I clutched my hemp haversack tightly and held it close to my chest. The shirt I wore that day was pretty blah and on any other day, I wouldn't have dared to be seen in public wearing such an unimpressive piece of clothing lacking style or finish. But on that day, I was ready to sacrifice style for the safety of anonymity. If I could just get through the day without anyone trying to engage me in conversation...
"Are you waiting for the SVCE bus too?"
I turned around to see a tall boy. His father was on a scooter a few feet away. The boy was dressed in a white shirt brighter than the sun. An obscenely large silver belt buckle flashed at his waist and the ensemble was completed by a pair of brand new sneaker shoes.
"Uh..yes I am.", I replied.
This guy was dressed to get royally raped, I decided. What was he thinking?
"Oh good.I'm Vadivel. They said the bus should be here by 8.30AM."
"I'm Vikram. Yeah,that's what they told me too"
In a few minutes, a particularly unattractive yellow bus rumbled along. The sign in front read "27 Mambalam". Here goes,I said to myself as I got on board.
The bus was fairly full and I was happy to find an empty 3-seater in the first few rows. I love occupying the window seat in any journey. After a couple of stops,Sharada boarded the bus in K.K.Nagar. Seeing a cheerful friendly face was reassuring that this wasn't going to be the most humiliating day in my life.
Four stops later, an attractive boy got into the bus. He was tall and looked strong. He was dressed conservatively in a checked shirt and nondescript jeans. He stopped to talk to a girl sitting a few seats away from me.He then surveyed the scene and noticed that the seats next to me were unoccupied.
"Can I sit here?"
"Yeah sure",I replied and got my bag out of the way.
We didn't say a word to each other for the rest of the journey. Later that morning,I found out that he was in my class. I was too preoccupied trying to maintain a low profile to bother striking a conversation with him.
I'd attended the same school for 16 years and I'd grown comfortable within that well,never needing to step outside and 'fit' into new circles. This was my first day in college and I'd heard enough stories about seniors 'ragging' incoming juniors to make me want to get through the day unnoticed. And who really knew if your own classmates were any better or different!
Over the course of the next few weeks, that boy sat with me regularly and eventually we formed a fun group of friends who took the same bus every day, occupying 2 rows of seats to spend journeys playing charades, music games, sharing gossip or cracking jokes so inane you'd think we were high on dope! It worked just as well that we were all in the same class. The laughter never stopped in batch "D".
After freshman year (or 'first year' as we call it), the bunch of us never got to take classes together as a group. Daily jaunts then became more precious since those were the only times we could forget the miseries we endured in our respective disciplines or bitch about them passionately.
As the years rolled on, our friendship was cemented by laughter,tears,fights and apologies. I sensed a unique connection with each of these people and I was thankful that I'd never have to pick favourites. I couldn't possibly.
The aforementioned boy became one of my closest friends as life let me discover eventually. His temper and blunt attitude masked a sensitive side he didn't always expose. His success and good luck was congratulated and often envied. He was the only one to call me on my behaviour and eccentricities. I hated his guts but that's what made me grow to like him more. He could hurt my feelings in a second but he was just as capable of punching someone else who did the same thing. I remember the day I showed him an insensitive message I'd received from a project partner regarding a difference in opinion. My friend turned so livid that he leaned back to yell in anger at the project mate who was caught off-guard.
I'll never forget that moment.
It has been 10 years since the day I first met that boy.
This morning I filtered through my mail as I gobbled breakfast. I paused to see a thick golden envelope. The decoration was ornate and an image of Ganesha beamed over the letters
Last night,Musicman invited me to join him at Anka gallery in Old Town. A group of people had been taking classes in "Process painting" and they were 'sharing' their work in a spacious gallery-the sort of open space where aficionados stand rooted to their spots lost in contemplation while the uninterested shift edgily,wondering how much time one spends looking at a work of art from various angles. To be honest, I didn't know anything about process painting until last night. One of the artists there explained to us that the form is all about putting emotions to paper in a continuous, unchanelled fashion where figures,shapes and colours aren't picked for a reason. In other words, you just let your creativity flow sans objective, aim or direction. Pretty soon, the creation begins to direct you instead. The experience is more about the journey than the destination itself.
What is the destination then, I asked. If you are putting expressions down on paper without any specific direction or vision, how do you know you're done with your work? Apparently, you don't on several occasions. It is a tough decision to figure out when you need to stop. The easiest way is when your creative source has been exhausted and you don't continue to feel that urge to keep painting.
