Rajkumar Santoshi did a terrible thing in the 1990s – he directed a much beloved movie called Andaz Apna Apna. Unlike his other great successes (primarily the two Sunny Deol-vehicles Ghayal and Damini), AAA was a madcap comedy starring two Khanicons in their youth that managed to attain cult status, with audiences paying it the ultimate compliment by turning its dialogues into oft-quoted bits of Bollywood hilarity.
Possibly Santoshi knew what he’d done because he wisely eschewed the genre altogether for the next fifteen years and saved himself the aggravation of endless comparisons. Until now.
Ajab Prem ki Ghazab Kahani is the story of an odd duck called Prem (Ranbir Kapoor) with an affinity for trouble who falls for a girl named Jenny (Katrina Kaif) who is nothing but trouble.
The movie gets off to a flying start (literally) as Prem foils the nefarious plans of an evildoer who is only missing the black-and-white striped uniform and diamond-shaped half mask of the true cartoon villain. In a matter of minutes we learn that Prem isn’t given to vainglory, isn’t the sharpest tool in the box, is well known in the community and is the President of The Happy Club – a sort of bolthole-cum-revenue generator for him and his do-nothing friends that occasionally supplies them with, er, opportunities for social work shall we say? Like when they help out a fellow member by kidnapping his married girlfriend for him.
And so they bump into the beauteous Jenny, who is everything that Prem is not. She’s from a different religion, she is educated, she is “class” as his friends put it, while poor ol’ Prem is an amiable dimwit who spends all his time figuring out ways to get out of work. The only thing they have in common, really, is their shared habit of stammering when upset. Of course he falls for her like a ton of bricks.
The result is predictable and about as exciting as watching a toddler add up single digits. A whole bunch of things keep happening that make you think – uh, so? And unfortunately for everybody concerned, the romance between Jenny and Prem is one of them. However, there are a couple of rays of sunshine:
Santoshi chooses to set his characters in a hyperverse that allows them to act in ways that might remind the faithful of the over-the-top antics of the characters that populated AAA (and leave them longing for the grace that is missing from this movie) but he actually manages to put it to good use occasionally. When Prem, for example, prompted into getting a job for love of Jenny where all his father’s recriminations went in vain, struts about his new workplace, he converts into a superhero. A rather shabby superhero perhaps but it’s a lovely little scene expressing the idea that love can move mountains – or put a kaamchor to work, which might be the more difficult task. And really, holding down a steady job that you don’t much care for is a lot more difficult than bouncing bullets off your rock hard alien chest, don’t you think?
Ranbir Kapoor (making me more and more accustomed by the film to hearing Rishi Kapoor’s voice come out through Neetu Singh’s face) and Katrina Kaif (still gorgeous) are the two other good decisions Santoshi made for his movie – as long as they’re not asked to act overtly romantic, the two of them are pitch perfect. There is a gentle ease between Prem and Jenny that keeps the movie from drowning in its pitiful pleas for your ha-has. The scene in which we find out Jenny stammers the same as Prem is especially nice, with Katrina even managing to mine a certain amount of vulnerability.
There are a couple of other scenes – like the one in which Prem thinks it necessary to talk English to Jesus when he ducks into church after disappointing his parents yet again – that succeed in giving you a glimpse of the movie this could have been but Ajab Prem’s Kahani never quite turns Ghazab for all the hot water he lands himself in.
For one thing it doesn’t seem able to make up its mind what it wants to do – is it strictly aiming for the gags or does it want to say something (“To thine own self be true”, etc?), that fatal flaw of the true blue Santoshi movie? Whatever the case may be, the end result is mostly forgettable and a lot less fun than it hopes to be.
Tyra Banks and the woman with two vaginas:
Lauren Williams: “I’ve got two uteruses. Just one to each (fallopian tube), then they go down to two cervixes, and then it did go down to the two vaginas.” Williams, who was diagnosed with two vaginas when she was 25-years-old, also believes she has 2 periods.
Amrita Rajan: I’ve got one reaction. Just one sinking feeling, then it goes down to the pit of my one stomach, and then it comes back up to the back of my one throat and blows my one brain.
Some of it sounds distinctly Onion-esque but the thing that I really can’t get over though? She basically spends all her time menstruating.
