"'Outrage and Success go Hand in Hand': Stand-up Comedian Daniel Fernandes on Trauma and Controversy" in SCROLL (24 February 2026)

 

Daniel Fernandes’ stand-up shows and YouTube videos have led the comedian to deal with a fair bit of controversy. Yet, it is his attention to contemporary events that brings nuance to his comedic observations about society and politics, public and online life, and even free speech. Last year, the stand-up comic was once again in the news when he was served a notice by two Supreme Court lawyers that requested he take down a clip from one of his shows where his routine included, among other things, observations about goings-on in Kashmir.

Fernandes stood his ground, explaining in a post on social media that in a time when there is a global “trend of stifling voices, … [l]aughter wields a certain kind of power … that might make certain groups of people uneasy…” Even so, he stressed that the intent of his comedy “is never to change [people’s] point of view … I just enjoy talking about stuff that makes us uncomfortable and maybe offer some perspective. I am not important - politicians and the citizens they serve are.” 

Caste, religion, and gender are all fair game in the comedian’s repertoire. Nevertheless, this is not material that Fernandes takes on simply to get a rise out of his audience, his approach to these subjects demonstrating humor laced with analysis, even careful research. But the wry, cerebral touch Fernandes brings to his comedic artistry is balanced with more than a bit of ribaldry and raunch, for sex, salaciousness, and sex-positivity all feature in his entertainment.

Fernandes’ crowd-work is equally skilled: attendees of his shows are playfully skewered without being mercilessly shamed. Notably, while he may send up his audiences, the performer also turns his gaze upon himself, particularly with regard to matters concerning mental health.

In this interview, Fernandes discusses his latest and upcoming shows with Scroll (his new multi-city domestic and international tour kicks off on 20 February). The comedian reflects on his process, choice of topics, and his relationship with his audiences. Additionally, he also talks about his brushes with controversy, how the internet has affected comedy, and what his fans may expect of him in the near future.

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RBF: So, what’s a good Goan Christian boy like you doing in a profession like this?

DF: If you want God-given talent, you have to go to Church 😊.

RBF: What do you have against self-identified “Motivational Influencers”?

DF: I find it very hard to take directions from people who haven’t travelled to my destination. A lot of these “motivational influencers” come from privileged backgrounds whose biggest trauma might be caused by their parents cancelling a European summer holiday. How could they ever relate to the struggle of the common man? You want to take life advice from that guy?

RBF: In your shows, you are open about being in therapy but also about issues of mental health more generally. These would have been taboo themes in the past. What has changed in this regard, socially, and what role do you see comedy playing in facilitating more open discussions about mental well-being?

DF: I am open with my struggles regarding mental health because I need a creative outlet to deal with my condition. It also helps that we as a society have finally woken up to how damaged we are because of generational trauma that has been handed down as inheritance. Add to that a highly capitalistic system that traps you in an endless cycle of exploitation (aka jobs) where burnout is masked as hustle and worn with a badge of honor. As a result, we as artists have a ready audience of anxious, depressed and broken people who need an outlet for everything they’re dealing with. Nobody is okay. And that’s okay.

RBF: This year began with many adopting the 2016 challenge on social media. What would 2026 Daniel Fernandes say to his earlier self?

DF: 2016 Daniel is very pleased. 2026 Daniel says, “We’re just getting started.”

RBF: You have been very vocal in your support of Palestinians, bringing humor to your observations about their displacement, their political struggle, and the violence they experience. Often, the use of humor can aid the avoidance of heavy subjects, yet you have been able to do the opposite. How do you find your audiences reacting to this approach?

DF: Comedy is about frequency. I feel my audience and I are on similar wavelengths which is why we are able to get into a room together and laugh at things that would make most people uncomfortable. I believe as an artist you must find your voice before you find your audience. I am thankful that I have a growing tribe of people who enjoy my work while I attempt the former.

RBF: The internet has expanded the reach of comedians, yet it also means that a controversial joke – especially if it has to do with religion or politics – may be amplified, misinterpreted, or weaponized. You are no stranger to such occurrences and, rather than sweep them under the rug, in your shows, you have been known to remind your audiences of such episodes! Are you a glutton for punishment?

