By Ejaz Haider

Date:22-01-06

Source: Daily Times

Comedy does not let off steam; it picks up a situation or value, shears it of its seriousness and grandeur and puts it on the low shelf with other everyday banalities. It evokes laughter, not catharsis through awe

One of my favourite channels on cable is the one that shows videos of Punjabi burlesque theatre. The sound is generally poor and the production even worse; sometimes I have to strain my ears to understand the dialogue. But its worth the trouble.

Respectable people don’t like the lowbrow comedy that has sustained theatre in Pakistan, at least in the Punjab since the pious times of General Zia-ul Haq, the man on horseback who brought the 8th commandment for us Thou shalt be pious Muslims and if thou art, thou shalt be governed by Amirul Momineen Ziau-ul Haq until he leaveth this temporary abode.”

In GHQ, the place where angels fear to tread but which fools frequent everyday, a staff officer might have changed the line to “...thou shalt be governed by Amirul Momineen Ziau-ul Haq until he leaveth this temporary abode or until the people get rid of him, whichever is earlier.

In any case, we shall leave the officialese aside and focus on the religio-ideological oppression of Zia which resulted in low comedy. It was people’s expression (and reaction) against a system that asphyxiated them. The dialogue was obscene and full of double entendres, but it was refreshingly politically incorrect. The anti-PC strand in it not only challenged the political system stitched by Zia but also mocked respectable language and stilted mannerism.

During that 11-year-long journey into the night, roadside dhabas would keep a small TV and video-player and attract a large clientele by playing recordings of these stage plays. This was a bit much for those who find in burlesque a mockery of traditional values and sense of propriety. We saw the police raiding these dhabas and warning the owners against spreading obscenity. That attitude still persists.

What is significant, however, is that people have not stopped loving burlesque. The irony is that respectable people happily go and watch a performance of Shakespeare. They laugh at the obscenities mouthed by the Fool – one of the best devices employed by Shakespeare (whoever he might be) – the actors farting on stage and pinching a female butt and the whole range of Shakespeare’s bawdiness while rejecting the Punjabi burlesque.

The McDonald-chomping, low-rise wearing, undies-showing generation uses the English-language four-letter word with the penchant of a British army sergeant-major, huffing and puffing and effing their way through a life whose purpose generally remains a mystery, but turns up its nose in disdain when someone uses Punjabi expletives. Well, I do and I can vouch for the impact on both the receiver and the giver; the former hath la-la kay ronda ai and the latter can savour the juicy, recurring taste of that mouthful for the rest of the day.

The burlesque has survived the ravages of our religious fervour and the pompous expression of our respectability because it entertains the audience in an idiom and through cultural categories they understand. But even as it works in and through known categories, its significance lies in making fun of them and pulling things down from their Olympian heights.

People hate bhaands who raid marriage ceremonies. The contrast on such an occasion is most glaring and the jugats for that very reason most potent. As my colleague Khaled Ahmed narrated to me, at a marriage ceremony of some lawyer, a troupe of bhaands appeared. The guests were predominantly lawyers. LLB being the basic law degree, one of the bhaands looked around and said aithay vee LLB; authay vee LLB; sujjay vee LLB tay khhabbay vee LLB. Aithay koi banday da bee vee hai. It was great punning on which in Punjabi means tukham!

Burlesque on stage thrives on similar punning and lines, though sometimes one also finds wit like the occasion when one of the actors started slapping a najoomi (fortune-teller), forcing him to protest the violence that was visiting him. Upon this the actor slapping him said tu kehojaya najoomi hain; tainu nahin patta see kay ujj tainu chundan paenean nain.

My personal favourite is the parody of Madam Nur Jahan’s nationalist, serious-intentioned song Aay puttar hatan tay nahin vikday which has been modified to describe hermaphrodites as aay na puttar hain na’n dheean nai’n. It is incorrect on all counts, from making fun of biologically handicapped people to ridiculing nationalism and the spirit of sacrifice. But that is precisely what it is supposed to do. Comedy does not let off steam, which Aristotle described as the element of catharsis in a tragedy; it picks up a situation or value, shears it of its seriousness and grandeur and puts it on the low shelf with other everyday banalities. It evokes laughter, not catharsis through awe. Nothing is sacred in the business of comedy.

Correctness, whether religious or secular, tends to create its own theology. We have seen that happen with PC which has now taken the place of Christianity in the West. The only way to guard against this seriousness is through the device of comedy. Let not our pompous seriousness get in the way of our burlesque tradition. If anything, the impromptu, unscripted dialogue of burlesque theatre shows how good most of these actors are. They should be encouraged. That what the Shakespearean theatre was all about. Why cant our burlesque provide the foundation for the genre? As for those who object to bawdy dialogue, I say, up your nose with a hose.

Ejaz Haider is News Editor of The Friday Times and Contributing Editor of Daily Times. He can be reached at sapper@dailytimes.com.pk