Bollywood Throwback to the 90's

So I just watched Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahi. Mainly because it was the first name that popped into my head as I was looking for something to play in the background as I cooked. The aroma of simple home fare of daal and subzi, a balmy afternoon and the movie in the background - just about recreates snapshots from my kitchen in Patna. Except that its me cooking. 

Or is that all that's really different? Can we play spot the difference?

There's something to be said about how drastically sensibilities change over two decades. Back in the 90's, Bollywood was still way younger than it is today. This movie belongs to the puppy love and overt drama genre that was quintessential 90's Bollywood. At one time, there was a lot of talk about the success formula in Indian cinema - boy meets girl, there are complications that are resolved, and they live happily ever after. But Bollywood was growing up as I grew up too. Back in the 90's when I saw Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahi, and other movies of the same genre, I imbibed a philosophy - that which Bollywood calls 'love'. It is, they say, an all-consuming, omnipotent power that unites two souls for ever. Kids like me who were kids back then listened and learnt. And dreamt about growing up and falling in the same kind of love. When I saw the movie back then, I believed that singing songs with that special someone was the ultimate romantic gesture. And, along with a million other Indian girls, I was convinced that it is the coolest adventure possible to run away from home, meet a stranger on a bus, and fall in love. Ah there we are back to it, to love!

So what changed? For starters, the movie got me thinking about the Bollywood idea of love. Having been conditioned to that definition of 'love' since time immemorial, I am not even sure what that word means anymore. Sure, I am engaged to a guy I love, but when I think about it, it is not what Bollywood professed. Its more like the comfort of knowing that you have your best friend close by. So what is this love Bollywood talks about then, and who experiences it? Right at this point, I had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. It reminded me of something, and I spent the next five minutes laughing as I realized that what Bollywood calls love is exactly what Stephenie Meyer calls 'imprinting' in her absolutely unputdownable masterpiece. Once that funny bone was tickled, taking something like 'singing songs with that special someone' seriously was right out of the question.

What did sober me up was the thought that even now, Bollywood still dictates to a large extent what is cool in our society. Lets dissect that last interpretation of the movie then. I no longer think it is cool to run away from home. That could be either because societal sensibilities as a whole mellowed over time, or just the fact that I am now two decades wiser. Its a worrisome thought that it might be the latter, because where there is influence, and where there is the hot blood of youth, there is risk of emulation. And it gets worse when we start talking about meeting strangers on buses, not to mention sexist undertones in some dialogues that escape most everyone, except subconsciously.

Raghu who doesn't know Pooja serenades her from the seat next to hers in the bus: Haath fisal jaye toh hume na uthaiyo...

With all honesty, if this were to happen in real life, its creepy at best and downright terrifying at worst for the woman being sung to. Really Bollywood? Being now closer to being a parent than a child, I am increasingly starting to appreciate the effects of influence and worry at my aptitude at handling it.

Oh well, clearly I feel more and more grown up with every throwback. And surprisingly, all of them seem to be about Bollywood. Apparently I am more connected to it than I thought I was. And in case you were wondering - I did enjoy the movie. Unrealistic as it may have been to my changed sensibilities, there are few things better than escaping to a nostalgia laden make-believe world on a Sunday afternoon. 

Week 1 - Loving Shahrukh Khan

I am the kind of person that believes coincidences are destined to be. I am also the kind of person that believes in epiphany more than trying to look for a pattern in coincidences. It probably comes from being too lazy. Be that as it may, my philosophy is that if I am supposed to know it, the moment of epiphany will come some day. Its an easy philosophy to have. 

So what exactly am I doing with motifs? I am just trying to put together my patchwork quilt for 2012. In hopes of finding a clue to what the stars have chalked down for me? Not really. I think I'm only doing it for an excuse to write. Maybe that is my pattern. But something tells me 2012 is going to be one of the most interesting years yet. Not that a lot of years have not been, but here we are, a week old into the year, and I have actually managed to overcome inertia and  write myself a blog post, which makes me wonder. 

