I went to watch stand up comic Kunal Kamra live for the first time yesterday, at a small underground venue in Bengaluru. Several of his ‘Standing Up’ shows in another Bengaluru locality had been cancelled after right-wing groups threatened to disrupt them, and the shows were moved to this venue. When we arrived, there were about nine policemen stationed outside. We had to hand over our IDs so that, in case anyone created a ruckus, the police would have the details of everyone inside. It felt strangely like walking into a potential danger zone just to watch a stand-up show. And yet, the police in this Congress-ruled state were not there to stop the comedian (for a change). They were there to protect him and us and our right to laugh. I had expected Kunal to be a little cocky. Perhaps a comedian who had been through as much as he has would develop a certain swagger, a sense of being above the rest of us. But that wasn’t what I saw at all. He was incredibly human. He spoke hilariously about a venue being broken down by Shiv Sainiks in Mumbai, about being repeatedly summoned and harassed after speaking about Maharashtra Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde, and about the extraordinary machinery that seems to swing into action when a comedian says something powerful people don’t like. But there was no false bravado in the way he told these stories. There was vulnerability. There was self-deprecation. There was storytelling and insight alongside the gags and one-liners. There was no bitterness in him. No vindictiveness. He is a man who simply believes that he has a right to speak, and that nobody has the right to take that away from him. Kunal did not allow any video recording of the performance. There is still a very real fear that a stray clip can be taken out of context, go viral and invite an endless cycle of outrage, threats and lawsuits. Unlike comedians with enormous commercial ecosystems (he mentioned Samay Raina) around them, Kunal doesn’t have the luxury of a battery of lawyers at his beck n call. Also, a recording doesn’t just expose the comedian. It can expose everyone who laughed in that room to a completely different kind of backlash. Later, backstage, I met Kunal and the wonderful Shyam Rangeela, who did an absolutely hilarious act as Prime Minister Modi. There was also an interview between Kunal and Shyam’s Modi that I won’t reveal here. You really should watch the show to see it. All I will say is that it felt strangely satisfying to see ‘Modiji’ finally answer questions from the public. I also told Kunal something that had struck me during the evening. Before 2014, we were used to laughing at our political leaders. Manmohan Singh was mocked. Rajiv Gandhi was mocked. V. P. Singh was mocked. Lalu Prasad Yadav was mocked. Television satire regularly lampooned our politicians. We had caricatures, spoofs, political cartoons and comedy shows that treated even the most powerful people in the country as fair game. Nobody seemed to think that laughing at a Prime Minister or Chief Minister was an act of treason. Somewhere between 2014 and 2026, we seem to have developed a fear of even laughing at power. And yesterday, in that tiny Bangalore room, I realised how much we have missed it. Because for 100 minutes, 100 people laughed freely. And perhaps that is why protecting comedians like @kunalkamra88 and @ShyamRangeela matters. They remind us that powerful people are not beyond laughter, and that we, the public, actually hold the power.