|Courtesy: Retrieved from http://pedia.desibantu.com/bollywood-1941-cinema-list/ under Creative Common License.|
I’ve not yet contributed to Hirani’s bank balance because of heat wave and resulting ennui, and the immensely addictive Sacred Games on Netflix. But I do want to catch the flick for Ranbir. I’m sort of neutral regarding Sanjay Dutt himself – I mean I won’t go and catch a movie just because he’s in it. For me Sanjay Dutt = two songs: Kya yahin pyaar hai from Rocky and Meri duniya hai from Vaastav. His biggest franchise – Munnabhai and the associated Jaadu ki Jhappi and Gandhigiri – barely make it to the top of my recollection, possibly because whilst I found the films entertaining in parts (mostly because of Circuit), the pontification grated on my senses. Decades ago I watched Khalnayak under duress and wanted to do a self-lobotomy by the time the credits rolled. Saajan was Madhuri all the way.
Dutt as an individual – I don’t have any lofty opinions really. In one of the interviews with Karan Johar, Dutt commented on Kangana’s clothes (she was wearing a cleavage-revealing dress). You don’t like someone’s attire, sure, you have the right to find it distasteful. But keep your mouth shut, thank you very much. And in this case, dude, you’ve been held guilty of really, really serious charges; you have a well-chronicled history of substance abuse… dammit you must be the last person to assume a moral high ground and comment on an adult colleague’s (who is an immensely better professional I’d like to add) choice of clothes on national television.
First point for disqualification – monogamy and fidelity. I suspect for many of my gorgeous friends it’s not the lack of opportunity but the knowledge that at some point, romance boils down to “What’s for dinner?” “How about my left foot?” rejoinders. Or a romantic evening conversation is discussing if we need to buy horse manure for the rose shrub. Or trying to figure out whose turn it is to take out the trash.
Second – I’ve never seen a gun in real life. War museums don’t count. The closest I’ve come to wielding a weapon is a broom to thrash a cockroach whilst screaming my lungs out. I can’t imagine any of my friends wielding a gun – I mean even the context of a gun never comes up – like – I’ve run out of onions, do you have some…and by the way how is your gun? (I know…stop sniggering…it seems there’s a sneaky sexual innuendo in there somewhere). Or like the other day, my friend R (who runs a military schedule for her laundry) and I discussed at length the benefits of a dryer. Neither of us thought about a gun or anything...like…the clothes come out wrinkle-free…that reminds me I must oil the gun. I don’t think any of us have the reflexes to handle a weapon either (I apologise to any secret snipers in my group). Look at me and The Husband for example…if a dangerous situation arises, depending on the pollen count our first reflex will be to sneeze really loudly into the perpetrator’s face. If the situation further deteriorates I might use the mooh mein keede curse with full feeling. There ends my repertoire.
Third – drugs – I know loads of my friends have tried it at some point, but I doubt if they have it lying in the bedside drawer. The only powder I have is an expired talc that promised a flush of youth; then there’s tiger balm and Deep Heat roll-on stick … but you can’t get high inhaling that shit. And good luck with the Chyawanprash and Dashmularishta. See if there is a potluck dinner, we carry bowls of puliyogre and chitranna…and no one comes by with weed joints or thinks of spreading coke on the cutting board after everyone’s done with payasa. Also, when things go down the pooper, none of us go scouting for drug mules – we simply accept Shani dasa has started and send archane money to Tirunallar. And we just get on with life.
Fourth – public brawls. Not happening. We fall back on mooh mein keede murmured under the breath. The only time I’ve elbowed someone in the ribs knowingly is when getting out of crowded BTS buses…and that is acceptable behaviour because it falls under the category of survival instinct.
Fifth – we pay taxes. Period.
Sixth – and most important for disqualification – we don’t know any “underworld” types. Sure, we’ve had our share of evil bosses but that’s about it. So, the chances of someone asking us to look after their (illegal) assault rifles in the tone of “water the plants when I’m gone” is zilch. Even if someone does that…well… we might be chicken shit when it comes to violence etc. but we have enough reserves of integrity and common sense to do the right thing. Which is to call the goddamn police and recite Hanuman Chalisa in the meantime.
To sum up, our lives are about as exciting as Krishi Darshan on DD…which is fine by me, really. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must do the laundry. Wait a minute…my biopic will probably be “Dirty Laundry”.
© Sumana Khan - 2018