DF: Outrage and success go hand in hand in Indian comedy. Given what I talk about on stage, if I didn’t piss a few people off, I’d be very disappointed with myself. An important distinction to note here is that I do not set out to offend anyone. I just like talking about the world we live in and not everybody enjoys their biases being challenged. Add fiber optic internet and unprocessed trauma to the equation, and you have a very volatile online audience. It’s an occupational hazard I don’t give much thought to.

RBF: Crowd-work or observational comedy. Do you have a preference?

DF: Both require skills that often complement each other so it’s hard to have a preference. I enjoy how written jokes land just as much as the ones I come up with in the moment. Crowd-work done right feels like magic because the comedian is dropping punchlines out of thin air with little to no prep. At the same time a very astute observation that’s crafted into an excellent joke leaves the audience thinking, “How did I not see this? It was right there!” To get nearly as good as the room demands for both these styles, you have to be a good joke writer first, and that takes a while.

RBF: Death, family, inter-generational trauma and conflict, the pandemic and collective trauma, and your relationship with your late father are some of the fun topics that come up in Do You Know Who I Am? What would you like your audience to take away from this show?

DF: Do You Know Who I Am? (the show I’m currently touring) is an exercise in processing loss. I relive everything I went through during my father’s passing every time I perform these jokes. I also know that my audience is grieving – the loss of a loved one, a friendship, a career, or the box of stash they can’t seem to find, and I guess if I can show them the funny side of the pain they’re in, maybe it won’t hurt that much. It worked for me.

RBF: Your latest tour begins in India and then expands abroad with several dates in Europe. Are you going to any new cities this time around? Is there a location you’re looking forward to visiting? How do you prepare for new places?

DF: The European leg of my tour includes first performances in cities like Luxembourg, Gent, Eindhoven, Rotterdam, Brussels, Berlin, Lisbon, Riga, Helsinki and Tallin while also returning to favorites Amsterdam and Utrecht. I’m looking forward to having my endurance tested.

Preparation in terms of performance is minimal. I write material that translates easily across borders. The European audience is going to watch the same show I’m touring in India, as is. The only real prep needed here is me packing the right amount of winter clothing.

RBF: A lot of your set has to do with topical situations. Do you still work in political goings on in India into your international performances?

DF: I talk about Indian politics only if it’s relevant to an international audience. My set has much more to offer otherwise.

RBF: From past experience, how have your European audiences differed from ones at home in their reaction to your comedy?

DF: At live shows, Indians are more energetic compared to Europeans. The laughs are bigger and the applause is thunderous. As a performer you have to calibrate your expectations accordingly while performing abroad. But what the Europeans lack in volume, they make up for in exchange rate. 

RBF: “How would you feel if someone made fun of you after you died?,” you ask in your YouTube special, Alive and Vaccinated (2023). Along those lines, how would you like to look back on what I hope will be a long-lived career and what might audiences expect from you in the years to come?

DF: My nervous system willing, I’d like to keep building a global audience and continue touring as much as I can. I’ll save some time for self-reflection only after I’m gone.

For now, I would like to expect audiences to watch me perform across India from 20 February to 21 March followed by dates in Europe from 2-24 April. You can find ticketing details on my Instagram account @absolutelydanny and here.

"Poems against the Paper State" at 1455's 4th Annual SUMMER FEST (14 July 2022)

 

"And So this is Christian" in THE BRAVE NEW WORLD OF GOAN WRITING & ART (2020)

Listen to an excerpt of "And So this is Christian" from The Brave New World of Goan Writing & Art, edited by Selma Carvalho and published by CinnamonTeal.

 

"One Cinema Town" in THE PEACOCK: The Prof (26 November 2019)

I ask about the fading film posters on the wall: one from Mardon Wali Baat (1988) and the other from Aag Hi Aag (1987), surprised to see these Bollywood artefacts so far away from their origins. Rania Elias, director of the Yabous Cultural Centre tells me during my visit in June 2019 that they are remnants from more than 25 years ago, Indian films being popular at the cinema then. The dates of the posters coincide with the closure of Al Quds Cinema, which only reopened at Yabous in 2012.

