Six months into my journalism career I reviewed a novel that dealt heavily with contemporary Icelandic politics. I began with a disclaimer saying that the subject was a new one for me and that any oversimplifications I make in the review should be filed under ‘newbie mistakes’. The cultural gap between the critic and the work of art under review was simply too large not to acknowledge. I think I should begin this review with a disclaimer on the other end of the spectrum: Madhur Virli’s 70-minute standup special The IIT Dream—available on YouTube—covers ground that’s quite close to the events of my life. Like Virli, I too am an IIT graduate. The 25-minute midsection of the show focuses on IIT-JEE coaching firms like FIITJEE and Vidyamandir; I attended FIITJEE classes for two years while finishing high school in Ranchi. It all hits very close to home.

With that out of the way, I found The IIT Dream to be mostly enjoyable, with the exception of a few jokes that come across as tone-deaf or incongruent with the rest of the show. From the beginning, Virli cuts his fellow IITians down to size with aplomb, tearing into the perpetual “flex mode” that they operate in. When he asks one of his batchmates what he was up to these days, pat comes the too-sombre answer: “Recommendation model pe kaam kar raha hoon” (Virli does this line with a well-executed, faux-pretentious voice).

That’s a pretty fancy-pants job description, but upon digging a little further, Virli realises it’s no more than auto-filling people’s search requests. “Blinkit pe aap ‘bread’ type karoge toh butter add kar dega!” This is evidence for the comedian’s case that, in practice, IITians today do precious little other than rote, mechanical work or “maal idhar-se-udhar karnaa” (as Virli calls it) for the likes of Amazon, Swiggy et cetera. All while posturing as bold and innovative thinkers.

This would have been a good ‘cheap’ laugh on its own, but what Virli does with this punchline-cum-setup is impressive. He says that when he bought cigarettes from his local paan-vendor, the man offered him chewing gum, too. Virli said, “Aap IITian ho kya, bhaiyaa? Yeh toh machine learning lag rahi hai mereko…”

I admit, I nearly snorted my coffee down the wrong pipe while watching this. This is a fantastic joke because of two reasons. One, it betrays the average IITian’s obsession with credentials (not least their own). The idea that an uneducated paanwala could be just as intelligent as them is disorienting, prompting the “aap IITian ho?” defensive query.

Two, this joke correctly diagnoses what I feel is a massive problem with the post-Twitter era: common-sense ideas and intuitive insights are constantly being repackaged as groundbreaking innovations, aided by buzzwords/catch-phrases like “machine learning”. Usually, this repackaging is done by frauds and charlatans (some of whom are, yes, IITians) acting to further nefarious corporate goals. The joke alludes to this process of ‘repackaging’ without being too obvious about it.

As the best in-person communicators know, it has always been about eye contact and voice inflexion, and Virli has that nailed on tight.

Virli has made his name on YouTube by creating dark, intelligent humour about personal tragedies. His father died when Virli was still quite young. He and his brother were raised by a single mother. The brother, who also went to IIT, is a cancer survivor. Virli’s most popular videos on YouTube include jokes about all of these delicate issues. Not all of them land well, in my opinion, but to be honest I found myself rooting for him nevertheless. The attempt itself is admirable, especially in the context of the Indian comedic landscape. It should be noted that even when I found these jokes to be a bit thin on substance or wit, they were never punching down.

In this special, Virli takes this penchant for tackling minefield topics to a whole new level. There’s an extended routine here based on a (now-debunked) story about IITs: namely, the idea that the college awards you full marks/grades for the semester if your roommate dies by suicide. This is based on an urban legend, but the routine somehow ends up being more relevant and ‘realistic’ than several essay-rants I have read on the topic of suicides at IIT. In Virli’s routine, two roommates happen to stumble upon this “rule”—and immediately proceed to play mind games with each other, hoping to push each other off a cliff, mental health-wise. It’s dark, unrelenting stuff that will not be to everybody’s liking. I found it to be very funny and Virli’s portrayal of both roommates (one straightforwardly diabolical, the other a wolf in sheep’s clothing) is spot on. The whole thing comes across as a tightly performed two-man play: Anthony Shaffer’s Sleuth for desi yuppies, if you will.

There were a couple of places where I disliked Virli’s choice of words or the substance of his jokes. One is where he’s talking about how his Mom had to “roleplay” as his Dad following the latter’s demise, “[…] So she started drinking and hitting herself!” Not my cup of tea, but I know this is a highly subjective assessment, to say the least. The other place where I winced was when during a spot of crowd work, a male audience member confessed that he didn’t know who his Dad was. Virli’s response to this real-life Mamma Mia situation was: “Aap Black community se ho kya?” I think this is a bad joke because it’s untethered from reality: the ‘absentee Dad’ stereotype about African-American men completely ignores the fact that they’re far, far more likely to be arrested and receive harsher prison sentences than white Americans.

These couple of quibbles aside, I had a good time with The IIT Dream. Virli has genuine wit and wisdom and he is a dab hand at controlling the audience, that too without coming across as a major-league dick. When he says “aap phir trap mein phans gaye” after another expertly-done misdirection, it’s hard to be mad at him because of the sheer earnestness on display. As the best in-person communicators know, it has always been about eye contact and voice inflexion, and Virli has that nailed on tight. With age on his side as well, one suspects he will grow even more rapidly in the years ahead.