TO DELHI GIRLS AND DELHI AUNTIES

Dear Dehi Girls and Delhi Aunties,

Even if my pores are the size of craters on the moon and my pimples the size of ostrich eggs or If my hair looks like straw that reminds you of your horse riding days or if my ass is a sagging bag of cellulite and I cause a bigger splash than Moby Dick when I jump off my diving board or If I look like I spent a summer locked in a jail cell with nothing to eat but salt and bread or If my skin around my eyes have "early signs" of crows eagles and pigeons feet or if my teeth stick out and my breath reeks of whiskey and peanuts or If I have stretch marks under my phelwan arms or if my underarms aren’t perfectly waxed or if my shoes aren’t designer and my nails are acrylic and if I am sprouting hair from my chin or my eyebrows aren’t arched enough or if I am 35 and he still hasn’t “put a ring on it” or I am having triplets out of wedlock or If I wear the same dress 11 times and I have a bulge that isn’t  a baby bump or if I have a jay leno chin and cock-eyed breasts or if I am sleeping with the entire cricket team or a guy who weighs as much as the entire team or if the color I’m wearing brings out my squint or the mole on my upper lip looks a little less Cindy Crawford-ish and a little more like the animal or If my panty line is showing or my padded bra seems “ a little too padded” or If I grunt while I laugh or curse like a sailor or ten or If my toes aren’t manicured and my nail polish too red or if my dark circles remind you of the last solar eclipse.... Please for the love of Bhagwan, mind your own business. Your Beeswax. Your beejnes, jee.

Just keep your ugly thoughts in your well groomed- in- a- parlour head, and stop bitching, commenting, cackling, looking up and down and all around.

Maaaan you women, give the rest of us a much needed break.

Sincerely,

A miffed and disillusioned Delhi Woman.

Bollywood Grew Up

In the eighties and nineties, Hindi movies had one formula that lasted for three hours. One hour was dedicated to the dhishum-dhishum, another to song and dance that included running around trees and getting soaked in the rain that magically appeared on a cloudless day. And one hour was for cliché dialogue and dramatic long pauses. But we still managed to leave the theatre feeling happier and lighter. We’d escaped the real world for three whole hours and entered a world built on fantasy, strange humour and too much make up.

But in the last decade, the typical Bollywood masala Philum has had a complete Michael Jackson-ish make over. Now the song and dance routine actually fits into the story, the hero and heroine don’t have to wear matching clothes and pelvic thrusts that look like PT gone psychotically wild have been replaced by less vulgar goddesses like Munni and Sheila.

Our heroes no longer beat the shit out of an army of bad guys to prove that they are indeed hero worthy nor are they angry men with a miserable pasts. Nope. It doesn’t matter if they have to cry with snort oozing out of one nostril or both. They don’t mind sharing equal space with a heroine, going bald or trading in their six pack for a jiggling stomach with a protruding belly button. As long as they can do “good cinema” or bag a role like a Saif in Omkara or an Abhishekh in Guru, the heroes will surrender their title for a more prestigious one. They want to be actors who can act.

Our leading ladies are not far behind for they too have metamorphosed into better actors. They can carry movies on their pretty little shoulders and don’t need a muscular hero or a stammering buffoon to make their movie a ‘super hit.’ In the past, even though actresses like Nargis, Nutan, Madhuballa, Rekha and even a Sridevi and a Madhuri  were able captivate audiences with or without their thumkas and beautifully kohled almond shaped eyes, they could never be bigger than their male co-stars. But today our Bollywood princesses have  finally come into their own and soon real actresses like Kalki and the girl from Ishaqzaade are going to deflate Katrina’s  ego and overly plumped lips. Well, I certainly hope so.

It’s amazing how the Bollywood formula just stopped working and experimental cinema and brilliant films Dev D, LSD and Gangs of Wasseypur  have started to truly resonate with every movie watching, pop corn eating aunty, uncle, teenager, BTM, ishtud, and even rickshaw vaala.. We no longer care much for Salman’s biceps and perfectly waxed chest. We want to discuss very scene and analyse every emotion. The movie doesn’t end when the lights come back on because we take it with us for coffee or dinner or on a long drive home.

To sum it up plain and simple, we now yearn for gratifying cinema. Even if it means that we don’t leave the theatre feeling happier and lighter because our movies are now telling our stories. So I guess somewhere along the way, we grew up and Bollywood just had to follow.