City Center

Average Read Time – 18 mins

In traditional architecture, there is a concept called City Center. It is built for people to have a place to come, chill, and unwind… a place where they would gravitate towards and not wander away. It gave the city and its people a sense of belonging. This story is not about architecture; it is about stand-up comedy. Well, it’s not about stand-up comedy, it’s about following your passion. Umm… well, it is not even about following your passion, it’s about love. Actually, it is about all the above… it is about finding the city center of your life. My name is Ishaan Valmiki and this is my story. The story begins a few years ago when I moved to Bangalore from Patna for my job at Accenture.

“Ishaan, jaldi karo! We are getting late” called Meera as we were getting ready for our first live stand-up show. I had moved to Bangalore just recently. Meera was the only person I knew here. That day, she had booked tickets for Abhishek Upmanyu’s live comedy show. Growing up, Meera and I went to the same school and lived in the same area. It seemed like she had taken upon herself to show me around and make me fall in love with this city.

I enjoyed comedy just like everyone else until then, but watching someone perform in person was a different experience. I was totally hooked up. Something felt different, I don’t know what exactly. It felt like my place was not on these chairs, but on that stage, holding mic and performing. When I saw him perform confidently on stage, saying everything candidly and making people laugh, a new dimension opened up inside me. I have always longed to share my feelings with others freely; and this platform was just that… it showed me what was possible.  

After the show, she took me to the city center and showed me around. We also explored a few bars and local street food stalls. It was a lovely evening with pleasant weather, and we kept talking the entire time. I couldn’t believe the little girl from my school had grown up into such a fine young woman. I had started to like her secretly over the past month. Today was no different. Our hands were rubbing against each other as we walked. I held her hand gently after a while. As we entered her building and began climbing the stairs, I pulled her by the waist and kissed her. She didn’t stop me, and we kissed for a bit. After a while, she stopped and began to laugh, “You never kiss on a staircase, dumbo! They say it ends up in a break-up.” I laughed back.

Meera and I started seeing each other after that night. It had become our ritual to sit in her balcony after a long day at work and talk for hours.
“Chai piyoge?” she asked as I entered her apartment. I didn’t want to, but the way she asked, I couldn’t say no. She had started to like me too, I could tell. After all, expressions of love come in different forms. Looking at her softened eyes and caring tone, I realized “Chai piyoge?” was one of them.
“You know, I have been thinking…” I said, having the first sip of chai.
“I really want to give stand-up comedy a shot… like genuinely.”
“Really? Wow!”
“Yes, after that show last week, I cannot think of anything else. It feels like the stage is calling me.”
“That’s interesting. You should definitely give it a shot.”
After a while, she candidly asked, “So, what makes standup such a passionate art form for you?”
“Umm… I don’t know. I guess it is from this urge to express myself freely and make people laugh” she kept looking at me wanting to know more.
“I think growing up I couldn’t express my emotions louder. Be it anger, frustration, or even laughter… I was asked to keep quiet. My dad was a disciplinarian.”
“I see… how’s your relationship with your parents?”
“Well, my mom passed away when I was in college, and I never had a good equation with my dad. He never understood my needs, and we’ve always had this virtual wall between us” there was a brief silence before I continued, “I mean, he used to be around… but I never felt he was there for me. Be it parents-teacher meetings, dropping me off at parks, or protecting me from bullies… he was rarely there. And then, as I grew up, it became difficult to share anything personal with him.”
I don’t know when our conversations got so deep that I forgot there are things in my life that I probably shouldn’t say out loud.  
“Umm… see, I’m not a parent yet, but I know that parenting isn’t easy. We always feel our parents haven’t done enough for us, but the truth is they did a lot with what they had. And, macha, there wasn’t even much awareness or parenting tips back then to guide them na… It was harder in your case because your father had to compensate for your mom’s role as well.” I was staring in blankness as she spoke.
“So, what’s your point, Meera?”
“I mean, isn’t that something to think about? Just because he didn’t express love the way you felt loved, doesn’t mean he didn’t love you at all.”

The stand-up scene in Bangalore was lit. I enrolled in a few comedy clubs that gave opportunities to newcomers. Through their events and workshops, I started meeting new people in the stand-up circle. As I became a regular at the scene, I started getting invited to their house parties and internal discords. The studio was simply a symphony of creativity. I hadn’t experienced anything like that in my life. Creativity was flourishing in every corner of the studio. Be it trying new scripts, performing practice bits, or merely listening to their analysis, it was a treat. With time, I started going on stage, trying my jokes, and getting comfortable being on stage. I was nervous, but very soon, it gave me a feeling of freedom. It was better than what I had anticipated. My flight had started taxing on the runway of stand-up comedy. All I needed now was that one big take-off. It felt like I had finally found my gig, and now that I had this feeling, I didn’t want to waste the prime of my youth doing something else. I resigned from my job.

