My favorite movies: DDLJ

1995

We were in a music store. It was the time when you gave the shopkeeper a list of songs and he taped it on an empty cassette for you. Dad was here to order for a bunch of those. The owner of the shop (a sardar) knew Dad and his taste of music well enough to assemble a bunch of “readymade” cassettes of hindi movies/oldies to ponder upon. Sardarji resembled a saree salesman when he did this, handling cassettes as a saree salesman handles a saree – a poetic flow in his actions.

There was this cassette of a movie called Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge which earned the most praise from him.

Sardarji: “Bhaiya ye le jaiye…bahut badhiya gaane hain..”

Dad: “Achchha!”

Sardarji: “Arre hum bata rahe hain aapko…jitney log le gaye hain, sab taareef kar rahe hain humse yahaan laut ke..” (It actually used to happen at that time)

Dad: “De do yaar…sun lenge. Lekin ye do tho cassettwa hamara kal tak banaa dena.”

I don’t remember if I ever got the chance to listen to it.

There was a buzz in town (read school) when that movie was released. The few lucky ones who have watched the movie in the first weekend wore a smug smile on their faces, telling everybody who would listen (apparently everyone wanted to listen) that the movie was absolutely amazing – and that was the most toned-down version of all the reviews. My curiosity grew and I started pestering Dad to take us to this movie. As the number of people (who’ve seen this movie) grew, so did my pestering. My anxiety and jealousy grew as the seen-it people started using the abbreviated name – DDLJ – as if there was a kinship between them which I didn’t.

Eventually, Dad’s curiosity got the better of him and he decided that enough is enough. We finally went to the cinema next Saturday – eight weeks after it was released. There was still a huge crowd at the ticket counter. I don’t know how, it seemed impossible that we’ll get any tickets, but he returned after five minutes with tickets in his hand.

The movie didn’t seem to be “absolutely amazing” while I watched. In the interval Dad gave his usual on-the-spot one-line verdict, “Abhi tak to achchhi hai…”. After the interval, it was even better. Raj Malhotra had an impossible task in front of him. Convincing a hard-assed father to go back on his zubaan, betray his bachpan ka yaar, and give his daughter’s hand to a shmuck who stole beer from his shop. He did it, thanks to the last minute enlightenment of his father-in-law-to-be.

I obviously reviewed the movie in my head, as a fourteen year old would. There was comedy. There was all that friendship and romance gyaan. And there was some action in the end. A good movie.

What I was not ready for was the after-movie effects. There was another movie running inside my head with the same storyline but where I was the hero.

Insane me: “Maine to soch liya hai…agar apni bhi girlfriend ho kabhi to main bhi aisi hi nautanki karunga.”

Sane me: “Kya??…matlab??….bakwaas!!…”

Insane me: “Matlab…agar apne saath bhi kabhi aisa hua…”

Sane me: “Kya pagla wagla gaye ho kya..?? Aisa kabhi hota hai asli life mein…”

Nevertheless, I was not able to stop myself from dreaming about that movie, with the little modification I thought of earlier.

Next day, I told my friend, “DDLJ dekhi? It’s absolutely amazing!!” I had a smug smile on my face.

2012

While searching for another movie on the net, I came across a torrent for an HD print of DDLJ. My mouth watering, I started to download the movie. This time, it was eight days after the download that I watched the movie. I am thirty-one now – my thought process is now (allegedly) mature. I found some parts to be very 90s-ish but most of them were as refreshing as the first time. Also, I was able to discover the reasons behind this movie’s enormous fame.

DDLJ blatantly refused to follow the clichés. Be it Raj Malhotra – who has no regards for his sanity (Who the hell pees in a church? And then tells his bharatiya-sanskari God-fearing lady friend?), steals beer from an old man’s shop or fails his exams and gets congratulated by his pops (Dad gave me a don’t-you-dare look afterwards when we were talking about it). Or be it the seriously WTF-ing last scene where Amrish Puri, wearing his famous eyes-bulging-out-like surface-to-air-missiles-ready-to-fire expression, tells his daughter to go live her life with the tamboora-player.

But the real reason, in my opinion, was hope. It doesn’t matter how rich Raj Malhotra was, he represented all those utterly common guys who fail their exams or who steal samosa from canteen or pee on the walls of girls’ hostel. If he can get a girl, why can’t they?

For the girls (girlie girls), it was a paradigm shift that love may not and need not be at first sight. For some, and this goes on for many more SRK characters, it was refreshing to see a hero who is not perfect and omniscient, who makes mistakes, but does the right thing at the right time. In short, a normal person.

For me, I loved the way two unknown persons, start on a wrong note, become friends, realize the importance of each other in their lives, and eventually fall in love.

I finished the movie. There was a smug smile on my face.