Random Expressions

For someone who has spent a lifetime on television making fun of other’s movies, I had expected Sajid Khan to churn out a whacky and whopper comedy - even if it were superbly slapstick or insanely double-entendre laden! Alas, Khan proves to be simply an arm-chair critic and an atrocious film-maker. Heyy Babyy is neither a full-fledged comedy nor a perfect emotional blaster, and in the end you return from the theater mourning the loss of money and time wasted on this corrupted kitsch.

The film is supposedly borrowed from Three Men and a Baby. It could be, but that is just till the first half - or till about three quarters of the first half. In the rest, it gets all emotional - including a tediously lengthy song that the three nasty-bachelors-turned-nice sing to the cute little one. Knowing Sajid Khan, he would surely have watched Dharam-Hema’s Tum Haseen Main Jawan (where a womaniser Dharam is found clutching a figure far too smaller to his liking!). Why couldn’t Khan take a leaf from that film? Despite all the seventies cliches and contrived situations, Tum Haseen Main Jawan was way more entertaining (and with good music to boot, courtesy Shankar Jaikishan!).

In the second half, the film concentrates on Akshay Kumar and Vidya Balan’s romance-cum-tiff, who it turns out is the mother of the child, and has returned to claim her right back. Poor Riteish and Fardeen are reduced to sheer side-kicks mumbling unconvincingly about how they miss the kid and help Akshay regain Vidya’s trust. This portion has a few genuine laughs. But then, it’s too little and too late.

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Patriotism easily slips into jingoism. We have seen it do it so easily in those Sunny Deol/Anil Sharma flicks. And this one even opens with a hockey match against Pakistan; and we all know that a match against Pakistan - any game - is no less than a war. One of the many things that I loved in this superbly crafted film is that Shimit Amin keeps the patriotic valve in strict control, allowing it to ooze out the fervor and letting it remain as a simmering under-current in the entire narrative, but never letting it gush and drown the audience in unnecessary hyperbole or screaming monologues. The subtle patriotism extends to the selection of the game itself - it’s about hockey, which is our national game (and not cricket, as some would believe). Perhaps the best touch is that the finale match is against Australia - who has been our bete noir in sports, and showing a win against them gives a curiously vicarious but satisfying thrill.

The story is simple and straightforward - a hounded-by-media-for-being-a-traitor hockey captain Kabir Khan (Shahrukh Khan) resurfaces seven years later to coach a bunch of rowdy girls team, and steers them to a resounding victory at the next World Cup. Most such stories follow a set pattern - a past that is not too shining, a team that is not too much of a team, a few external problems that need immediate attention, a few initial loses and then the last half-hour of a thrilling match, with that all-important goal/run in the very last frames of the match. Chak De India sticks to this basic framework, but what it adds on is not an ungainly mass of flab, but sinewy and rippling muscle. That’s where the film scores a straight goal.

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“Will you be able to recognize me?” she asked on the phone, after informing her flight details. “I guess so,” I replied, not very confidently. I had seen her photo only once earlier. “In any case, I will carry a placard,” I laughed. The phone disconnected, and I continued the drive to Delhi - excited about the upcoming meet.

RS, as she chose her on-line name, is not an unfamiliar name for the old-time bloggers here. Her humor in everyday bitter-sweet situations and family life packed in a solid punch hitherto unseen on the blogs, and all of it in the most artless and unassuming manner. The simple abundance in her blog is …well, abundant! We first ‘met’ online on a common blog-haunt, commenting on each other’s space, moving to chats on the Yahoo Messenger, and eventually exchanging mails. She quit blogging a year back, but her page is alive with her animated writings, for those who would want to check it out.

At the designated time I reached airport, amused that her flight was to land at 12:35, a time which in our school days had spawned off a corny joke (try saying it aloud in Hindi in Anglicized accent). The flight showed ‘on time’ and even as the clock moved ahead of the hour, it still showed ‘on time’. Was it actually delayed? Still, to be on the safe side, I stood near the railing, amongst myriad another tour operators/friends/relatives, holding an A-4 sheet carrying her name in bold black letters.

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It’s not the first time I am in Aligarh. But each time the feeling is the same. It’s like stepping into time-machine and setting the knob to the late seventies/early eighties of Delhi. There is indeed a quaint charm that never fails to attract, be it the cemented roads, or the old-fashioned houses and shops and a general aura of languidness that permeates in the very air that passes over Aligarh. It forces open nostalgic childhood memories - especially, of all those holidays spent in Ludhiana, in my nanihaal. The city exemplifies tehzeeb and the welcome and the hospitality that I receive here is tremendous and very touching.

Yesterday, while sitting at Deepak Restaurant at Aligarh’s ‘most happening’ area - the Centre Point - I viewed the place with interest. And the first thing that crossed my mind was the movie Chameli Ki Shaadi. Remember the place where Anil Kapoor dates Amrita Singh the first time - the Pinto Restaurant? Deepak Restaurant seemed to have jumped out from that movie’s set - the same long sofas with mica-covered tables and waiters in loose cotton and crumpled ‘uniforms’, worn for the sake of wearing one. It’s a place where the local Majnu will get his besotted Laila, sit in the corner-most table and chat non-stop, nonsense-nothings over a slow intake of one Coke (well, if only Campa Cola was still there, the setting would have been complete!). It’s an outlet that has those over-used menu cards covered in stained plastic. And, it’s a place that would invariably play some old hit Hindi film song.

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