It was 2:30 in the morning, Meera and I were lying on my sofa, cuddling each other. The living room curtain was open, and I realized people on the street would’ve seen us make out the entire evening. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant and calming moment.
“Ishaan,” she softly called while my eyes were closed.
“Hmm…”
“So, umm, we meet like this every day, spend time together, and then wait again to see each other the next day… but where is this going?”
I opened my eyes instantly. Her question had made me uncomfortable. “What? Do we really need to talk about this right now?”
She slowly got up from my arms and turned on the table lamp. I saw her serious face as she sat on the couch in front of me. In that somber yellow light that had softly lit up our space, I could see her worried eyes. They were the precursor of what she was going to say next.
“You know… I love our banter, our chemistry, and how nice it feels when you are around. It reminds me of home. However, to be honest, every time we get close, a surreal fear creeps up on me. It’s not that I don’t like our intimacy… it’s just that I am getting scared that it is becoming a habit without a definite future.” I stood up from my place and sat in front of her caressing her hands.
“You never express anything directly, Ish. You drop cues and act weird when you have something personal to say.” 
“Look, Meera, I, too, like it when we are together. You know that. We have known each other for a long time. But, honestly… I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just resigned from my job in pursuit of something very ambitious and uncertain…” I knew what she meant, but I couldn’t give a clear answer. Staring at me with those saddened eyes, she whispered in a mellow tone, “Please don’t make me ask for love, Ishaan. I don’t like it. If you want distance, I’ll give you distance, but I don’t want to trade it for uncertainty. Either come to me all the way or don’t come at all. I can’t have this situationship. It’s confusing.”

She was right; there was a cloud of uncertainty looming over me. In fact, it has always been. I could never understand where my feelings stood in such matters or how to own them like a mature person. I couldn’t give her the answer she wanted, nor could I make anything clear. But in my ambiguity, she found her clarity. She realized I wasn’t ready for commitment. I had a mental barrier towards love… maybe it had something to do with my childhood and upbringing. But regardless of the reason, love felt like work to me. I grew up in a family where I saw distance and coldness as a way of expressing love. Yes, I was loved… but I never felt loved. And then, as I grew up, it got more difficult for me to cross that distance and accept love firsthand. I resisted when Meera tried to love me wholeheartedly. I realized I was tough to be loved unless it was from afar and love was mixed with that familiar sense of distance and coldness.

When I woke up in the morning and looked around, she wasn’t there. My house felt suddenly empty. I wanted to have breakfast with her… but she was gone. Not just from my house… but apparently from my life. I didn’t call her back. Maybe I should’ve… but I wasn’t in the mental space to offer what she was asking. So, then, that was it. My cameo in her life was over!

My art form was getting developed with time and my routine had completely changed. I spent my days writing scripts and evenings performing on open mics. Weekends were busier than ever. Amidst this journey, however, there were low moments too. I was sad after Meera left. My life was far from perfect, and sadness had become the underlying theme of my life. While some shows went okay, some were terrible. I was bombing, getting booed, and laughter was a rarity. It wasn’t an easy path. At times it felt lonely and helpless. There were people around me, but none who could understand me and my struggles. It was a space where there was no one to motivate, appreciate or even acknowledge my efforts. I had to decode my path myself.

I was watching a recording of mine with my roommate. After the clip, he looked at me and asked with a straight face, “Bro, were you performing at a funeral?”
His tone cracked me up. He wasn’t wrong, there was no laughter.
“Seriously, man! What is wrong with these people? It was a good punch, even the timing wasn’t off. Where’s my laughter?”

When my open mics began to bomb, I got rejected from spots to perform. I was sad. Frustrated. I was getting second thoughts about my decisions. But very soon I learned the only cure for sadness is to keep working. If not on stage, I signed up for backstage volunteering. It felt different being a volunteer and running all over the studio with a mic tied to my ear… but I had accepted it. I was volunteering at a comic festival when I saw Kenny Sebastian enter the green room. He had just finished his gig, and I followed him sheepishly into the green room.