It is the only cinema in Occupied Palestine’s East Jerusalem.

I tried to imagine what it meant for a community not to have a cinema for 25 years, films being so integral to public culture, the material of everyday conversations, a medium that ignites the imagination.

 “Built in the 1950s, the popular East Jerusalem cinema once held up to 800 persons and screened commercial films from the region and around the world until the Israeli authorities closed it in 1987, at the start of the first Palestinian intifada,” The Electronic Intifada (20 February 2012) chronicles in an article about the relaunch of the institution.

Though for the intervening years between Al Quds’ closure and reopening there may have been no public space where films made by Palestinians could be viewed in community, cinema about and by Palestinians demonstrates a variety of forms and themes. 

At IFFI, this year, Elia Suleiman’s new comedy, It Must be Heaven, follows the journey of a man who leaves his native Palestine to seek opportunities elsewhere. Exile is a recurrent subject in Palestinian cinema, as is occupation. In Degradé (2015), twin brothers Tarzan and Arab Nasser direct a story about thirteen Palestinian women trapped in a beauty salon in Gaza. 

Like East Jerusalem, Gaza too was sans community cinema for decades, meaning that the Nasser brothers, who are from there, would have grown up without it. The Independent (27 August 2017) reports that Gaza City’s Samer Cinema closed in the 1960s. It wasn’t till 2017 that Gazans could watch a film in a cinema for the first time in the 21^st century. The first screening held there was the premier of Ten Years, a feature about Palestinians in Israeli prisons. 

Palestinian filmmakers exercise their art under trying circumstances. The Israel-born Palestinian director of Paradise Now (2005), Hany Abu-Assad, “was reportedly threatened by both sides in the conflict,” Roger Ebert writes in his review of the film about suicide bombers, curiously adding that “the film is dangerous because of its objectivity…”

Currently on the film festival circuit, Palestinian American director Alia Yunis’ documentary The Golden Harvest tracks the cultural legacy of olive oil. Though the documentary takes one through Italy, Greece, Spain, and Israel, its heart is in Palestine. In an interview with The National (7 April 2019), a news source from Abu Dhabi where Yunis resides, she muses, “My dad was born in Palestine and so was olive oil.” A tribute to her father’s memory, the film is also about olive trees as markers of Palestinian heritage, especially in contested lands. Yunis remarks, “The olive tree is exceptional … and ultimately, for the owners of the trees, proof of existence … But all plants connect us to the ground beneath us, and understanding that gives us roots to grow, too.”

A similar thought occurs to me about cinema, which is a site of representation and collective memory. Al Quds Cinema in East Jerusalem may be the only one, but it is more than just one of a kind.

From The Peacock.

Addendum: Rania Elias noted in an email to me that the original owners of Al Quds closed the cinema down out of concern "due to the political situation and the first uprising."

"Harbor of Discontent: Hong Kong and the Promise of Protest" in THE GOOD MEN PROJECT (3 October 2019)

 

In the many years I had come to the port city, I had never seen it like this. Hong Kong was in a state of siege. Arriving on August 5, the day of the General Strike, I was greeted by shuttered shops in Causeway Bay. It wasn’t even 5PM and this, one of the major metro shopping venues in a city known for its commercial appeal and late nights, wore a look of desolation. At 6PM, the waitress at the café I was at apologetically interrupted me to say that they’d be closing shortly to allow their employees to get home should trouble arise. There less for the coffee than the chance to check email and the news over the free Wi-Fi, I saw reports on several websites of companies and shops that had either not opened that day or, like the café, had sent their staff home early lest transportation be disrupted. As I walked back to my lodging, I saw clutches of black-clad young men and women by Times Square, all

with black masks on, some wearing hard hats, and others with black umbrellas unfurled as symbols of protest on the rainless day. I instinctively used my phone to take a picture. One of the youths walked the few steps to where I was standing and asked if I would please not take photos of the protestors’ faces, his voice slightly muffled by his mask. I showed him the picture I’d taken, umbrellas eclipsing everything but several pairs of legs in the waning light. 
 

I had never seen Hong Kong like this.

