I took a long metro ride a couple of days ago. To places whose names I had never known. On the return trip, I even got lost because I got into the train headed in the wrong direction. I know nothing about Bangalore because I mostly am just going from home to work and back on my dear scooty. But, it was fun, the trip. I love riding the metro, but alas, have done it very rarely, and that too from home to Church Street, at best. I don’t have reason to ride the metro because my work place is still to be connected. And by the time it does get connected (it was supposed to be by this year end), who knows where I will be. Not betting on anything right now.
It was lovely just being out and about the city and experiencing metro life and the sheer diversity of people you get to see. I tried out new things, such as booking metro tickets on WhatsApp by scanning a QR code and receiving a QR ticket. This is more thrilling than you might believe because I have not had a functional phone since two years and went through periods where I had no phone at all. I only bought a new one after all efforts to revive the one I was using failed. I planned to buy a phone when I felt some things had fallen into place. You see, I wanted a high end phone to take pictures and videos and edit them and also as a social status reward for completing some things, but alas, that was not to be. I was forced into a purchase and I chose a phone for 15K. The best part is that I do not even feel short changed by it. It does everything I need so I wondered what all the fuss is about these very expensive phones that people buy on EMIs. So, getting a QR ticket was cool because the phone that I was using did not support QR/UPI facilties and I am so very pleased at returning back to these conveniences.
So, the long metro ride, was ocassioned by the very few places still screening Tiger 3. I tried, but could not make it to first day, first show. By the time, I had wrapped up major deadlines this week, there were only a handful of screens still showing the film. And of those, only two had day shows, the rest were all night shows, which is not something I can do solo. Both places were very far from home, but yippppeeeee, one was plum opposite the metro station, which made it so very convenient to get to. So, off I went.
I was in the throes of a very bad crush on Salman. All over again. If I were to trace the trigger this time, I think it was because of the December 3 assembly election result. I went through a bad time with the results. The darkness, fear, anxiety was all too real. In a moment of panicked purchase, I bought a book seeking to understand from those wiser than me if there was any hope at all. But, I could not devote the headspace to reading it since I was chasing a deadline. The preface did give me hope though. It spoke about the Constitution, which as yet, stands unaltered. Then it observed: Space exists. It must be used. Quite, I thought. I will return to Aakar Patels’ Our Hindu Rashtra: How We Got Here, in due course, but at that time, I had barely 12 days to go to a deadline and my retreat into spaces of easy comfort was a given.
Bollywood, in its present form, has little to offer other than star kids posturing on Instagram and posting about their temple visits. It is a dull, never ending, pantomine, set to bad music with Instagram visibility mattering more than actual good film content. Everything is a labored, contrived, incestous, regurgitation of patriarchal, violent, assertions of being. This includes Koffee with Karan’s stale boreness this season and SRK’s comeback films, which did well, purely as a reaction to SRK’s victimization at the hands of a vindictive regime. While I reveled in their success and the fact that Bollywood was back with a vengeance, the films themselves did very little to spark joy. In fact, even OTT content is the same old crime and violence.
There is very little from them that stays with you, that makes you want to look them up, that is going to make it to annals of pop culture recall. They celebrate violence, killing, and Jawan in particular was gruesome in the tradition of south indian crime films. Therefore, I do not quite understand the bad rap Ranbir is receiving other than Animal glorifies and endorses misgoynistic violoence. So, the violence from the point of view of a respectable hero who honors women is okay? This whole respecting women discourse itself is so performative with the SRK fandom being so very condescending at all times. They forget what Gauri may have endured during those SRK-PC days? I don’t know. I will maybe articulate when I watch Animal this week cos I am so very curious and since I already know all the bad parts, I am hoping that it will not affect me as much. Plus, the social media frenzy around Bobby Deol’s entry song and Tripti Dimri is whetting my appetite.
The lack of good songs, stories, characters and lines that stay with you, and the lack of nostalgic sheen to gloss over the minuses, means a retreat into spaces that have long held and been held by you. Added to that is the mindless ease of scrolling through reel after reel on Instagram asking for little by way of engagment. My Instagram algorithm feeds me mostly Salman, SRK, and cat and dog videos. And so, I retreated into its mind numbing embrace for breaks as I lay flat on the couch furiously working days and night. My record for this deadline was working for a flat 31 hours with no sleep.
