Why this American girl needs her Indian movies — especially Bollywood

After recent hubbub over a blog post saying Americans enjoy Bollywood only as the film world’s “blond bimbo,” I found myself evaluating again why I’m so drawn to Bollywood — it’s certainly not because I think of Bollywood as a bimbo (or blond; I don’t think a single blonde exists in Bollywood!). I’ve mentioned before that I’ve had a hard time in the past deciphering or putting into words what attracts me to Bollywood or why I feel so strongly about it. But after more than a year of contemplating this, I have perhaps found some answers, though I doubt this post is capable of being comprehensive.

Perhaps on the most basic level, it has to do with believing in something. Because mainstream Indian cinema is what scholars describe as “pre-cynical.” That means, as Suketu Mehta writes in Maximum City, audiences in India, the Middle East, Russia and Central Asia “still believe in motherhood, patriotism, and true love; Hollywood and the West have moved on.”

Perhaps the greatest appeal for me in fiction, both on film and in literature, is not just a suspension of disbelief but also a suspension of cynicism. It is true that while I’m hardly the most cynical person you’ll ever meet, I admit I’m fairly skeptical. It’s probably fair to say I don’t believe in true love. And I don’t want to be a mother, though family for me is a very strong value. Because I’ve studied nationalism, I’ve also developed a degree of skepticism about “the story a nation tells of itself” — not a skepticism of patriotism, per se, but of national identity politics.

But because I am so cynical about the real world, I genuinely enjoy suspending my cynicism to watch or read an emotional story of love. Because we all do wish that life worked like that. It’s perhaps the same reason that we feel drawn to superhero films, science fiction and fantasy: Imagining and experiencing through fiction a world different from and better than our own is far more appealing than, say, reveling in the actual darkness of our world, no matter how accurate the picture is. (I say this with full conviction in my faith, but the same concept is basically true of religion: We believe in a world or existence better than the one we’re now in and then work to obtain it.)

I’ve heard Bollywood described by detractors as ridiculous — but why must emotionality be written off ridiculous? Emotion is always dramatized in film because it’s rarely visible. Simply because Bollywood chooses to treat it without a dose of cynicism does not mean it’s any more ridiculous.

But of course an American’s love for Bollywood cannot be explained by only that lack of cynicism. Because if that were true, why would I be so particularly drawn to Indian movies rather than just noncynical Hollywood movies? Because the fact is, jokes about the real nationality of my dil aside, I am not Indian. I’m American, particularly a very proud daughter of the American South and its cultural traditions.

But Indian culture and my Southern culture share many values: Family is crucial. Patriotism runs very, very deep (the South started a war over that once). Religion and respect (for elders especially) hold society together. Food is a must. When you party, you party hard (Punjabis especially!), but you always work twice or three times as hard as you party. If you can’t laugh at yourself and your culture, everyone else is going to do it for you, so you never take yourself too seriously (for the South, this is Jeff Foxworthy jokes; for India, it’s filmi-ness). Even the wild Indian love for cricket has a counterpart in the fervent Southern love for college football (especially SEC football).

Because of all of these things, I feel a sort of affinity with Indian culture. In many ways, we share values that many other cultures no longer respect. I believe that even most of American culture doesn’t value family, patriotism, religion, respect for elders and hard work anymore, and Hollywood certainly doesn’t.

That is often why and where Hollywood and I part ways. Simply because we’re from the same country does not mean we’re the same culture. Hollywood in no way represents or understands my culture. But Bollywood? Bollywood does.

Bollywood understands that I don’t watch a movie to see tons of sex that’s somehow meant to imply a relationship. Bollywood understands that family is a concept with weight and meaning. Bollywood understands that music conveys emotion. Bollywood understands that there are generational issues that can be resolved without shunning one’s parents or tradition.

And because Bollywood understands values — and I understand its values — and because it allows me to suspend cynicism, I love Bollywood. And I need it.

Baazigar (1993): Revenge with twisted justice — an ending and beginning for the SRK and Kajol jodi

I went to see Rowdy Rathore last night and enjoyed it, but you’ll have to wait for my review while I scramble to collect coherent thoughts. Instead, I bring you this post that’s been in the making for probably two weeks.

Unfortunately, my journey with my favorite jodi, SRKajol, has very reluctantly come to an end. Finally, after more than a year of putting it off (and watching it in snatches over the course of six months), I finished Baazigar. Part of me had so wanted to see Baazigar because it was the last of the SRKajol films left to watch while it was also their first film together. But part of me didn’t want to because it was the end of the line.

There is, of course, much to say about Baazigar beyond SRK and Kajol. It’s just that I find myself lamenting the fact that I have no more of their films to watch. It’s really an injustice. The world needs more Kajol period, and she and SRK are so electrifying to watch. Listen up, filmi world: I need more! (And there is perhaps a whole other blog post waiting to be written about that.)

The SRK and Kajol of Baazigar are very different than the SRK and Kajol of other films. In 1993, both were fairly new to the scene and certainly not huge impressive stars, and Kajol was barely (if at all) a legal adult. The roles for each are unlike their other films together. Despite romancing two women, Shahrukh isn’t the lover boy; he’s a cold murder bent on revenge, a dark role at which he’s surprisingly, perhaps frighteningly, adept and convincing (see: Don, Don 2, Asoka, Duplicate [in one of his roles], and even Josh to a degree). Priya Chopra is less boisterous than the typical Kajol character we all know and love (though she’s clearly excitable and bouncy), and she’s grappling with the mysterious suicide of her older sister, while being the spoiled rich girl (isn’t that usually SRK’s job in their films?).