Random Musings.

They say if you ca­n write on any subject without any emotions involved, then you have become a professional writer, right, but where is the fun in that? How do you differentiate then between writing and a desk job in some multinational? Writing should always stem from heart, never mind even if half the heart is filled with cholesterol. For me, each string of words are a weave of feelings, remember how our moms used to knit a sweater for us when we were kids. Imagine what moms must be thinking then. Well, I feel we think the same way while trying to thread a story, a poem, expressions of thoughts about someone, something or someplace in writing. Of course we can never achieve what moms can in their hearts for their kids; we can definitely reach, say up to 35 percent. Well, this year when my mom tried knitting for me, I had grown up to be an 80 kg brick of cheddar cheese, so she chucked the idea and knit for my nephews instead (one is 4 years old another one is 11 months and a third one is on its way). And, deep inside from a broken heart stemmed the brilliant idea of writing “how to get 8 pack abs within 16 weeks” (one set of pack every two weeks). I am just kidding here folks, except for all you Arnold wannabes who would love to read that story. Steel prices have sky-rocketed right now, so if you have weights at your place, you can make some good money out of it. I know, spoken like a true Indian eh?

But that is not the point. I wanted to share a story of how one guy meets a girl, falls in love, but, his father is against the idea and her father wants to marry her in their own sub-caste and how the girl does not even know that the guy loves her, and how the guy wishes that someday she will…ha-ha, Yes, you guessed it right. I love Hindi Cinema, which red blooded Indian wouldn’t? And that is precisely what I shall scribble about in the coming paragraphs. Let me discuss some queer and evil things that have taken over our beloved mush churning industry.

The viral crossover fever: Now let me scrape some of that dead gray matter off the brains of my dearest fellow aliens who think that crossover meant making movies in alignment with the West. Our intelligent, yet uncreative producers and directors have re-defined crossover as taking an already hit English movie and making a replica of the same in Hindi using Desi actors and raking in the Moolah. Brilliant, ain’t it? You not only reduce chances of creating a dud film, but also save on writers and scripts. The recent movies are all a proof of that “Kismet Connection” = “Just my Luck.” “God Tussi Great Ho” = “Bruce Almighty.” “Singh is King = partially inspired from1989 Jackie Chan film “Miracles.” Most of Farah Khan films = …Naaahhhiiii. Farah Khan films are pure unadulterated, Grade A - 100%, sometimes original bullshit. Neither are they accurately inspired (How does one make mistakes in copying man) nor do they entertain and even she knows that they can only instigate humans in a negative way. Karan Johar and party are an exception. Ten minutes into the film and you start cursing, biting and thrashing the seat cushions; I did an experiment once; in one of her films, I kept the popcorn untouched and by interval, they had turned themselves into kernels again. That dear readers, is a skill, yet unheard of. Laudable indeed! Intermission forever please!

Allegedly Contemporary Leech: This sub genre of films is rather new and like bird flu is infecting the industry. Some good definitely comes out of experimenting. Like; Being Cyrus. Ugly aur Pagli. Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part II, sorry, there is no et cetera here. But the problem starts when our actors of yore adorn the director’s hat to make films (read Amol Palekar). Diplomatically made movies on socio political issues is called government appeasement Mr. Palekar and not contemporary. He has pioneered that. This phenomenon crept into commercial cinema as well and spread across to Hollywood. Out came Matrix. I love the series by the way. But please, mixing “nuances of Geeta with science fiction”? Awesome script gone too logical, probably. There are few self proclaimed Raghu Bhais, right (Sanjay Dutt in epic film “Vaastav”), well our hostel had Morpheus. One night after way too much Rum, that’s where ALL THE RUM GOES, Mr. Depp, in our Hostel; our discussion steered towards matrices, the Morpheus was talking in plural and parallel Matrix. Whoa! “How do you know you exist, Neo?” His question was aimed at my roommate, the alleged anomaly in the system and anagram of ONE. A tight slap on Morpheus’s face and an owning answer followed. “I don’t, but now, you do.” “The slap isn’t real Morpheus, but the pain is.” I stealthily slipped the weird goggles in my drawers, err, desk drawer.
My point here is that contemporary cinema can sometimes have adverse effects on young and reckless minds. Consider thousands of Neels and Nikkis roaming around in our beloved country, Blasphemous. Such movies should only be screened to viewers under heavy sedation. It eases the agony and renders the movie harmless. Whatever happened to Evil Fathers, Penniless Heroes, beautiful heroines, her helpless parents and desperate villains all singing, dancing and fighting in permutation combinations? God, please bring the golden days back.