If that sounded lofty to you, it seemed improbable to a cynic like me when the lady explained all this to us. The artists encourage visitors to pick up brushes themselves and explore their creative side for a few minutes. It was this attraction which made me resist the temptation to dismiss this method as yet another hoity-toity art jargon. After spending a few minutes examining several pictures (I won't share my honest opinion here since the artists insist you neither commend nor criticize one of their works), I felt the urge to don an apron and reach for a palette.
Musicman and I started working on 2 sheets of paper pinned to a wall. I felt a familiar rush as I reached for the tub of black paint. I could see it in my head. The idea excited me in the same way I favour my composition or craft project as soon as I have completed it. I am not unreceptive to criticism or comments (seemingly hard to believe given the title of this blog) but in some slight measure, I like to give myself a little bit of uncompromising credit for conceiving any idea.
My fingers flew across paper as rapid brush strokes filled up almost every spot with the idea bubbling in my head. Occasionally, I'd glance across at Musicman to find his brush casually caressing paper with soft curves, free-flowing forms and ultimately an attractive amalgam of colours. After almost 30 minutes (didn't seem that long), I stepped back to examine my effort in temporary satisfaction. More form needed to be included, white spaces to be filled and features to be detailed. But what lay in front of my eyes was quite satisfactory in no small measure.
In a flash, my bubble burst and with resignation, I informed Musicman that I was ready to go. Locating a funky coffeeshop a few doors away, we sat down with cups of chai to discuss the experience. Talking it out helped me put words to that bubble burst.
When I picked up my brush, I hadn't opened a door to my surge of expression. I had desperately tried to give form to a vision in my head, granted that vision germinated during the first few minutes I'd spent in the gallery. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, how I wanted to say it. When I put down my brush, it wasn't because I had depleted that creative source. It was because I knew I couldn't complete my work (a word the other artists actually don't encourage you to use) at that time. I also knew that I had filled up enough space on my paper to prevent another artist from continuing to express on my sheet (an idea these artists actually encourage, since the idea is about expression,not ownership). In every possible way, I had flouted the basic principle behind process painting.
And that was simply because I couldn't let go.
I like to think of myself as a creative person. But truthfully, it is channeled creativity that I actually possess, possibly due to my cultural upbringing. Eastern cultures almost unanimously insist on striving for stability from cradle to career. That stability almost readily comes from the next rung on an infinite ladder. Competition is so fierce that switching ladders or staying put on any rung aren't viable options. The need to succeed drives parents to egg their children to outperform their peers and strive for the goals they themselves couldn't achieve. I read somewhere that no parent wants their child to lead the exact same standard of life they had to lead. The aspiration is admirable indeed but the repercussion is equally damaging. Teenage suicide resulting from unsatisfactory academic performance (not failing) is probably the worst fruit this egging has resulted in. While this happens on a smaller scale (but happens nevertheless), the majority of children grow up with their parents' vision ingrained in their head, their own dreams either nipped in the bud or compromised with regret. One of the greatest tragedies in our lives has to be the continuation of our existence without an evolution of the self. When some of these individuals find themselves living and/or working in a western society, the discovery of tremendous opportunity is overwhelming and liberating to the point where it restores the self-confidence they had once lost to follow their dream.
Western cultures celebrate the idea of the self almost to the point of glorification. The development of the self and the idea of respecting personal space is of such prime importance that it is self-evident at every stage in life-letting babies sleep separately, assigning children to their own rooms with individual beds, allowing high school students to pick their electives, encouraging college freshmen to explore their interests before picking a major, urging working singles to date frequently and engage in relationships before ultimately identifying 'the one', relocating to a different city or country to experience a change, changing careers or quitting work to follow a dream. The consequence, in my opinion, is that people tend to be so focused on achieving what they want, they lose sight of a bigger picture. They spend hours trying to thread memories and experiences to explain why they are the way they are, where they have come in life and what it means to be in that position. A vast majority of them are constantly besotted with the dilemma as to why they aren't happy ever. In an ironic fashion, some of them decide to examine eastern faiths to understand the nature of the self and its purpose in this world.