And so, I watched reel after reel of Salman Khan. Those from Salman’s soft boy era; those of him from the 90’s; those that call him peak male beauty; those that just show his ‘entry’ at various events, those that edit him as the sad, wronged, lover; those from his early days on Big Boss, when he was just so charismatic and fun. Now his eyes are sad, the bags underneath them seemingly touching the hanging jowls of his cheeks. His ageing parents’ declining health must weigh heavily on his mind, his own lack of personal happiness that contrary to all his posturing on marriage, is just a clever ploy to not admit that he does not feel justified in deserving happiness and making others a part of his sins by starting a family.
Salman has the saddest, most tired eyes of all. In his and SRK’s ageing, I see my own tiredness with the circumstances in which I work and live. He is very aware of the time that has ticked by and has spoken about how his fans are now grandmothers themselves and that he has little truck with the younger generation other than the the ageing older millenials. Even his own niece is so distant and wary of him. But, still, how the cameras swing towards him. How they love him. How ridiculous he looks, at times, with that swagger that he feels is one of power, but how the cameras cannot stop rolling and loving him. Allow us and our idols this final stretch of holding on to the memories of our youthful ways of being before we fade into oblivion.
And so I scroll through Instagram to escape, ably supported by sharing and discussions with sister and mother on WhatsApp. They have no option, but to listen to my theories and fandom raves and rants and chime in with responses when they are not fed up.
All of it helped me work through reams and reams of badly written arguments and text that I have to be empathetic towards because it was a young student’s first time attempt at publishing. It was exhausting and triggering to have to work at taming and bringing it under some semblance of coherent readability. Research supervision is not for me even with highly committed and motivated students if their written skills are sub par. I know they are learning and I have to be patient and graceful, but I fail badly at this. At least, I was not scolding the student this time because I know they were doing their best. My only release was venting to myself and family about it all.
As the deadline neared, I found myself musing on beauty. No falling into the Salman Khan rabbithole is complete without having to confront the blood on his hands. As I watched him lie through his teeth on an Aap ki Adalat episode about his driver losing control of the vehicle, I thought how dangerous beauty can be. It took me back to the classes that I did on beauty a couple of years ago where we were introduced to Plato, Aristotle, Kant, Hegel etc hold forth on beauty.
Plato, in particular, was deeply suspicious of beauty arising from his critiques of Greek tragedy. He wanted to hold beauty at a distance because the brighter the radiance, the more it overwhelms us. It can take control of our sensiblities in ways that diminish other worthy ideas that do not have its radiance. Such as truth and justice. In my Salman fandom, throughout life, I have cycled through long periods of loathing and disappointment at both his off screen exploits as well his film choices, but they are transient. It is the infatuation, the happiness at seeing him light up the screen that endures. The place to which I keep returning.
By the time, I took my seat for Tiger 3, I was dizzy with the high of having wrapped up deadlines, spiked with the infatuation of a long standing fandom, awareness of my own advancing age, mirrored in my hero’s declining physicality, the fact that what brought me across town was a quest to continue an old, old, relationship with stardom and fandom as a way of meeting with all my younger selves, the escapism I was seeking from the world I grew up in, collapsing around me. As Salman strode on screen with his face obscured, my release was in hooting and clapping. Bhai ki do baar entry hoti hai. First, is his person Then is his mooh dikhayi. So, so, good.
Then the rest of the movie is a blur. Things were enlivened when SRK came on screen. Such chemistry! Just like I watch those seven minutes of Pathaan over and over again for Bhai ki entry and scenes as the only memorable part of Pathaan, I cannot wait for Tiger 3 to release on OTT to be able to rewatch Salman-SRK again. They do not need anyone else, but I suspect this may only work when it is brief. How this is going to translate into a full length film remains to be seen. Unlike Salman’s entry in Pathaan that liften the sagging film, SRK’s entry in Tiger 3, while immediately spicing things, does not have the same effect.
The impact of Salman on Pathaan is far greater than SRK’s in Tiger. I walked out of Pathaan delirious with joy at Salman’s presence and thought it very surprising that SRK allowed Salman to be staged in such a manner in his comeback film. He even allowed Salman to have the last word in Pathaan. SRK was taking no chances in ensuring a hit film. The film closes with a massive Thank you Salman Khan written across the screen as the Pathaan BGM begins to play. And I could not help think how much of a Salman Khan film, Pathaan turned out to be. The same courtesy is missing for SRK in Tiger 3 as it ends with a Thank you Pathaan and not a Thank you SRK. The less said about the Hrithik cameo the better. Could not understand head or tail of it. So, yes, I am a bit wary of how all of this will translate, beyond cameos, into full length movie experiences. Especially because it needs a light touch to work and I really doubt that any director is going to be able to pull it off. For instance, maybe, SRK should not condescend about his intelligence contrasting with Salman’s brawns as he did in Tiger 3? That was one turn off.
