By Niranjan Pathak
So You Think You’re Funny?
Everyone has that one friend who says, “Bro, tu toh bada funny hai, stand-up kar le!”
And if you don’t have that friend, bad news, you’re probably not that funny.
When I first started, I had no clue what I was doing. I used to crack jokes at college canteens and family functions. My relatives would laugh, my mom would say, “Beta, log has rahe hain tumpe, tumhari wajah se nahi.” That was my first review.
I decided to perform at an open mic. I thought it would be easy. After all, I had been funny in life. Turns out, being funny in life and being funny on stage are two entirely different species.
Lesson One: Real-Life Funny and Stage Funny Are Not the Same
When you make friends laugh, they know you, they like you, and they are drunk half the time. On stage, the audience doesn’t know you, doesn’t care, and is sober. They judge you faster than Indian aunties at weddings.
I once cracked a joke that had my friends rolling on the floor.
“Mom thinks my stand-up is just me revealing family secrets in public. She’s not wrong, it’s just cheaper than therapy.”
At the open mic, I said the same line with full confidence. The audience stared at me like I had just confessed to murder. One guy coughed. That was my punchline.
Comedy lesson learned. Timing and delivery matter more than your punchline.
Lesson Two: Go to an Open Mic and Prepare to Be Humbled
Your first open mic is not a performance. It’s a reality check.
I remember my first open mic like it was yesterday. The host said, “Please welcome Niranjan Pathak!” and my brain said, “Niranjan, run.”
I walked up, held the mic, and said, “Hi everyone, how’s it going?”
Silence. Not a single sound. Even the AC stopped working out of pity.
I did my five minutes. Nobody laughed. Even the bartender left the counter. When it ended, one guy clapped out of sympathy. I wanted to hug him and say thank you, but he left before I could.
That night, I learned the most important rule of stand-up comedy. Everyone bombs. Even the greats. If you haven’t bombed, you haven’t really started.
Lesson Three: Record Every Set
Yes, it’s painful. Watching your own set feels like watching CCTV footage of your embarrassment. But trust me, it helps.
I once rewatched one of my old sets and realized that my best joke got no laughs because I was holding the mic too low. The audience could barely hear me. I sounded like a depressed radio signal.
Now I record every performance. Sometimes I watch them just to laugh at my old mistakes. Like, why did I ever think performing in a café full of kids was a good idea?
Lesson Four: Writing is 80 Percent of Comedy
People think comedians are funny on the spot. Wrong. Most of us are funny after hours of crying in front of a notebook.
I write my jokes, test them, rewrite them, test again, and then throw them away when they fail. Comedy is basically emotional recycling.
I once wrote this joke about Indian traffic.
“In India, traffic lights are not rules. They’re polite suggestions.”
No laughs. Then I added,
“My dad treats red lights like he treats my career choices. He sees them, understands them, and ignores them.”
Boom. Big laugh. The lesson? Add your personal truth. People connect to real emotions, even if those emotions are disappointment.
Lesson Five: Watch the Pros, But Don’t Copy
When I started, I watched every comedian alive. Louis CK, Vir Das, Zakir Khan, Dave Chappelle, everyone. Then I tried to sound like them. Result? I became a bad remix of all of them.
Audiences can smell imitation faster than samosa oil. Be yourself. Maybe you are sarcastic, maybe you are emotional, maybe you are the kind of guy who forgets punchlines mid-joke. Whatever it is, make it yours.
When I stopped trying to be someone else and started talking like me, I got real laughs. Not pity ones.
Lesson Six: Network Without Being Awkward
Comedy is a community. You meet the same comics at every open mic, and after a few weeks, you start bonding over shared trauma.
But don’t be that person who follows senior comics to the washroom and says, “Bhai ek joke sun lo please.” You’ll end up being blocked in real life.
Once, after a show, I told a senior comic, “Loved your set!” He said “Thanks” and walked away. I stood there smiling like an unpaid intern. Moral of the story, respect the space and timing. Networking is about connection, not desperation.
Lesson Seven: Grow a Thick Skin
Some audiences are amazing. Others come just to test your mental health.
One night, a guy heckled me shouting, “You’re not funny!”
I smiled and said, “Neither is your haircut, but we both tried.” The crowd laughed, and that heckler turned into my free marketing guy.
Always remember, the person holding the mic has the power. The audience can only react. If you let them shake you, they’ll keep shaking.
Lesson Eight: Don’t Chase Laughs, Chase Honesty
The best comedy comes from truth.
When I talk about being broke, awkward, and having parents who still don’t understand stand-up, people relate. Because most of us have the same experiences.
My mom once told me, “Beta, yeh comedy se ghar chalta hai kya?”
I said, “Nahi maa, comedy se ghar nahi chalta, par comedy ke bina main nahi chalta.”
She didn’t laugh. But the audience always does.
Your real life is your best material. Stop searching for funny, start telling the truth.
Lesson Nine: Be Ready to Be Bad for a Long Time
There’s no shortcut. Comedy takes time. You’ll bomb, fail, rewrite, and repeat for months, even years.
I once performed at a show where only two people showed up. I still did my full set. Both laughed. That was my first 100 percent success rate show. It’s all about perspective.
Every set, every laugh, every silence teaches you something.
Lesson Ten: Celebrate Every Small Win
Your first laugh? Celebrate it.
Your first applause break? Treat yourself to chai.
Your first paid gig? Post a story. Don’t check your bank account though, it’ll ruin the mood.
Once I got paid 500 rupees for a café show. I was thrilled. Then someone shouted, “Bro, play Arijit Singh!” Apparently, they thought I was the DJ. I said, “I can’t play music but I can play with your emotions.” That line got the biggest laugh of the night.
Some Truths Nobody Tells You About Comedy
- Your friends will support you until you bomb in front of them. After that, they’ll call you “Kapil Sharma Lite”.
- You’ll perform in weird places. Cafes, college canteens, one time I even performed in front of cows. They were my most peaceful audience.
- You’ll start seeing jokes everywhere. Even in your worst days. Especially in your worst days.
- Your mom will always ask, “Beta, kab sudhrega?”
When Are You Really a Comedian?
It’s not when you get your first big laugh. Not even when you get your first payment.
You become a comedian the day you bomb on stage, go home, feel like quitting, and still show up the next day with a new joke. That’s when you know you’re addicted.
FAQs
Q1. Do I need to be naturally funny?
No. You just need courage to fail in public repeatedly until you accidentally become funny.
Q2. How do I fight stage fright?
By performing so often that your fear gets bored.
Q3. How long should my first set be?
Three to five minutes. Five minutes of silence feels like eternity anyway.
Q4. What if I bomb?
You will. Everyone does. Bombing is just learning in disguise.
Q5. How long does it take to get good?
There’s no timeline. Some take a year, some take ten. But you’ll keep getting funnier, and your failures will become your punchlines.
Final Thoughts
If you’re waiting to be ready, you’ll never start. Comedy isn’t something you prepare for, it’s something you survive.
You go on stage, you tell your truth, you make people laugh, and sometimes you make them stare in silence. Both are valuable.
Because at the end of the day, stand-up is not about perfect jokes. It’s about connecting, expressing, and laughing at life before life laughs at you.
So grab the mic, tell your story, and go make people laugh. And if you fail, at least you’ll have a great story for your next set.
Written by Niranjan Pathak
Part-time human, full-time laughter victim.
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