He looked at me, thought for a second, and said, “Hey, you are the same guy who does open mics, na?” Just that one sentence made me feel that I wasn’t out of the game. I introduced myself, and we chatted candidly for a while. He heard me out and then said, “Dekh bro, I’ll tell you one thing – in the world of comedy, you can expect some of your jokes to land some of the times, but you can’t expect all of your jokes to land all the time. You have to read your audience and adapt.” I was listening intently.
“How much is your stage time?” he asked.
“Umm… around 30 mins in a good week.”
“That’s too low. You need to be on stage performing as much as possible. It’s like your riyaaz. Allow yourself to be bombed and heckled now when no one really knows you. It will help your spontaneity. Stand-up comedy, after all, is a game of spontaneity, as there will be moments where you’ll create jokes out of thin air. It will not just improve your craft, but will help you get better with narration, and above all to create your style… your image.”
Kenny was right. People don’t always laugh at funny jokes. They laugh at jokes made by funny people. It’s weird, but it’s true. “Don’t use your Instagram to upload stupid pictures; use it to make an image for yourself,” he said with a little laugh, patted my back, and left.

I kept working on my gig, writing new jokes and trying new ways of delivering. Attending workshops, watching other comics perform, and opening myself to different forms of comedy was my new life. I realized following your passion was a lifestyle in itself, and if I had to make it big in life I had to make my passion a lifestyle. All I could think about now was my script and performance. Nothing else. Gradually, with time, the wheels of life started moving, and I began getting the response I desired. My jokes were landing, and I started recording my bits and uploading them on YouTube. As people discovered my content online, my social media game got stronger with views reaching millions and followers count surging every day. It was the right time to patch up all my short bits and create a whole new special show. I had built enough audience to sell some tickets. It was time to announce my first national tour. I was nervous, anxious, and stressed.

I was doing a show in Noida when someone in the audience kept heckling me. I looked at him, asked his name, and said with some sass, “Bro, dekh darkness mai fayda uthana hota hai… par itna bhi nahi”
The crowd cheered up in laughter. It wasn’t a big joke, but it was spontaneous. After that, I kept looking for such unscripted moments in every show where I could create unexpected laughter. And just like that, show after show, I kept getting better, funnier, and my audience kept growing. I was in love with what I was doing. It was the best phase of my life. I had made it. I started touring different countries, and soon started getting fame and attention. I started selling tickets like hot cakes. The stage gave me an identity. Ishaan Valmiki had become the new poster boy for houseful shows. Premium lifestyle, business class travel, quality drugs, and sex were some of the privileges that came along.

However, life wasn’t easy even then. There was no work-life balance. I couldn’t go chill with my friends anymore, sleep long hours, and party. My sleep cycle was screwed up. I traveled to a lot of countries but didn’t see one place. I used to land, perform, and leave for my next show. At times I didn’t even go to the bed in my swanky hotel room. I just stood in the balcony smoking away into the vastness. In the silence and emptiness of those late-night hours, when alcohol had taken over my body, traces of buried melancholies silently found their way out in the form of tears. I missed my mother in those silent hours, especially now that I had started seeing success. I would’ve liked her to see this part of my life.

I was in London on a stand-up tour. My first show was a hit. After the show I went to a riverfront and sat there quietly, eating pizza and drinking wine in a corner. It was a silent evening with birds chirping in the sky and people taking strolls along the bank. I was happy. After a while, somehow, I heard a girl sitting behind me talk on the phone. She was loud, and strangely her voice felt familiar. I turned around. My curiosity peaked. I stood up pretending to walk, but as soon as my eyes fell on her, I was shocked. It was Meera! After so many years, she was right there in front of me. I froze. And before I could walk away, she saw me back and waved almost in reflex.

“I can’t believe you are here! What are you doing here?” she asked as I sat down with her.
“I know, right.” I said with a fake laughter. “I’m having shows here in London this week”
“Oh, yeah, right. The famous stand-up tour. You are a celebrity now, macha!”
I laughed. We chatted for some time about life and general things.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Well, I moved here last year. My husband is here on a work assignment.”
“Husband? Wow, congratulations!”
She laughed, “Yes, thank you. We got married last year.”
“What about you?” she asked. I opened my mouth, but before I could respond her attention diverted, “Hey, look, my husband is here. Come, I’ll introduce.”
“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll meet you guys some other time. I have to get going too”
“What? Are you sure?” I nodded.
“Alright then, Ishaan, it was so nice to see you,” she said, giving me a friendly hug. “We should definitely catch up while you are still here.”