Hazards of Heredity: This is my favorite subject of discussion. “Papa kehtein hain Beta Naam karega” is to be interpreted as “Papa kehtein hain Beta MERA Naam Bada Karega.” And nothing wrong in it. This applies to Betis as well; I don’t want to be termed sexist my Mother’s Bhishi group (chit fund friends) or my sister’s kitty party group. Doctor’s Son becomes a doctor, Engineer’s son becomes an engineer, Politician’s son becomes a criminal and Actor’s son becomes an Actor (again, applies to daughters as well). And the kids pioneer in that. Then how do we explain ghastly recurring phenomenon, yet undiscovered by Mr. M Night Shyamalan, of Uday Chopra and Tushar Kapoor? I guess they are the real NEOs. At the end of the film they should die to save mankind from mental destruction and Producers (In their cases, always family) from being sued for punitive damages. Due to such phenomenon, rightful and brilliant actors are robbed off their success. Parents are accused of nepotism. But sometimes parents are wrong as well, it seems. Now why in the hell would a flop making machine Mr. Harry Baweja introduce his own son, Mr. Herman; now that is a funny name, seems like female version of He-Man – in a movie named Love Story 2050 and ask him to imitate Hritik Roshan. Isn’t he worried about his kid’s future at all? You need to be inspired by Mr. Steven Spielberg to re-create ‘Jadu’ for your kid man. Think ‘Hatke’. Make a movie like “Hind Mahasagar key Samudri Looterey” or “Khushi ka Peecha” (pursuit of Happiness) and make a bright future for your Kid; Sky is the limit then. Did I hear someone say Superman (Unke Woh – Aadmi Zabardast)? Her man Super Man, he he. But Dad, you are the greatest. Emotions overwhelm me and reruns of Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gum aur Kabhi Rum follow. Since Baghban is against the very fabric that is Indian Culture, I hate it. My Aunt does too, she feels her only son might do something like Baghban and put her name to shame. Thanks to K series such illogical, paranoid-al emotions reign supreme in all households these days. Jane Kahan Gaye woh Din!

Well, I hope you are enlightened enough to the recent evils that have conjured up in our beloved world of glamour and Cinema. I further wanted to discuss issues like “Mahesh Bhatt”, but there are somethings beyond reforms, for such things, there is always Shiv Sena. So beware fellow brethren, of Danish cheese (it stinks and is foul) that the film industry might serve you. Horse anesthetics are not easy to get now and you might have to suffer for a while before you can come back to senses, its better to take the BLUE PILL because in India, you never know, the RED PILL might be a counterfeit.

Disclaimer: - Although “Satya Ghatanao pey adharit”, these musing have no intention of defaming anyone’s name or character. These are my opinions and they can be disagreed with. After all, when I will be rich and famous, of course not as ugly and stupid as Mr. Salman Rushdie (how did he score with a chick like Padma Laxmi, and how stupid of him to let her go) or brain hemorrhaged like Arundhati Roy, people might criticize me as well. Feel free to do so; you may start by scribbling in the comments section.
Please note that words like “Bombs”, “Jihad”, “Fuck you”, “Kafir” are closely monitored by BlogSpot, hence, kindly refrain from using them.