So… Rahul Mahajan’s playing Rakhi Sawant in a turban. If he has the moobs for it, he’s thankfully keeping it to himself.
Some people would call his a remarkable life. I would term it unfortunate. In the span of 33 years, the man has lived through his father’s shocking murder at the hands of his uncle along with its nasty consequences, an OD-related drug bust and the death of his father’s assistant who was partying with him at the time, a hurried marriage that ended in rumors of spousal abuse, a seedy reality show, and the kind of celebrity that makes you wonder what the world is coming to.
And now comes Rahul Dulhaniya Le Jayega, a show that seeks to combine several elements of the kind of shenanigans that made him famous. Bet he didn’t know that one of them would be women inmates from Bhopal’s Central Jail.
Apparently heartened by his attraction to former gangster’s moll Monica Bedi, nine ladies from the Central Jail would like Rahul to live up his wild side and give l’amour a try inmate style:
“These nine prisoners, including convicts and undertrials, have moved applications, seeking permission to participate in the TV ”Swayamvar” of Rahul, son of BJP leader Pramod Mahajan,” Bhopal Central Jail Superintendent P D Somkunwar told PTI today. [...] “These women are very much interested to take part in the TV show and after moving applications they have started wearing lipsticks and dressing up, much to the surprise of other inmates,” Somkunwar said.
Sing it sister! It’s Bandini for the new millenium!
A tangential discussion on Memsaab’s Achhut Kanya post makes me imagine the wonders that could be achieved if all foreign visitors to India arrived speaking just one language: filmi. The essentials alone would work wonders:
Obnoxious taxi-driver grabs tourist at the airport and shepherds to waiting car: “Best price, madam! Best price!”
Tourist: “Kutte! Kaminey! Chhod de mujhe!”
Grinning youth staring with wide eyes at all the PDA between foreign couple: “Are they going to kiss now?”
Tourist: “Bhagwan pe bharosa rakho, woh sabki sunta hai.”
Curious lady on train / bus / other public transport: “So who all do you have at home?”
Tourist: “Ek andhi maa aur langdi behen hai. “
Sleazy bellboy: “You are funning? Hot Indian ladies!”
Tourist: “Ruk jao! Kanoon ko apne haath mein mat lo!”
Waiter arrives with room service one hour after the order was placed.
Tourist: “Tum? Yahan? Is waqt?“
Standing in line at Delhi airport, waiting for the line to move. Making it all the way up to security clearance before being pulled out of line by the lout standing guard so passengers on the flight that leaves after your plane can go ahead for unknown reasons.
Tourist: “Dusht! Rakshas! Paapi! Ek-ek ko chun-chun ke maroonga!”
And, of course, all members of The International Territory of Shashi Pradesh upon bumping into their crush at Mumbai airport: “Main tumhare bachche ki maa banne waali hoon!“
When I was 15, I was suffering through lessons in trigonometry and knitting scarfs that I wouldn’t have draped on a dog. Nilo Recalde is making videos like these.
Beats watching London Dreams.
… for a couple of days. See you all this weekend!
Meanwhile, does Ranbir Kapoor lisp? “Shikshty sheconds” is what I heard.
The Muslims are coming! The Muslims are coming!
Jihadis around the world are plotting to blow up people, take over governments and generally unleash holy hell – but in South India, they have a much more sinister plan. Powerfully affected by its balmy weather and spicy food, evil jihadis have concocted a devious plan to destroy society as we know it.
Romeo Jihadis (actual term) will love up Hindu and Christian girls! After which they will elope with them! And marry them! And convert them to Islam! And then…and then…er, and then bad things will happen! So bad, nobody but the evil Love Jihadis can imagine what they are! (WARNING: might include sex!)
That’s right! Marriage is a holy war against infidels for Muslims! What’s next – children? How low can you get, Muslims?
The Sri Ram Sene will agitate against this! The SNDP Yogam will “unleash propaganda“! The VHP and Bajrang Dal want special squads to check (read: hunt and destroy) this nascent attack on our society! The Kerala and Karnataka High Courts want some answers!
[Well, according to The Hindu, some answers were provided, but we want different answers! Preferably ones that agree that there is a Love Jihad!]
