Today’s ‘uncles’ and ‘aunties’ are stereotypes
A FEW days ago, I was approached by the son of one of my old colleagues from the university where I worked.
He asked whether I would be willing to help him with his development as an artist. Of course I agreed and, in the flow of the conversation, he asked me how he should address me.
I told him that he could call me by my first name. He seemed reluctant to do so and I said he could address me as “uncle”. I suppose he would have been more comfortable addressing me as “Prof ” or “Ntate”, but “uncle” was happily accepted.
I got to ruminate about the whole notion of the word “uncle” and realised that the term has been corrupted and vulgarised over time. Now we are happy to refer to any old man as “that uncle” and any older woman as “that auntie”.
Older readers may remember Aunt Nirmala and the stories she presented on radio way back then. She epitomised the respect that we invested in the term “auntie”.
Somewhere in the evolution of the community the term “auntie” has slipped from the dignity and respect that characterised Aunt Nirmala.
Today, aunties are a dime a dozen and less invested with dignity and respect. And, if you haven’t noticed, there has been a proliferation of funny aunties.
What is it about all these Indian comedians with their accentuated “Indian” accents? They are everywhere and deliver commentary on a range of mundane issues.
I’ve often wondered why they are so popular and I’ve come up with two perspectives. The first notion is that the accent itself communicates a sense of comfortable familiarity. It’s like we all know someone who speaks with that accent but, for these people, it is not an accent at all. It is the way they speak and they don’t speak that way in order to be funny.
So why do these comedians choose this accent as a vehicle for their comedy? What would happen if the same content is delivered without that accent? Would we still find it funny?
My feeling is that it won’t be funny at all.
This brings me to my second perspective. I toyed with the notion that this “comedy” is derisive, self-deprecating and deeply rooted in a colonial mentality.
This is a phenomenon common to many communities and peoples who were colonised and forced to adopt norms and behaviours of the colonisers in order to appear “civilised” and then poked fun at those who didn’t change. In other words, these comedians are placing themselves in the position of the coloniser and looking down on themselves at the same time.
Of course comedians use accents all the time. Trevor Noah’s skit on how the South African Indians got their unique accent is funny on many different levels. He foregrounds the accent, but offers an intelligent perspective about colonialism. Furthermore, he switches accents to enter into a dialogue that carries the story.
Russell Peters also uses accents. His skit about women talking in Arabic dispels myths about the language and its speakers.
Both comedians use accents to draw the listener into a story that is funny and sad, and challenges conventional thinking.
If we think back to plays such as the Lahnee’s Pleasure or Working Class Hero, we may remember how the characters employed accents that were somewhat stereotypical and reflective of class and location.
Some groups of comedians performed shows that highlighted the political challenges of the day or provided social commentary that even poked fun at the “Indian” radio station under the banner “Radio Charo”. They interspersed their comedy with highly accomplished musical performances in the vernacular.
Our “auntie” comedians of today, however, rarely change their accents or characters. This character becomes the central social commentator.
But, we may ask, what is the subject of their comedy and how does this fit into the history of comedy within the community? Put differently, what do these comedians tell us about ourselves? Are they inadvertently promoting the notion that the stereotypical “Indian” is uneducated and unsophisticated?
Perhaps there is a deeper justification for this kind of comedy and, perhaps, it’s not fair to subject them to scrutiny in this way.
After all, it’s just fun. The other side of the argument is that these skits are published in the public space and they become part of popular culture and, as such, we can’t be uncritical consumers of self-derision.
Perhaps we should relook at the way we use the terms “uncle” and “auntie” and ask whether we should add “comedy auntie” to the other derogatory stereotypes, such as “temple auntie”, “market auntie” and “samoosa auntie”. Or perhaps we should address them as “auntie samoosa”?
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