I begin with my motif for week one, laid out horizontal at the bottom right corner of where my quilt would be. When I think about this past week, I think Shahrukh Khan. I usually wouldn't, he doesn't figure in my scheme of things that much. Another reason to wonder about 2012. I am a far far cry from being a Bollywood buff, but apart from an uneventful plane ride, I spent my New Year's day watching Don 2 in the theatre (Flak is accepted, though not so welcome, for obvious reasons :) ). Yes, that is already more Shahrukh Khan in my life than there has been in the past few years - I think real life gets more interesting than the reel with time, and thats the day you outgrow Bollywood. But then, if you are a girl and you grew up in India in the 90's, more often than not, you grew up falling in love with the man on the horse who swept the girl off her feet in Baazigar. That, coupled with the appeal of watching a Hindi movie in not-so-easy-to-find-Indians-here Atlantic Canada was good enough reason, and so there we were. It did not matter that the theatre had about 20 people, what was surprising was that there were two of us, and we were the only Indians. What was even more surprising was that people knew Shahrukh Khan like you and I know Him (depends on who you are, on second thought!), from what we gathered from conversation titbits from here and there before the movie started. And that they had seen Ra.One before this! (More flak?) . After that, there isn't really much to tell, you've been there, or not. There was just this one moment of awkwardness where Shahrukh Khan tautologizes Indians: We are everywhere. I am sure some people in the 'crowd' pointed at us and laughed. Score: 1.

When I got home from the movie, the first thing I did was take my laptop back from my friend's apartment where I had left it for the week I was away. (I really have a hard time thinking of what we did with our time when the world was without laptops.) So I switch it on, and surprise surprise, Shahrukh Khan is my first wallpaper of the year. Well, if you want to blame someone, it would be me. I am really not sure why, and for how long its been there, but turns out there was a picture of Him sitting on my desktop. My friends saw their chance and took it. I am just glad they did nothing else. Let's not get into hack stories here, our man of the moment might take offence. He is a scorpion and loves being centre of attention (You start to see what I mean by knowing Shahrukh Khan). Score: 2

Not surprisingly, I brought Him up with my ladies on our Whatsapp fest. And we talked about how he looks older now. And also about how he gets better with age. Watch him in Tujhe dekha toh yeh jana and Dard-e-disco to know exactly what I am talking about. I think it comes from the presence he possesses, the sharp wit and that confidence, they can only about get better with age, won't you agree? The chocolate boy has yielded to a ruggedly handsome man, and we have grown up with him for these twenty years I know about. Shahrukh Khan, Score: 3.

Does that make me feel grown-up? Does that make me feel old? I feel a little divided on that one. I am still in love with Shahrukh Khan, but only for old times' sake really, if I think about it. He's one of those souvenirs you keep holding on to, and maybe one day you don't have enough room for new ones. Realizing that is probably what makes you sensible, but when you start acting on it, thats when you grow up. So is it time to grow up yet? I'll rephrase that, I don't know if I want to act grown up just yet. I think I'll let that be status quo for now. Here's what mom had to say in one of our talks.

Me: I have pretty much outgrown the rebel of my teenage years, but sometimes you just feel like throwing a tantrum, and so I do it.

Mom: Yeah I know exactly what you mean. I feel that way too lots of times, but then this voice in my head goes - Umm, you really want to say that out loud? Isn't that way too childish?

I think she is pretty grown up, so I will take her word for it. And while I wait for those voices in my head to get louder, I think I am going to keep loving Shahrukh Khan.

crystal ball

Its hard to say whether I'm excited, scared, sad or apprehensive. I want a crystal ball so I know what lies in the times to come. But I don't want to spoil the surprise. Decisions, decisions!

Jogapur

Back to old roots. Upheld by sturdy pillars. And by the sacrifices of some, to whom I will be eternally grateful. There must have been people who would have opened the same drawers I did in the last hundred years, and their touch remains. The anticipation of looking into every room of the humongous number of them - each leading to the other - for a treasure trove.There must have been kids who would have tried out the khadau, like I did; maybe with the elation of putting on grown up footwear. But the awe that was there, it was the same. The huge ornate mirrors that could tell the story of the vanity and the artfulness and the beauty and the diffidence of a century worth of lives that somehow are all connected with me. The ancient portico that bore imprints of harsh British rulings, and where my Achchi nani must haved ruled as Lady of the House when they were gone. The relics, the carvings, the feel of the life lived in this place makes me wonder why anyone would not want to be a historian. The sprawling aangan, the sprawling lawns, the sprawling fields and the sprawling house; they draw me there. Maybe its the ghosts of my forefathers calling me, maybe its the appeal in the antiquity of the house, maybe its the seclusion. All I know is that someday, I will be back.