The impetus for the protests had been the introduction, earlier this year, of a bill by Carrie Lam, Hong Kong’s Chief Executive, that would extradite criminal suspects to be tried in China. In September, Lam gave in to one of the demands of the protestors, which was the withdrawal of the bill. But the damage had already been done, the protest movement having grown in strength in its demand for democratic reforms. In 2014, as well, demands for democracy had been made during the Umbrella Revolution, brollies again serving as symbols of protest, a method of self-defense, and as tools of anti-surveillance. The movement was short-lived; this time, the umbrellas are yet to be put away as the protestors continue to question the relationship between Hong Kong and China, a matter that was never fully resolved at the end of British colonialism in the region.  

Hong Kong was one of the first foreign cities I had traveled to on my own as an adult. I was 21 and journeying between California and my family in Goa on my first trip to see them after having immigrated to the United States. A personally significant trip, my transit stop in Hong Kong will always hold a special place in my memory for this coming of age journey. But it was part of a larger moment in history. It was 1995, and in just over a year Hong Kong was to transition between the United Kingdom, which had held it for 99 years, and China. The next time I was to travel to Hong Kong on a similar transit stop, I had the opportunity to visit Macau. It was 1999, the year that Portugal’s lease on the island would terminate, causing Macau to also become part of China. The handover would close out a half-millennium of Portuguese colonialism in Asia, a sweep that extended to my own homeland. Goa, of the Estado da Índia, was held by the Portuguese between 1510 and 1961. 

I hadn’t been the first person in my family to visit these last vestiges of European empires in Asian lands, but despite our limited travels between these regions and our own, the influence of the islands’ cultures had long been a part of my family’s life. On his own visit to Hong Kong and Macau a few years ahead of me, my father had taken photographs of blue and white porcelain which were reminiscent of the bits of crockery that still remain in my grandparents’ home as in other Goan households. The Lusophone world had connected various parts of Asia, such as Goa, Timor, and Macau, though some other intra-Asian connections even predated the arrival of the Portuguese in any of these places.  

 

On my first trips to Hong Kong and Macau, I was given the phone numbers of Goan friends of the family in either place. In the years to come, I would learn of iconic figures whose familial histories bore evidence of the cultural and sanguinal ties between these lands, among them the recently deceased China Machado. Born in 1929, Machado was one of the first models of color to achieve international fame, her lineage jointly Chinese, Goan, and Portuguese.

 

Given these connections, for me Hong Kong and Macau have always seemed akin to Goa in being lands whose cultures developed from various strands of political, social, and cultural movements and machinations. Small places with complexly interwoven strands of diverse cultures, these enclaves imbibed and transmuted the influences that arrived from afar, localizing and making them their own. This is not to suggest that all was well in these colonial outposts. Political resistance cropped up at many points in the histories of these lands. But it is precisely these nuances of local culture and history, confrontations included, that get lost in how the contemporary moment recounts the pasts of these territories, especially in the face of nationalism. 

Unlike Hong Kong and Macau, the end of European rule in Goa didn’t come about as the result of an agreement. A two-day war concluded on December 19, 1961, in which the Indian army marched into Goa and easily defeated the meagre Portuguese military forces there. While there had been various permutations of Goan political thought on the matter of colonialism, including pro-and anti-Portuguese and Indian factions, ultimately Goans were not given a choice in the matter of the governance of their own land. The Indian annexation of Goa curtailed its people’s self-emancipatory efforts and made of the formerly Portuguese Indian territory a colony of a postcolony. The irony is palpable given that it had only been in 1947 that India had ousted its own British colonizers through self-determination.

As the week of my visit this August wore on in Hong Kong, things remained tense even when there were no public moments of action in the streets. Between the leftover signs in train subways from previous protests and the groupings of activists during a mid-week strike, it became clear that the movement wasn’t without its divisions. Despite the singularity of purpose of the protests, which was to challenge China’s hold on the island, and the ubiquitous use of black apparel, masks, and umbrellas that were the uniform adopted by the protestors, there were such peculiarities as the presence of American flags. This symbolic equivalence between the United States and democracy gives one pause, especially in light of the current revelations surrounding President Trump’s phone call to the Ukraine. And then there have been attacks against protestors, demonstrating that not everyone on the island is necessarily of the same mind despite the steadfastness of the movement.

