In Hum Tum, in an exasperated outpour, Rhea Prakash (Rani Mukherjee) laments that why should everyone get down to matchmaking as soon as they sight a single girl; why should marriage be the end-goal for a girl? It is astonishing (and sad) that how Indian girls see marriage and having kids the be-all and end-all of life; be it Madhuri Dixit, or your ordinary colleague, it seems the grand Indian middle class dissolves this dictum in the milk they feed that your life’s sole goal is to get married. Though this trait is there for the men too (you are not considered “settled” till the time you have a spouse, despite having the best of jobs and the biggest of cars), the girls take to this norm like fish to water.

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Ok, Ok, I have not gone crazy; my spellings are quite good otherwise. But it seems it s the current trend to make spellings look like the type that I have converted them into in the title of this post.

Converting the innately phonetic Hindi language into the Roman script can be tough, and often with results that are risque . I mean, a simple sentence like mujhe chhod do can end up sounding more an augur for vulgar than just a plain yelp for help!

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Aside from the fact that our film industry has largely tried to thrust upon our throats a prejudiced sexist view of women in their films, beyond the celluloid screen also they have displayed a remarkable chauvinistic approach, even when their offspring are concerned.

Otherwise, why should it become a norm that whereas the star-son (irrespective of the fact that he is worth the money or not) will be inevitably launched with full fanfare and hype, the daughters have always had to find their own launch pad to be catapulted to the celluloid stardom? Ironically, despite this lackadaisical approach by their own parents, the daughters have been able to make more name and fame for themselves (and their parents) and the sons have only acted largely as cumbersome liabilities, be it a Kumar Gaurav, or Tusshar Kapoor.

So, a fiery Kajol, despite having the illustrious Nutan for an aunt, and a respectable Tanuja for mother, had to face the camera with non-stars like Kamal Sadanah (Kamal who?) and a blue eyed chic (pun) hero (name forgotten now) in obscure films like Bekhudi and Udhar Ki Zindagi. Her cousin, Rani Mukherjee, had even tougher times. At least Kajol got a good director for her debut, Rani started off in B-grade social films like Raja Ki Aayegi Baarat and Mehdi, opposite some non-descript actors like Fazal Khan.

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So Venus kissed the sun in full heat and passion, leaving the blazing star with a haseen daag, which all viewed with sheer awe and delight. The newspapers and the news channels went amok explaining the phenomenon, both scientifically and astrologically.

Venus (and her Greek counterpart Aphrodite) has always been associated with love and beauty. Her depictions in paintings have been of a nubile nymphet with a playful smile. In fact, this has been the attitude and outlook of most Westerners when it comes to love- a passion of the heart, to be enjoyed, cheered and honored. Love, in their literature and films, has been always been full of feel-good humor and froth.

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