My Chhamak Challo wants to switch onto the Surya channel and watch a Tamil/Telugu/Malayalam/Kannada movie which she will not understand and listen to Carnatic music which she will not appreciate. My Gharwali is ready to revert back to her Garhwali while treating her patients. All this anger is a reaction to the overdose of Punju themes which are being repeated ad-nauseam by the Punjus and other criminals in Bollywood. On the other hand I feel that maybe this is the Bollywood Punjus’ way of giving a resounding slap to the scum that defines the ilk of Raj Thakeray. In any case I am the prosecution and not the defence.
I do feel like twirling my colored moustache and asking Aditya/Yash Raj/SRK combine “Kya soch ke aye the? Public bahut khus hoga, kyun”. Bloody clowns, what the hell were they thinking while plotting (annihilating more appropriately) the story. This one too is set in Punjab, Amritsar actually. Anyone who knows Amritsar better than I do will please tell the location of mountains near the city and also the high vantage point which affords a bird’s eye view of the city. The Chopras have discovered what I never found in forty and something years. Well, the start was promising enough. A glimpse of the Golden temple, which never ever fails to set my pulse racing and the camera pans to the cobbled streets of the old city of Amritsar. Road side eateries, the mad undisciplined traffic, the tall towers of the sundry Gurudwaras, the jolly sardars and the pot bellied Punjab Police constables who are invariably found scratching their nether regions, yessir that’s my Amritsar. In walks the middle class hero with his newly wedded heroine. Quickly enough we learn that the girl loved another/the lover dies on the day of the marriage/our hero is conveniently present/the girl’s father loves the hero as his son (favourite student? Some Guru dakhshina the fella owes)/hero marries heroine as per the pop’s last wishes conveniently disguised as a request (Main tumhari marzi ke khilaf kuchh nahi karma chhahata but if you don’t do it I will never die peacefully, blah blah blah…Jesus man). This was the nice part. Our man gets the bride home and promptly shifts his bed on the first floor and the torture of the audience starts now. For the next two and something hours SRK and Co lose their nuts. The hero is ordinary, supposedly boring, faithful to his work and staid and uncommunicative and so not very appealing to the vivacious heroine. She finds a way out. Dance classes! Eureka! Our hero also finds a way to vibe with the other side of his wife so that she can fall in love (with whom? Read on). Become her dance partner! Great! How do you keep yourself from being recognized? Simple baby, just shave off your mustache, gel your hair, wear cowboy shoes and an attitude. This is for the trouser wearing guys. So how is it going to work for a Kurta Pajama dehati like me? The initial ploy works when it is still fun and games for the wannabe lover boy and the heroine. As expected the heroine starts having feelings for her dance partner which is cool. But what about our man? Who the hell is he? Is he the pining husband or the manipulative dancer/lover boy? The machinations and the expectations of the alter egos become surrealistic after a point. Neither character justifies his existence. The dancer tries to make the girl fall in love with him but the husband in him doesn’t want that to happen. I hope you are getting adequately confused because that’s the way it’s supposed to be. The reality remains confined to Anushka, the debutante. Her character is human, her smile is real, her pain is hurting. The best part of SRK is the friend he has in Vinay Pathak, the Hair Dresser Bobby Khosla. Fantastic performance. This is one Bihari I would love to vote for.
The good thing about the movie is some of the thought in the dialogue. Love somebody to the extent of madness is something I agree with. With farcical pretence I do not. Leaving everything to God may be a fatalistic compulsion but can not be the conviction of a man. If you love her then go and get her.
I am angry because my Chammak Challo loves Shahrukh and she is acutely disappointed and since I love my Chammak Challo I am also acutely/obtusely and right angley in agreement with her. Punjabis in movies are fine by me. But why caricature them? The abundance of “Jees” in the dialogue is not the way we speak. The Bollywood hasn’t the faintest idea of what or how the Jatts are. Ropar is not a village. Every female in Punjab does not wear Phulkari all the time. Short kurtis with salwars went out of fashion a long time ago. So where is the research Mr Chopra? It seems to have been done in the air conditioned confines of the Mumbai offices. Next time you make a movie learn about the place and the people before you come to shoot there. Or else my nephew who is soon going to participate in the Air Pistol shooting event in the Nationals next month is likely to be handed another gun.
