Kal ho naa ho (Whether tomorrow comes or not/Tomorrow may never come)

I'm loving the juxtaposition of this entry with Baghdad St. and the fact that they happened on the same day.

Last night, I kicked back in front of white boy's computer to watch a film he's been bugging me to watch for years. Even though I was reintroduced to Bollywood about five years ago, I have to say, I've only seen Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham in full, IIRC, though CJ and others can correct me. Not out of any wish to avoid them, but because there are only a few people with whom I can watch them - white boy, as stated above; CJ, who's in the States; Almut, who's in London. Yaq is a possibility.

So, when I told white boy that I was coming to the big city, he asked what I wanted to do. I said that I still hadn't seen Kal ho naa ho (he'd shown me a snippet ages ago), so he suggested we watch that.

He insisted on using the English subtitles (which he finally found under 'Dutch' or something), which I tend to find distracting, and quite often, missing the sense of what was said. I was surprised, since his Urdu is miles better than mine, as he taught in Pakistan for several years.

So, when we were partway through the film, I asked him, "Erm, white boy, do you need the subtitles?"

"Yes."

"Oh," I said, trying not to sound surprised.

"It's Hindi and it's too colloquial."

My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. *I* don't need them, why should he? He lived there, colloquial would have been what he spoke; and Hindi and Urdu are like nearly identical twins, except for the script.

He carried on, "See, like right there. He said, 'paanj saal kilia'. It should be 'panj saal se' - He said 'for five years' and they always say 'since five years'."

Now, I could be wrong, but 'paanj saal kilia' didn't jar me - I'm sure I've heard it used more than once. I think it's valid. Yaq, if you have a thought on this, post a comment, homeboy. And lose the Lucknowi Urdu, ja? Of Pathan descent you may be, but you're a Lahori boy. Speak like one. ;)

I was also chuffed to realise how naturally I translated - my parents only spoke English to us, so none of my mental processes are in Punjabi/Urdu, but for the most part, I translate into English effortlessly, unless the vocab is unusual (obviously). I'm better than white boy, proving the truth, I guess, of his comment, "I may have lived there, but it will never be my culture like it is yours."

The second thing that interested me was his comment on the hand gestures as choreography. I said, "No, white boy, *I* move like that when I'm gesturing and talking to a Pakistani. My hands do that naturally."

[Ari, you may want to look away now. Spoilers below.]

Back to the movie, which was brilliant. The story revolves around a young woman, Naina, whose father committed suicide, leaving her mother to raise their children alone, with the unfortunate addition of the mother-in-law who blames her for the suicide. Naina, angry and sensible, is driven crazy by these rows, and escapes to her MBA class and her somewhat senseless best friend Rohit (I mean, how stupid do you have to be to tell a female friend that she's not pretty and sexy??)

Enter Aman, her new neighbour, and begin the verbal sparring that always indicates fabulously explosive chemistry and the possibility of a love *and* lust relationship. To cut a long story short, Aman loves her, but is dying, and so convinces her he doesn't when she realises that she is in love with him, and sets her up with Rohit.

The song below is from Rohit's and Naina's engagement party. Rohit's Gujarati family begin the custom of competitive singing with a...short, valiant attempt. At this point, kicked back, with my legs over the arm of my chair, I turned to white boy and said with the self-assured certainty only a Punjaban could have in this situation:

"You know, the Punjabis are about to kick their ass."

"Oh yeah. You know, it was choreographed by three Sikhs, which is why it's really Punjabi/bhangra."

"Is that a problem? And Sikhs aren't the only Punjabis, you know."

"No, but they're almost a caricature."

"True."

But enough. Decide for yourselves (K3G fans, keep an eye out for the cameos):



I love this song from the moment that Aman blows the Gujaratis a kiss and gets the it going in that Punjabi accent (the actor is Pathan). For me the song REALLY becomes Punjabi (really listen to the background music here) when they start the section of lyrics that all end 'rubha rubha' (meaning, 'Lord, Lord').