Rejoice, O Fuglies! Your queen is here!
Once you’ve recovered from the hysterical blindness brought on by the sheer elegance of that outfit, you’ll be happy to know that she is wearing “a differently styled, multi-coloured and floral salwar-kameez” as part of designer duo Ashima-Leena’s “Go Green, Go Delhi, Go Haute” collection.
Well, success! I’m pretty sure the audience went green and went from Delhi and its haute. To gaze upon this marvel in hi-res glory, click here.
But really, who am I kidding? This is all just an elaborate excuse to post the most amazing photo ever:
That’s right. A photograph in which Mithun is the most restrained person.
Unless you like to run around the Kingdom of Tonga battling angry 40 tonne monsters in heat.
Cameraman Mr Roger Munns filmed most of the underwater footage of the heat run for the BBC.
Mr Munns had to freedive whilst holding his breath to get shots of the whales swimming past him at speed, as the use of scuba tanks would disturb the humpbacks.
“We had to find the whales when they are on the heat run, which is hard,” says Dr Oakes.
“Then we had to position the diving team in front of the charging pack of whales for them to have any chance.”
“At one point I think Roger had the female and seven or eight males go past him. He said it was the most incredible experience of his life. Like standing in the middle of a motorway.”
And this is why I watch the BBC.
On a related note, if your stomach can handle it, watch The Cove:
Some people have mentioned in the past that they’re puzzled by my Ekta Mata fascination. To these people I say: go forth my children and gaze upon the marvel that is her new TV soap, Bairi Piya.
It takes real talent in the cojones area, after all, to take an oft-repeated criticism of your company’s productions – to wit, the lack of any resemblance to reality as we know it – and twist it to your satisfaction to the point where it is both a plausible answer to your fiercest critics and a giant one finger salute to their sensibilities.
Featuring a “ripped from the headlines” plot, Bairi Piya is set in rural Maharashtra where the farmers have it bad: they’re not just battling Mother Nature for her doubtful bounty but most of them are deep in the clutches of the local moneylender who actively encourages them to not only get into debt but to pledge their comely young daughters if they don’t have anything of value to hock. Fathers desperate for money figure this is an acceptable gamble – after all, God is great, the crop will soon be in and what can the moneylender possibly want with their daughters?
As you can imagine, this is not a situation that is going to end well. When a swarm of locusts (?) destroys the year’s crops, more than one family lives to rue the day they made a deal with the devilish moneylender. In the aftermath, one farmer copies real life farmers of that region and kills himself and his entire family because they have lost everything. Another farmer, more pertinent to our story, gets to live because their daughter “pays off” the debt.
Welcome to the main plot point.
The moneylender, you see, is not working for himself. He’s the right-hand man of the local landowner, Thakur Digvijay Singh, a charismatic sociopath. Despot of all he surveys, one of his more charming customs is the local variant of droit de signeur (“entitled hereditary serial rapist” works just as well in modern parlance).
Indeed, Digvijay is the kind of lovely fellow who sincerely views his relations with the young village women who (we’re led to believe) routinely end up in his bed as a distasteful necessity: they need their families’ debts forgiven and he has his own needs that require discretion (thanks to the old devoted ball and chain at home who’s blissfully unaware of her husband’s rape-fabulous lifestyle).
Unfortunately for his well-reasoned comfy set-up, his latest “partner” is best friends with a girl called Amoli. She doesn’t know what happens to all these girls who get carted off by the moneylender, and has no idea that Digvijay is the puppetmaster, but knows she isn’t going to sit idly by and watch as her BFF gets kidnapped and shipped off to face an unknown fate. While everyone else is wringing their hands and her friend is getting raped, she manages to send Digvijay’s wife to the rescue (albeit after the fact) and gets her back home.
Digvijay is not a happy camper. His wife is now increasingly nosy, he’s out of a playmate, and a despised poor person is at the root of all this new evil in his life. He will have his revenge! But wait! He gets even more unhappy when he gets a good look at his unlikely nemesis.
Amoli (Supriya Kumari) is absolutely fetching with giant gray eyes that frequently make her resemble a startled kitten. Digvijay, twisted alpha male as he is, can barely stop himself from drooling at first sight. Oh no! How can Amoli possibly save herself?
