Friday evening before the weekend of my first pilgrimage (to Amritsar), Virali and I decide to go to the cinema to see a movie she's been wanting to see, Dil Toh Baccha Hai Ji (“My Heart is Still A Child”). Eager to take this chance to see a real Bollywood film in a real Indian theater, I gladly follow her without even knowing the meaning of the title.
“It's a comedy, yeah?” She tells me in her slightly British accent, presumably picked up during her University days in London. Every so often I notice that it's rubbed off a bit on me.
The Cinema (see??) is just opening as we buy our tickets from the box office, about $1.50 for balcony seating (regular seating is only about $1). As we climb the stairs and enter the upper-level lobby, I can't help but remember Portsmouth, New Hampshire's The Music Hall, an upper-class venue turned porno-theater in the 1950's (then turned into a place for teenagers to get their alternative music fixes, as I did in my day). As we enter the theater itself, I have an overwhelming feeling that I have indeed stepped back into the '50s, a feeling only increased when the bouncy projection begins.
It's quite an enormous theater, bigger than most concert venues I've been in, even most auditoriums. We in the straight-backed wooden seats and wait for the film to begin, noticing that there are less than a dozen people in the theater with us. Apparently, this Cinema doesn't come highly recommended, so perhaps that's why.
The room darkens almost completely, with the only light coming from the screen itself. I hadn't realized just how tiring public life had become for me until I finally got the chance to be in public without the feeling of being stared at. I've noticed that the majority of the time I spend in public in Chandigarh, I am indeed being stared at. For the most part, these seem to be innocent and simply curious. After all, I've still only seen (maybe?) one other person of non-Indian origin in the city. When an old woman comes up to the park bench where I'm sitting, stops and stares for thirty seconds, I generally just smile and shrug it off (this has happened far more frequently than you would believe).
But when a rickshaw driver follows me for half a kilometer, staring while going the wrong way down a busy four or six lane road, it gets a bit tiring. Believe it or not, this has happened to me quite a few times; I'm developing quite a skill in evasion. First, I tried a firm “no,” shaking my head, then “ne, ne, ne,” (as close as my Hindi comes to “No, thank you, please leave me alone”) then walking away more quickly. Finally, I try waving my arms in a dramatic (and kind of ape-like, I'll admit) “go away” motion, which seems to embarrass some of them into actually going away. For the tenacious few who ignore this, I've found stopping, turning around, and putting my hand up in the classic “stop” gesture generally works best. To be fair, I've experienced something similar in the scarier neighborhoods of Columbus, and I'm not about to let a rotten spot define the fruit that is India for me.
But here it's just me, this gigantic screen, and Virali giggling in the next seat. The movie is one of those cute little romantic comedies, a sort of combination between The Odd Couple (well, trio), and a classic boy(s) meets girl(s) story.
So what have I learned from Bollywood?
1. It is in fact possible to sit in attention for three hours.
When I first learned that the movie was so tremendously long, the concept couldn't fully be processed by my brain. All Bollywood movies are this long? Well, when in Rome. By the time it was finally over, however, I was left with this odd numb feeling, as if I was in shock (and still couldn't fully conceptualize a three-hour romantic comedy). What just happened?
2. Some things are universal.
Or, at least, shared by India and the West. The story line (mid-life divorcé meets 20-year old, playboy meets girl then hotter girl, chubby goofy guy falls for girl too good for him) was easily understandable, and the Hinglish (approximately 10% English here) provided just enough clues that I was fairly up to speed for most of the movie. We're talking about romantic comedy, not rocket science.
3. How men fall in love.
Instantly. Three scenes of slow-motion images of the female leads, and I get the point.
4. How women fall in love
Apparently, they don't. Most of the movie is spent in shameless (and embarrassingly ineffectual) wooing.
5. Gay stereotypes are alive and well.
The film has a minor gay male character that is caricature to the point of obscenity. He's flamboyant, a little crazy, and quite a bit scary (he's pale, bald, and makes very strange facial expressions). He's also gay because it's trendy (as he says) and excessively promiscuous, hitting on straight men in just about every scene.
Let's be clear, here, India. This is a new relationship, and I know I'm going to have to realize your faults sometime. I know you're going to grow out of this, someday. I'm waiting.
6. We can still love the promiscuous male protagonist, despite his misdeeds.
One of the three male leads is quite a terrible guy, promiscuous to the point of sex addiction, a trait which leads him to start relationships with a married sugar-mama and then her daughter. However, judging by the way the director portrays his character, and how the other characters treat him, it's okay for us to love a character like this.
His blond one-night stand with a terrible American accent, maybe not so much.
7. Love is a battlefield.
Okay, so this thought isn't exactly new, but this movie portrays love as the responsibility of men alone. Women exist to look pretty, maybe have a few nice qualities, and to be won by tiresome courting practices. And the men, hearts won by only first appearances, remember, are willing to do just about anything for them.
8. Bollywood loves its dancing. I'm the kind of person who desperately hides the fact that I my muscles contract when I want Mario to jump, or when I see people dancing. With a little less restraint, I would most certainly be an all-too-reactive audience. Which is why expected a similar reaction when I knew I would be going to the cinema, for Bollywood films are known for their dancing. Luckily for me, I need to learn a little less restraint anyway. The film had a number of moments when it seemed to switch from movie to music video (slash Sports Illustrated photo shoot); I'm told that people often go to the cinema simply to see the videos, storyline be damned.
9. We're not so different, you and I.
Overall, this movie could have easily been something that came out in the West (differences seem more like cultural flare than major divide). The fashion and design sensibilities are all very Western, as are the storyline and many of the mannerisms. It's very easy to pick up on a comedy moment, because many of them use the exact same physical and linguistic cues that we see in Western movies.
---
Still a bit stunned from my three-hour experience, I follow Virali onto a cycle-rick. The driver seems a bit disoriented as well; first he nearly hits a motorcycle, and saves us by pushing it over with his foot, then his tail-end is actually hit by a car, leaving painted wooden pieces in the road behind us. No worries, the driver keeps pedalling.
Walking is quickly becoming my preferred pastime.
Note: Sorry about the delay between posts, but Virali and I have our first pilgrimage (to Amritsar and the Sikh Golden Temple) this weekend. Check back Monday morning (EST) for more!
No comments:
Post a Comment