No, I couldn’t see it… in her eyes… it was gone… that soft corner, those feelings… everything had evaporated. She was a different person now, she wasn’t the Meera I knew. It was disturbing. Walking back, I realized we don’t find the same person twice, sometimes not even in the same person. Although she recognized me as a celebrity, it didn’t seem to matter to her. Being used to seeing love in her eyes, it was tough to accept those eyes that had nothing for me. Perhaps distance dilutes affection, details die with time and stories change. Memories are recreated and everyone is replaceable.

From a distance, I saw her walk out and hug her husband. He kissed her gently, and they both walked out hand and hand happily. Suddenly, a feeling of jealousy rose within me… but strangely, it was mixed with regret. Seeing her walk away happily with him showed me what I had missed. That could’ve been my hand. That could’ve been my life. This feeling of regret, I never imagined, was so fucking painful. It was like poison. I realized finding love is a blessing. It does not happen every day and to everyone. Unfortunately, and unknowingly, I had found my blessing but had let it pass by me.

I came back to my hotel room. My world had collapsed. My belief system was shaken up after meeting Meera today and my vision had reset. Meeting her today, I realized she was the City Center of my life. That day, when she took me to my first stand up show, I discovered my passion in life; and today, years after seeing her, I realized success isn’t sweet if it isn’t with the person you love. I was naïve to let her go; all I wanted was to live on my terms, mocking everything that challenged my idiosyncrasies. I wish I could change all of it and make life different. And sometimes you can go back and change a few things… but you can’t go back all the way. I had come so far away in life that going back was not an option anymore.

I realized the main reason for all the chaos in my life was my inability to deal with difficult conversations and sensitive topics maturely. I always used humor and avoidance to escape serious situations. Perhaps that’s what happens when boys are raised without mothers and emotionally unavailable fathers. No one taught us to make space for different emotions in our life. I was so busy being a stand-up comedian that I forgot to make space for the unpleasant emotions brewing up within me since childhood. Emotions that had hindered my ability to form real deep relationships.

I looked myself in the mirror. The charm and swagger of my youth had now subsided. I was going to turn 35 next month. Time had flown by. I was now a middle-aged man with a balding head and a lot of weight. I wasn’t attractive anymore. It was painful but I felt the importance of doing things on time.

Finally, I wiped my eyes and decided to go home visit my father. It had been over five years since I saw him and the city. I may have had my share of disagreements with him but somehow, today, I felt the desire to be close to him. I checked out of my hotel and took the next flight home. Coming home after ages felt relaxing. My father and I did talk to each other, but we had our distance. However, this time it didn’t bother me. I was just happy to be home.

I was sitting on the swing in our verandah. There were a lot of things going on in my mind. At the cross roads of life, I had landed in the middle of nowhere wandering in oblivion without a city center. I couldn’t go back to the stage. I just didn’t feel like performing again. Since the time my professional life had sky rocketed, my personal life had suffered. Yes, the stage gave me a lot of things that I never imagined, but it also took away things that I never wished. 

However, over time, travelling, performing and experiencing life first hand I had accumulated a lot of content. Content that I desperately wanted to share with the world. Content that will not create more Ishaans, like me, in this world. And along with content, I had one more thing – audience, my audience that I had earned all this while. And if stage was not the place, then what? I thought a lot about it, and then, at an unexpected moment, it dawned upon me… Podcast! A podcast that would guide people in whatever stage of life they are towards their city center, a podcast to address mental health, therapy, philosophy… a podcast by the name City Center! It was a eureka moment, and the smile that had vanished for months found its way back on to my face.

My father came back from the farm holding a bundle of harvest in that instance. I noticed my father had grown old now; his greyed hair, wrinkles, stoop, and even the coldness in his attitude had now mellowed down. It felt like I had done the right thing coming back home and seeing him. After all, at some point in life, you must park your hatred aside and reunite with your roots. My father was happy too since the day I arrived. He didn’t say it out loud, but I could sense his excitement in everything he did. I had now accepted his style of expressing love. Meera was right… just because he didn’t express love the way I felt loved; did not mean he didn’t love me at all. As he went inside the house, I stood up from my place and followed him to the kitchen. He was standing in the corner pouring water in a bowl. I slowly walked towards him, paused for a second, and hugged him from behind. In that one moment, every hatred, grudge, and anger within me collapsed and I felt reunited with him. Finally, I released him from my arms and began to leave. As I was walking away, he called me, “Suno…” he paused for a second and then asked, “Chai piyoge?”

And in that moment… smiling to myself… nodding to him… I remembered… that… expressions of love… come in different forms… and… “chai piyoge?” … was one of them!