Sounds like your average old-fashioned potboiler pitting good against evil, doesn’t it? Rape bad, power evil, truth good, woman virtuous, etc?
WRONG, suckas!
Bairi Piya’s greatest liberty with the formula lies in its casting choice of Digvijay. Played by Sharad Kelkar, a former male model, Digvijay is presented as a flawed hero figure. That’s right, I said “a flawed hero figure”. Being rape-inclined is a flaw, didn’t you know?
Unlike your usual shortcode for evil in Indian productions, Digvijay is not an unattractive man. Nor does he lick his lips, indulge in double entendre, speak in childish rhyme, dress in lame or say “muahahaha” when he laughs. And unlike his possible counterparts in real life (about which opinion is mixed), he is not short, paunchy, with a double chin and dowdy clothes a size too big for him. On the contrary, he is tall, appears to be in excellent shape, dresses well, and manages to accomplish his evilness with nothing more overtly sinister than a steely glare. Even his theme music when he’s thinking rapetastic thoughts about poor virginal Amoli sounds romantic rather than the usual crash-boom-gong-DOOM music that typically accompanies all evil-doers in the Ekta Mata universe.
Amoli, he explains to his disgusted (without being willing in any shape or form to take a stand about it) friend, is not your usual run of rape victim. Her refusal to lie down and think of her family’s barren acres at his command have somehow converted her into his obsession. And there are a couple of things that Bollywood has taught us about men who obsess over women:
1) It’s lurve.
2) It’s all her fault.
3) Her love will save him if only the stupid, wicked girl could recognize that all-important truth.
Granted, Bairi Piya doesn’t actually make this case in so many words. What it does, however, is subtly play on the audience’s past familiarity with similar storylines. As the enthusiastic reaction to the show at its official (?) forum testifies, it’s already managed to gather a dedicated following that recognizes that Digvijay is a vile serial rapist who raped Amoli’s best friend right before her wedding – and are now waiting to see him “reform” through love of her.
But the show does explicitly draw comparisons between three different generations of women.
Digvijay’s mother is the steely-spined aristocratic woman of a by-gone who openly hints at a less than stellar married life when she sees her son set his sights on Amoli. Her primary concern, she makes clear, is not Amoli’s well-being but rather that her son has had the temerity to let his libido make the decisions to the point where his wife, her beloved daughter-in-law, might actually find out the truth of his, um, alternate lifestyle. At least his late lamented father had the decency to conduct his raping out of the sight of his family.
Amoli’s mother is the hapless farmer’s wife who tries her best to stick up for her daughter but when confronted with the true might of the Thakur’s rule, meekly bends down and counsels her daughter to accept her would-be rapist’s plans for a “marriage”. At least it’d be respectable rape, carried out on a proper marital bed with the promise of much money and jewelry to follow. Good times!
In the middle is Digvijay’s wife, the (allegedly) emotionally fragile Urmila, who thinks her husband is spun out of sugar and rainbows. Occasionally she attempts to think for herself and accidentally does some good, at which point Digvijay gets mighty upset and gently suggests that she is making life difficult for him with all this thinking business. So she begs his pardon and cooks him lunch. Which he doesn’t eat because he’s too busy fantasizing over Amoli. Interestingly though, her mother-in-law frequently reiterates that she won’t stand for her husband’s extra-marital shenanigans if she ever found out. Keeping in mind my 30-something friends, wait until she finds out that his favorite pick-up line is “I rape you now”, is what I think.
And last but certainly not least, is Amoli and her BFF. The youngest characters, they’re apparently also the only ones who can notice that Digvijay isn’t exactly a prize in the marital department. The proposed marriage sounds a great deal like legalized sex slavery to Amoli and she is not hoodwinked by all the fancy glitter he promises to throw on the walls of her cell. And you know what? She would be correct! Which is a first for anyone on this show!
Now some would argue that this is a great deal of thought over nothing – I mean, it’s an Ekta Mata soap, talk about a tempest in a teapot. But when a rape (or, if you prefer an erotic lit euphemism, “non consent”) fantasy is sold as primetime viewing to women across India, I feel it deserves a commemoration of some sort, wouldn’t you?
