Jolly good,Bollywood

Which lang-uage do you people speak in India? Is it called ‘Errr-du’?” asked the dapper foreign gentleman, who had just been introduced to me as the main Mumbai Academy of Moving Images (MAMI) man. I was taken aback. But given the occasion (one of Mumbai’s super-deluxe soirees), I was mentally prepared to meet all types.

This bloke was being treated like visiting royalty and shepherding him around was a prominent socialite. Who on earth was he? I still don’t know, and don’t care. Clearly, he was an ill-informed jerk. I nearly choked on my white wine, while answering politely, “Perhaps you are referring to ‘Urdu’, which is widely spoken in Pakistan?” He looked slightly annoyed, and said, “It’s possible. Is English still taught here? Or is it forbidden? Discontinued? Do you write in a native language?” I didn’t bother to respond. The man obviously did not know when to cut his losses and scoot. He must have been jet lagged, I reasoned, as he continued the barrage. Someone whispered he was a big noise at the ongoing Mumbai Film Festival.
I should have guessed. Because, we had had a rather strange conversation on cinema, specifically on Bollywood. The man had pronounced pompously, “Nobody is interested in that sort of mindless song and dance genre. If India wants to tap world markets, your films must change.” Oh really? And who the hell are you? I pointed out that our films were doing brilliantly across the world. Bollywood was one of India’s top brands internationally. The spectacular success of our films in countless territories was impressive enough to attract top Hollywood studio bosses and several global co-productions, ready to invest serious money here. Bollywood was being assiduously wooed by “all those who matter”. I even threw in a few figures (confession: I made them up). He snorted dismissively, “But the overseas audience mainly consists of other Indians.” So? Their opinion doesn’t count? Their ticket money is of a different colour? “Other people don’t
relate to your films,” he went on, adding airily, “You must change the format if you want to succeed.”
That’s when I took off. I asked him whether “Crouching Tiger…” had changed its format to please Western audiences? I pointed out the gigantic domestic market for our films and how we really don’t need to pander. Besides, I thundered, what was Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge if not a glorified Bollywood film?
And why the hell should we change a highly successful formula that we have always loved, in order to kowtow to the West? Are Western filmmakers saying, “Oh… we have a potentially huge market in India. Why don’t we make movies that please Indians?” Are Hollywood studios rejigging Batman or Pirates… to impress desi film fans? Are those guys thinking, “Maybe, we should try and change our movies around for the humungous Indian market?” Nobody is saying that, right? Not now, at any rate. But soon, they will. That’s when we’ll have the last laugh. Just like the Taiwanese and Hong Kong filmmakers did. Indian filmmakers should stop trying to accommodate the likes of this rather obnoxious chap who is here as a VIP guest of MAMI. He didn’t have a clue about our country, culture, diversity, music or movies. But he had the audacity to express strong opinions and damn our films. How come? Because he can! Because he knows we’ll take it.
After listening to my bhashan on Bollywood, and why Bollywood should never change, the man admitted sheepishly and lamely, “I never said you should stop making those song and dance films. All I am saying is that your filmmakers should go beyond that genre and make a different kind of film that speaks a more universal language.”
By then, I was all fired up. “Have you seen Monsoon Wedding?” I asked, sticking my chin out. He had. He countered, “Have you seen Water?” I hadn’t. Advantage Mr Goatee. He asked a few more condescending questions that left me wondering why we pick such people for our festivals. Worse, why do we give them so much bhau? Our Bollywood extravaganzas are unique! They are completely bizarre. And totally wonderful. We love them for their craziness. We know what we are paying for. We like the absence of logic… the many absurdities. We worship our stars. And our mad movies have a profound influence on our lives. We don’t need to clone the West. We have our own specific identity. A legitimate and highly entertaining genre called the Bollywood movie. Take it or leave it. But by elevating people like him to important positions at our prestigious film festivals, we downgrade ourselves. This is seriously depressing. Let’s stop being so damn defensive and apologetic. Our younger filmmakers are talented and bold. Their movies are speaking a new, creative language that is very much our own. Look at Dev D, Band Baaja…, Tanu Weds Manu, Delhi Belly and a few other recent hits that have captured a new audience but stayed true to themselves and the new urban reality. Bollywood movies have always touched an emotional chord in us, whether it’s a weepy or a nutcase of a film (“My Friend Prateik”). This is what we like. Leave us alone, Mr Big Noise.
There are several gyaan givers like this gentleman, who show up for such junkets. They know next to nothing about the host country, but are placed in elevated positions, given super fabulous treatment (Indians really do make the best hosts), and while here, they think nothing of talking down to the natives as we hang on to every word and all but prostrate ourselves at their feet. Nothing personal against this chap.
The fact that I didn’t bother to ask his name after that “Err-du” comment shows my utter lack of interest in the ignoramus. But it did bug me that someone as erudite as a Shyam Benegal would have to put up with this person’s inane, superficial commentary during the festival. Am I being super-touchy? I don’t think so. “Obviously, English is no longer taught in India,” was one of his crass comments. I should have said, “And obviously, good manners are not taught in yours.” But the annoying asli Indian inside me kicked in, alas.
“He’s our mehmaan, jaaney do,” I shrugged. I had given him a pretty hard time. So, sab theek hai!

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