fire when content creator Aman Pandey shared a short part of the set on Instagram where Kaviraj compares female social media influencers to sex workers and uses a derogatory Hindi term to help land his punchline. You can hear the audience laughing in the club, but the reaction online could not have been more different. With people calling it not just an unfunny or off‑colour joke, but something that reflects a deeper, more common way of undermining women who have built a presence and success for themselves online. Aman Pandey’s caption summed it up when he called it “a visual representation of every man talking about a more successful woman in their field.”
To revisit some of the other things Kaviraj Singh said in that same set, the one that drew perhaps the most attention was when he compared women to a herd of buffaloes in the jungle, who, as he put it, rely on the males in the group to protect them from danger. He then stretched that comparison to women in rural areas, saying they depend on the men around them for their safety and are well aware of the dangers that come with stepping out. Dangers that he suggested might not be as present for many urban women, which, in his view, is why they become feminists. What this opinion completely glosses over is the fact that, in many rural settings, those very dangers are created and perpetuated by men themselves, and that the restrictions placed on rural women have roots far deeper than the narrative of “safety measures” he chose to present. Another sore point in his set is his bit about women calling men instead of mechanics when their car breaks down in the middle of the night, using it to imply that women are inherently dependent on men for help. On the surface, it’s framed as a light jab, but it stings because it completely sidesteps the reality of women’s safety concerns. For many women, a car breaking down after dark isn’t just an inconvenience to be fixed but a situation of vulnerability. Choosing to call a trusted male friend or family member over a stranger isn’t about lacking common sense but reflects the disproportionate risks women face. A simple roadside repair can carry a completely different set of dangers for them than it does for men.
Then there’s his bold claim that “all the development of cities and modern tech is made by men,” which stood out not just for how dismissive it is, but for how plainly untrue it is. It’s the kind of sweeping generalisation that erases the numerous contributions of women across history. And if that wasn’t enough, he goes on to say that when women earn, they don’t contribute to the family, and even goes as far as to suggest that women are inherently selfish. At one point, he recalls being taken aback when a woman in her 30s mentioned that she did not want children at the moment and he couldn't comprehend why she wouldn't want that? He follows this with remarks implying that the primary purpose of a woman’s body is to bear children, framing it through a comparison to how the female body, particularly breasts, is “designed” to nurture. The jokes are not just a reductive take on women’s roles, but also reveal his lack of understanding of what women go through with pregnancy, childbirth, and everything that follows. These remarks lean heavily on tired stereotypes and ignore the financial, emotional, and caregiving labour women invest in their households every single day. He frames progress as something owed entirely to men and paints women’s economic participation and personal agency as acts of self‑interest.
What ties all these jokes together is a steady reliance on stereotypes and how they steer clear of the issues they touch on. Comedy, at its best, pulls from some kernel of truth, even when it’s stretched, twisted, or made absurd, but the material Kaviraj Singh leans on here feels adrift from the reality it claims to be reflecting. The clip didn’t take long to blow up online, with names like Mallika Dua, Apeksha Porwal, Kusha Kapila, and Uorfi Javed speaking out against the comedian, all calling out how demeaning the jokes were and dismissing them as nothing more than lazy writing. Still, the backlash didn’t stop him from getting plenty of support from his fans. For many of them, the criticism felt like a badge of honour, a sign that he was saying out loud what they believed most people were too afraid to admit. Some agreed with his remarks openly, while others even sent him money to show their support.
The argument made in Kaviraj’s defence is that this is simply provocative or shock comedy. This isn’t to say comedy should be stripped of its edge or play it so safe that it becomes bland. Provocative humour absolutely has its place. This situation with Kaviraj Singh underlines something that has played out in comedy time and again, which is the tension between being genuinely provocative and being needlessly derogatory. Provocative comedy, when done well, carries a point that lingers in your head, makes you uncomfortable for a reason, forces you to think about an inconvenient truth or to confront a hypocrisy, and most importantly, it almost always draws from reality in a way that punches up at power rather than punching down at those who are already vulnerable.
What his material seems to do instead is strip away the thought and the context, leaving behind only the provocation itself, with jokes built on stereotypes and sweeping generalisations that, rather than starting conversations, simply reaffirm the same tired biases that should be questioned in the first place. The problem is not that the jokes are offensive but that they are offensive without being insightful. While good, provocative comedy can make you laugh, cringe, and think all in the same breath, here the thinking part never really arrives.
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