The fancy churidaars, undermined intellect of Indian mass, The star in Nawazuddin Siddiqi and actor in making Salman Khan : Bajrangi Bhaijaan

A country often defined between three economic class, also has an interesting definition between three khans. I saw Bajrangi Bhaijaan amid a flurry of excited Salman Class. Families with over enthusiastic little Salmans, the college breakers, the new Mrs. Sharmas and Mrs. Guptas, The uncles who mention his cases in the same breath as his films, the converts and the Bhai-natics. Post ‘Wanted’ there is a certain anticipation of his brand of content and to his credit he has been able to hold that part. As much is the anticipation of his entry in his movies to which again he hasn’t disappointed the class. A kick on the door with aviators on is a thrill ablaze with whistles and roars. Bajrangi Bhaijan was no different. Such is the anticipation that a bunch of well-educated teenagers in the row before me actually planned their antics for his entry. As he thumped the gulal and flexed his muscles, they squeaked in as many ways as possible. This is the inside story. What happens outside is more interesting. It is just not the movie but the whole event that pulls the excitement. Hence, comes out the churidaars. The fancy, swirling churidaars find festivity in cinema and I am strictly talking about smaller towns here. It is the mindset that is cute. It is the joy that is innocent. The churidaars are the importance to cinema. It is the boost a filmmaker dies for. That is why a filmmaker also needs to return the favor with good cinema. Where India is right now in this space is quite interesting. This is probably the most vibrant phase of indian cinema. It is nuanced like never before. We have 100 crore-weak scripted-dance numbered-action packed-one linerd-cinema co-existing with smartly written, well-acted, deeply thought yet entertaining cinema. We have a bunch of new filmmakers testing many waters with big makers pumping into a lot of mega scale projects. The big budget ones find plenty of lovers while thinking ones find their audience as well. The only problem is the 100crore ones under stimulating the intellect of audience. Bajrangi unfolds with easiness and builds on vagueness. Even if you discount fictional liberty, it does play enough with you-are-not-smart-enough-to-get-this logic. An audience that gives Masaan a thumbs up in the same week deserves a bit of more scripting with Bhaijaan. You can still make a sweet and simple movie that makes the same amount of money but with a little more respect to junta. The simple fact that we recognize talent. The proof is Nawazuddin Siddiqi. A country that has made superstars only on the ground of looks, even Nawazuddin would know how far he is from that metric. Yet when he makes his entry in a movie that has Salman, the crowd erupts with claps and whistles (again). Now that is natural as he wasn’t anticipated. He is a star now. The film takes a fresh pump of air the moment he enters and for the remaining part of the movie both Nawaz and Salman carry the film together. That in a way is a win for Salman as well. Bajrangi Bhaijaan thankfully doesn’t have a series of typical one liners, signature steps, not even a slo-mo romantic number despite a decently sung Tu Chahiye by Aatif. A lack of these has made Salman work harder for this film and the actor in him finds a way. This is probably his one of the better acted movies. I have never seen him emote as naturally as he did in this. The actor is unrolling its skin over the superstar and it is a good beginning,

what makes us

*wrote this for my 8 year old nephew*

A boat that sails 

Through the ups and downs

Of great sea

Has no power but 

The way it is made

To never drown in difficulties

We are a boat to sail

In this large sea called world 

And we do because

Parents make us so

A mud remains a mud

Until a potter mend its way

To create lovely statues

Of gods that people pray

We are born as mud

Until parents make us 

Beautiful structures

That the world looks at

Parents are the stem below the lovely flower

That takes the pain of holding us upright

For the world that only sees

The beauty of a flower

The wrinkles

The old wood table and the earthen pot,
Trembling fingers who have seen it all,
Find a world of their own,
Every morning, winters or fall,
Newspapers change but stories,
The world is a pattern in making,

The tea, the garden, the wall of glories

When love is memories,
And promises letters,
The wrinkles find their way,
To soak all that mattered.