Leela

She tottered barefoot across the courtyard with uncertain steps, glancing up impatiently every now and then at the lone star shining through the morning mist. Dewdrops clouded her glasses, barring even the vestiges of what used to be her vision. With a flash of annoyance, she grabbed them off her face and tossed them onto the stone floor. A little clunk was all she heard as the absolute stillness of the sepulcher was devoured by the rooster’s cry. Her heart lifted. As if in answer, her feet responded. They spelled out a beat. Momentary. Then the rooster’s second cry. On cue. She glanced up to her left. Right at the corner of the high walled courtyard of her ancient house, she could see the first rays of the sun peeking through. Dawn had broken. Routine. Timed. She heaved a sigh. An echo. It came from the bricks of her home, the mortar that held them together, the history that had been lived there - in answer to a sigh they had been witness to since so many days that they had lost count.

She moved towards her mother’s portrait, her fountain of strength she drank from every morning. A blur. She cursed her glasses.

She heard it then, the milkman’s whistle. It was a signal from him, the milkman – she liked to call him Shyam in her mind. All was well with the world. The wrinkles on that drooping face lit up in a smile. So did her courtyard, she thought with awe. Perhaps it was her heightened sense of clarity that day, or one of those coincidental realizations of the divine present in our mundane mortal lives.

As she pottered around with her little chores, her lips moved soundlessly. In perfect rhythm. But she had no words. She didn’t worry. The words would come. And they did. It was the song urchins sang as they played hopscotch under the great banyan that grew right outside her home. It was tradition, the kids had changed, the song hadn’t.

The sparrows came then, her everyday visitors. She brought out a handful of grains to feed them. She heard the yells of Ramesh and Lakshmi, her neighbors for as far as she could remember, as they quarreled to a practiced tiff. She smiled in reminiscence. She counted to five. The thud. Count to seven. Another thud. She had been detached from the physicality of it long ago. And she really liked their kids Luv and Kush. They called her Eeya. She would knit them new sweaters, she thought, smiling in anticipation. She got up and looked around. The sparrows wouldn’t leave her alone today, she thought, surprised. They had outstayed their normal schedule. Well, I wouldn’t bother, she thought crossly, they just think I am an old woman with nothing better to do.

Indignant, and energized by the rush of it, she walked quickly across the yard to the storeroom, her treasure trove of family heirlooms, keepsakes from times gone by and the wisps of memory she had forgotten existed. It had not been opened for ten years, she thought in amazement. Ever since Gayatri had left home. Her helper Gayatri. But she wouldn’t think of that, she decided. Bygones were bygones. She unlocked the storeroom and walked in. Right in front of her stood the green box her Nani had given her, dusty, yet retaining that inner sheen that she’d always associated with her Nani’s face. She brought it out.

With a smile on her face, she sat down cross-legged in the center of the courtyard and opened her box. The little trinket glistened in the sunlight. She had been given it when she was born. Her thoughts wandered. To another era, or so it seemed. Of experiences. And to the mere shadow of life she was living now.

Just then she heard the ruckus from above. Routine was back. She could have danced at the thought. Jayanti, who was carrying her baby, and her mother Saraswati. Arguing. She decided she would give the trinket to Jayanti at the birth of her child. She was enjoying herself now. She spoke out the words as they were being played upstairs next door. You don’t take care of me at all, I’m going to have a baby. Beta, calm down. No I won’t, it’s just not fair. Beta listen, I’m trying to tell you something. I’m not listening to anything, I have been…

The words caught in her throat. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. She felt choked. She glanced up, squinting her eyes at the noon sun. She looked back down. Her sparrows were still there. In that moment of epiphany, she understood. The sounds were fading out. With great affection, she looked around one last time…

school hymn

There've been times when i've turned from His presence
And i've walked other paths, other ways

:D

Its official. I had lost it. And now I have it back. Here's to Pilani in all its arbit madness which somehow makes perfect sense and to better things to come.