 

As I watched history unfold in Hong Kong, I had to wonder if I was being given a glimpse into what things might have been like when Goans worked out their own questions about colonialism in the first half of the twentieth century, even when there were groups at odds with one another. I was in awe of the sheer feat of organization the youth on Hong Kong’s streets had pulled off in amassing the presence of so many in different parts of the city. In their day, how had Goans spread word about secret meetings as well as public actions? Questions such as these are left generally unanswered in textbooks of history read by students in Goa today, the focus of the subject being the inculcation of a monolithic national heritage, and one with a right-wing bent. 

On August 12, which was to be my final day in the city, a massive protest was put into place, its execution an act of political genius. Protestors had taken over the airport to draw international attention to goings-on in Hong Kong. When I attempted to catch the express train out of Hong Kong Station, black-clad protestors urged me and other travelers to turn back, their concern genuine. As one of them explained to me, she didn’t want me to have any trouble at the airport. I was rather moved, thinking that this young woman could be no older than any one of my college students – the same age I was when I first came to this city. 

I had tried calling my carrier, but the lines were tied up. The airline’s website still showed that my

flight was scheduled to depart and, at any rate, I had used a service to check my bags in early hours ago. The short train ride to Hong Kong International Airport brought me face to face with an army of peaceful protestors who had escalated their efforts after a woman had lost an eye following a clash between the police and strikers. The day before, police had shot beanbags at protestors in Tsim Sha Tsui, and one of these had hit the young woman in the face, blinding her. To symbolize this, some protestors were wearing eyepatches, others carried signs that spoke of the event. Amidst the sea of protestors and hapless travelers, no representatives were to be found for any of the airlines, and it became amply certain that there were going to be no planes leaving Hong Kong that evening. 

I decamped from the airport and made my way to a friend’s place. It wouldn’t be till the next day before I heard from the airline about new travel arrangements and, once again, made my way back to the airport. Again, protestors were everywhere and I thought I might for a second day be unable to leave for Goa. As with the first trip I had made to Hong Kong, I was once more traveling between two former European colonies which, at different points in their histories, had shared the fate of their political destinies being charted by people not of their own lands. Amidst the chaos, I made it out of Hong Kong and learned upon touching down that the flights after mine had been grounded.

 Over the past three decades, I have now been in Hong Kong at three important junctures in its contemporary history: pre- and post-handover and, now, during what can only be called a new revolution. That the city’s youth are at the forefront of this moment is a fact that needs underscoring. There are parallels to be seen here with other instances of political action in history where young people have led the charge, including the Civil Rights era of the 1950s and 60s in the United States. But it isn’t just the past from which one may draw examples of youth leadership, what with the attention young leaders have been able to bring to that most pressing concern of our time: climate change. 

Even so, the youth-led revolution in Hong Kong is revelatory not only for what it has made known to the world about the desire for political change in that territory. As I have been musing, it also harkens back to Goa’s struggles with coloniality. If this moment in Hong Kong is an aperture through which to see the past, what Hong Kong also may lead us to see is that there are other places in the world where political action is ongoing but not as visible.

In July this year, I visited Hebron in Palestine and learned of the work of a non-violent group called Youth Against Settlements who have been struggling against the incursions of Israeli settlements in their hometown. Closer to Goa, on August 5 – the day I arrived in Hong Kong – India abrogated the special status of the disputed region of Kashmir, thereby removing any veneer of democracy the country might have heretofore displayed in its dealings with the region. As in Palestine, Kashmiri activists continue to rail against the violation of their rights, even as the international community looks the other way. Akin to these other parts of the world, what we see in Hong Kong are the issues that have lingered on from the colonial past and the rise of postcolonial nationalism. What we are also bearing witness to is a period of uncertainty for Hong Kong’s future. Between history and what is to come, Hong Kong harbors in this current moment a profound time of change. In this demonstration of the power of protest, Hong Kongers validate the ability of minorities to speak out in determining the destinies of their own land and, in so doing, remind us that similar struggles exist elsewhere.

To read the published version, visit The Good Men Project.