The mother and daughter part, which made me tear up (though that could have been his Spanish cigarettes, honestly), translates as:

"Moon (a term of endearment), My moon,
How can I make you understand how dear you are to me,
All the happy things however many there are,
I will go out and find them all
And attach them to your doli (wedding carriage)."

*Sigh* Perfect. As the Punjabis tell the Gujaratis in the video, "That's the way..."

Fun, cheeky and passionate...enjoy. And you'll all finally realise why it took me so long to realise George Michael was gay. In my world, straight men could dance.

But my favourite moment of the movie? The end, when Aman is in his hospital bed, and he says to Rohit:

"In this lifetime, she's yours. But in every lifetime after this, she's mine. From birth. Promise."

And the camera pans back to show Naina looking in the window, tears running down her cheeks.

*SOB* If there's any cosmic justice, that's the way it will be, from here to eternity.

Don't pass go, don't collect £200. If you like Bollywood, you HAVE to see this.

Don't know if you do? Start with Khabhi Khushi, and if you love that, see all the films with SRK and Kajol.

Then decide whether or not tomorrow will come.

The last video of the Bollywood trinity

Ok, I've given you the Bad Brett Lee video, Bole chudiyan and the link for the video to the title song of Kabhi Khushi Kabhi gham. Here, I post the video to the song that rocked my world when I first saw it 3 1/2 years ago. And not just because I wanted those saris...

Bollywood does sexy...and yes, there is a momentary male equivalent to the 'wet sari' scene.

Equal opportunity eye candy. Hold onto your hats, boys and girls...

(And yes, I've just posted this so I can watch it a million times without too much effort.)

Bollywood redeemed

Hi, this is Smeeta Smitten, Shobiz kitten...sorry. I just couldn't leave everyone with the impression that yesterday's grim video is what Bollywood is all about.

I grew up watching Bollywood films; my father owned at least 250 and could have started a video shop of his own on the side. My weekend memories are of sitting in front of the India of the 40s and 50s, with Dilip Kumar and Madhubala onscreen, and songs sung by Mohammed Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar or Asha Bhosle (see Brett video below).

Tragic, funny, happy, angry, religious - but always big: in scope, in feeling, in dance numbers. That's what Bollywood is for me. Camp? Of course. It grew up during the time of big musicals, and it was trying to imitate the West. But it always had passion.

Since my parents gave modern Bollywood movies short shrift and scorned most current actors and playback singers, my post-1965 Bollywood awareness is sparse: "Khubsoorat" (Beautiful), "Silsila" (Conflict) and "Muqadar ka Sakandar" (Sakandar's fortune/fate). I spent a lot of my young adulthood turning my back on my subcontinental heritage, hating the arranged marriages, oppression of women, petty arguments between Muslim and Hindu. I wanted nothing to do with it - ever.

About 5 years ago, this film "Khabhi Khushi Khabhi Gham" (Sometimes joy, sometimes sadness) hit the bigtime, not just in India, but around the world. I walked past posters for it, rolling my eyes, thinking, "Oh for God's sake," in the tone I reserve for people who take 15 items in the checkout lane expressly marked for 5.

"White boy" (see "Racism on the cricket ground") was the first to talk it up to me. I knew and trusted him, but wasn't sure yet. He was praising it to the high heavens (still does), but... Finally, CJ and Ali invited me round to their college, sat me down and made me watch. All the elements were there: the unsuitable love match, the parents not giving in, the younger sibling searching, big dance numbers. I laughed, I cried, I complained about pastel coloured saris and the lack of a male equivalent to the trademark "wet sari" scene... and I loved it. This was *my* Bollywood, not my parents'. *MY* actors, actresses, playback singers, not theirs. On that night, I began to claim Bollywood - and my heritage - for my own.

And so, I give you a taste of the real Bollywood. Camp, with a big heart. I love the cheeky actress in red - Kajol - who dismisses the boys when they compare her beauty to the moon. The three main men are all hot, and, by Rama, can they dance (especially Hrithik, the *really* hot one)...and they're straight. Indian dress, Indian dancing, and not a bad Aussie hairdo in sight.

Mashallah.

*Exclusive* Bollywood shame