In the year 1995: I was on
the threshold of Standard 11th and on the verge of spilling out of
my charged up frame like peas from a pod, in view of a class trip being planned
for us. It was time to break the shackles of a hitherto secured life even though they were more in our heads than on our wrists or being. In a convent
discipline with perpetually panic stricken and easily scandalised nuns, no out-station
school trips beyond Lucknow from good old Kanpur, had ever materialized, the
fears being-what if the horrendous wolves of the horny world pounced on little goslings
out of St. Mary’s? Little did they know
many of these goslings moonlighted as prey hunting little vixens/tigresses
whenever away from the prying eyes.
So, this was a dream come
true-never mind if they were taking us to one of the lesser known hills. Everyone
got permission-except good old me yes,
even the oil-drenched, plaited with ribbon haired, far-from-chick chick. Ironically, just then either mid-life crisis hit or
my mother’s lack of action in the sack erupted in this hideous outpouring or my dear
sire had a split personality attack-but Amrish Puri’s character from that
year’s just released Dilwaale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge vehemently entered
all his pours. Damn, I always knew he
secretly wanted to be an actor, like me, but Amrish Puri, really!
Papa’s unfaltering “NO”
echoed through the walls of my home and my little but massively dreamy, broken heart. “Keh
diya na, bas, keh diya” was HIS original dialogue that Salman bhai later
copied, tch!
I begged like Simran to
let me go-a bunch of my friends came over making the cutest and saddest puppy
faces with justifications like “Uncle, Suruchi ke bina hum sab bore
ho jaayenge”. But not one hair vibrated in his staunch moustaches in pity. Me:
Bau ji, er, papa, you would anyway get me married once I join college. Let me
have this one first and last trip where I see the world? ‘the world’ here being some polluted riverside with
dumped plastic wastes and ample of just Gorkhas for eye tonic during that off-season
time.
Playing on the back of my
mind was the fact that perhaps I meet my Raj somewhere, filling an empty bottle
by the river side when my chappal accidently slips off and I gracefully scream
“Bachao, bachao” for my chappal of
course. And he drops off his backpack and
risks his life to get it from the swiftly flowing current, looking wet and sexy, as pearls of water stream down his glistening forehead to his almost parted
full lips. He hands it to me with a sneeze-the chappal again of course. And I
say, “Arrey, aapko to sardi lag gaye hain....” And no, I do not do a
striptease then to give him jism ki garmi, you dirty minds, I tear my duppatta
and...oho, let’s get him injured and blood flowing instead to avoid technical
glitches. I would apologize for the trouble with a grin that would show no
sorry and he would say, “Chote, chote shehron mein aise baatein ho jaate hain
Senorita”. The rest as they’d say would have been history!
Playing on the back of my
father’s mind was khandaan ki izzat and jawaan beti ko akela-nahin, nahin! He
probably had gauged also that considering the tharki genes in our
family, it was better to keep the daughter out of temptation and mischief. So no
“ja Suruchi ja, jee le apne zindagi” happening there. Oh crap!
Dear Mr Shahrukh Khan, the
moral of this story is that because of you I never went to any school trip
ever! For you chose to star in such a film that my parents took me to and
developed unrealistic ideas along with some of her own of their daughter’s. And
because of you I often speculated in the hindsight that I could have created an
immortal Heer-Ranjha type of love story had I just gone out that one
time and ran around some sarso ke khet in a white suit with open tresses and undone
eyebrows. Par alas, aisa ho na saka!
DDLJ spoilt a generation
of girls in that era. We craved to say “Kuch kuch hota hain Rahul, tum nahi
samjhoge” forever after I know it was not from this flick-weren’t they anyhow all the same post that? Any Tom, Dick or Harry with the name Rahul, suddenly
had vistas of opportunities and legs opened at his disposal.
Even I led a make-belief
life after that for a long time where I imagined bumping into Mr Right at the
drop of an eyelid everywhere possible:
At the library-Imagining me fall from a ladder and someone there to
catch me not bothering about my weight for love at first sight would weigh him
down more. Or he and I picking the same book from the opposite sides of the
shelf following the smiles-ah! I know filmy, sue me!
In the trains-Getting into a wrong one and being led by a handsome
stranger into an adventure of sorts-damn, there was even some mind blowing
session imagined in the pantry.
In the park-When a football comes and hits my head as I wear
glasses and sit there on a bench concentrating on a geeky romance novel-little
did it matter in the pragmatic world that I didn’t wear glasses or ever read
any romantic trash.
*Sigh, sigh!*
And then Shahrukh also
gave us some unreasonable expectations in men...
1. If he did not look in
your eyes and said whatever he said with as much intensity as though he was
mentally orgasming as Mr S did on screen, he did not feel it.
2. If he never spread out
his hands with a slightly tilted head, when he saw you coming from far even without the slow motion, he does not want you enough.
3. He may look stupid and
shaggy but mouth sense.
4. If he did not talk in
whispers sometimes just near your ears, he is thoroughly unromantic.
5. If he did not
overact-wtf, he’s boring!
6. And when he held you in
his arms, if you did not tremble like a fragile leaf hanging on a branch in the
face of an overbearing lust storm-he is thanda!
And just when we started
to like Shahrukh for the loyal husband that he was and good character, K Jo made
his entry and suddenly we did not want a partner like that! Tch, kya Shahrukh! You
made vanity a style statement and narcissism a way to be-aped by thousands of
men without mettle, shakal or akal. And who had to bear the brunt-we
poor women, who didn’t know whether to bang our own heads against the wall or of
these jerks when the stuttered or smiled in that obnoxious way that you
sometimes do.
And when I did begin to like
you a bit as my angry nostrils finally relented to flare less after Swades and Chak
De, you managed to wash out all teenage fantasies with films like Om Shaanti
Om, Billu Barber and Rab ne Bana De Jodi. I was back to being angry for making me go
through these mind numbing tortures that would warrant years of therapy to
sublime it.
And although now some
seventeen years have passed by, the after effects of waiting for a Raj for the happily
ever after-the wait for a Casanova to turn into a one woman man because he is
enamoured by your charms, still lingers!
*Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh,
sigh!*