I miss the romance, mostly. Because that is what stays with you long after the movie ends. That is what you seek in re-runs. That is going to be Salman and SRK’s legacy long after we all are gone, not their turns as action heroes. Deepika tries in Pathaan, but the chemistry is just not there. She gets cast because she has the physicality to execute an action film, but there is no chemistry, the script does not permit memorable romance. Katrina was fine in Ek Tha Tiger, but she has always been a very thanda presence on screen and while she has been forced into being the credible foil to Salman, the bleak coldness is even more pronounced in Tiger 3.
What a waste. Given Salman’s terrible film choices and his ego tussles with Kabir Khan and Sanjay Leela Bhansali, Tiger 3, was the only film where one could expect some on screen classiness from him, but alas, that was not meant to be. Maneesh Sharma needs to focus on making films like Band Baaja Baraat and Kabir Khan needs to take control of Tiger once again. All one is left with celebrating is the homoerotic chemsitry of Salman-SRK together. They are so gay for each other and suit each other to the T. This part of their career is going to run on their chemistry. The audience connect is tremendous for those of us who grew up watching them fight and make up endlessly. Both given to casual violence, but both salvaged mainly because of Salman’s willingness to accommodate and make space for SRK, as he always has, right from the time SRK arrived in Bombay. And now, it is paying off in spades.
One can only hope that Aamir will bounce back because as a 90’s kid who grew up in the reign of the three Khans, I want this part of my India at least, to continue for as long as possible, but it is going to be difficult because he does not have the fan base these two have.
I continued thinking of the burdens of beauty. In particular, I found myself thinking about this couple I knew in college. Were it not for the Express Youth Forum’s inter-college festival Verve, they would have never come on my radar, but my college was sending a team for the singing contest and my close friend was a singer. We needed to put together a team and there came B with his orchestra. I had never heard of him and I suspect that he was only ‘technically’ a student. Rumor had it that he was way over age and just had a backlog of sorts. Rumor also had it that he was a disreputable don of sorts who had all sorts of connections. And rumor had it that he had defied all kinds of odds and eloped with N, his beautiful wife, who also I was seeing hearing of for the first time.
B was a Bengali and M was a Marathi. B was tall, dark, and dangerous to be around since he was prone to sarcasm and quick wit. M was a fair, curly wavy haired girl, who was confident of her place in the word in the way that only those who are very loved and secure are. She seemed aware of all rumors and reveled that it lent her an aura of mystery and wonder, besides allowing her protection from riff raff, who were likely afraid of B. The little we could get close to B and M was only because of our singer friend who was also a Bengali herself and it was all quite thrilling.
The truth in all likelihood was that B was just an older person who was street smart because he was making a living from running a business as fickle as an orchestra who had to grow up quickly because of the young marriage and had little patience for us undergrad students. So, we were all equally awed by M, who was an undegrad like us, but had eloped with this much older man and was quite worldly wise, unlike us.
I found myself thinking about them this week, wondering how they had fared all these years. Did their marriage last or did it collapse with the weight of M’s beauty and what she thought she deserved in life? Do college romances last? Especially if it came with the weight of parental disapproval, marriage at a very young age, and financial precarity? After all, how much can an orchestra, and a not very successful one, sustain in life? I don’t quite remember how B sounded when he sung. To our ears, it was all quite awesome and I think our team did fairly well in the finals although I am unsure if we won. My friend had a superlative voice and one of the songs she had picked was Dil hoom hoom kare. That is all I recall.
Beyond B’s first name and that he was a Bengali, I had very few leads for a Google search, but voila, I could track down the orchestra and found everything I sought to know. I am happy to report, that the orchestra, a not very good one at that, seems to be thriving. M and B are very much together and happily so, if social media pictures are any evidence. M seems to be ruling the fitness and beauty paegent scene in Pune and there are several foreign trips thrown in for good measure to indicate some kind of affluence. I now follow M on Instagram and like her pictures.
Happy to see.
Heer toh badi sad hai 