I hasten to mention here that I do not wish to condemn or criticize any one faith or culture. I am perfectly happy and in many ways extremely grateful for the wonderful upbringing my family was able to provide for me. It has taken me this long to pause and understand what essentially defines me. While I am all for the idea of people discovering and pursuing what they truly believe in, I must honestly admit that I have grown to enjoy a good bit of control and stability in any undertaking. I find its absence very unsettling and the idea of relinquishing it absolutely impossible.
"I just don't know why I wasn't able to let go. I couldnt let my mind wander when I needed to pick shapes and colours. I knew I wanted orange right next to blue.I knew it'd bother me too much if I'd picked purple instead.I might be judging myself too much but I can't stop judging.Maybe it's not that I couldn't let go. Maybe I didnt want to let go..".The words gushed out of my mouth as Musicman stared directly into my eyes in that coffeeshop.
"I think you just said it there yourself. You can let go....you just don't want to.", he replied quietly.
Perhaps it is best that I stay this way. My behaviour might appear to be neurotic and in some ways obsessive-compulsive (talk to my friends!), but atleast I am now aware of who I am, what makes me happy and why I do the things I do.
I might have failed in process painting but I learnt a truth that day which was just as personal to me as the realisations every other artist has discovered in this class.
At precisely 1pm, I trudged along the concrete walkway to the cafeteria as irritated geese honked at my disturbance. The day was no different from a thousand others I'd spent here. And yet, my fingers felt cold and clammy. I knew I was about to do the right thing.Then why did I feel so uncertain about it? A surge of envy took me by surprise as I looked at busy heads around me-walking towards the cafeteria,walking back to work,huddled in gossip or staring seriously at the ground. In an immature way that we often feel but seldom share, I wanted to become one of them. I wanted to shake off this bravado which clung to me and return to my mundane existence.
I waited in line at the soup station to pick up yet another cup of the daily selection-the same choice paired with a bread roll overpriced for its size. There stood the lady I loved to hate. I didn't know her name.I had never had a conversation with her ever before. I knew nothing about her job. Nor could I explain why I was so fixated on this baseless prejudice. All I knew about her was what she presented to the world every day between 1 and 2pm at the cafeteria. A picture of immaculate poise and grace. She maintained perfect posture when she occupied a seat at the table by the window.She spread her food,water,book and reading glasses on a tray and carried them in a way that made the engineers around her look like slobs as they tried to stuff food cartons into their gym bags. She had never worn the same outfit twice in the 12 months that I had been noticing her. Her outfits wove a fine thread of class with subtle hints of style,fun, professionalism and adventure and they seemed to reflect the many moods she might possess every day as her emerald eyes concentrated on her hard-bound book.
Bubbling malicious thoughts were momentarily curbed by an approaching figure which I spotted from the corner of my eye. He was a handsome young man and he strolled in a manner which befitted his relaxed persona. I knew everything about him, just about. I knew his name was Jake and that he worked as a writer. I knew he had a girlfriend,Megan, who enjoyed having him accompany her to cooking classes. I had heard stories about his brother in Albuquerque, his student years in Vermont, his adventures on a cross-country trip and his plans for the future. Infact, I felt like I knew more things about him than he ever realized.
"Good workout,Jake?" "Hey,how's it going? Yeah not a bad workout!",he replied.
He didn't know my name. I knew he didnt because he had never ever asked me. Nor had he ever tried to introduce me to another person who might have been around. And yet, he'd talk to me about everything under the sun.
"I wanted to head out of work early today" he continued. "Meg wants to go to this poetry reading tonight. I don't really care for it but we kinda had a bad fight last night so I'm trying to be the nice boyfriend!", he grinned.
"Oh thats a good idea", I said. You dont know my name!
Paying for my lunch,I walked back outside to an area where several tables sat unoccupied. The sun was out today but the air was nippy. I flipped my book open as I tasted a spoonful of soup. I knew I wasn't going to finish reading it in time for our book discussion group's meeting. I was about to put my spoon down when I jerked my hand away in surprise. A tiny spider, small but ugly nevertheless, crawled from under the book to the paper napkin I had spread out for my spoon.
I love all animals, well almost all of them. I dont have a huge tolerance for insects and frogs. And I particularly hate bugs. I wasn't going to kill this one but I didn't need him disturbing my lunchtime reading either. The chauvinist in me assumes that any intruder from the animal kingdom typically tends to be a male,unless examined closely.Taking a deep breath in, I blew directly into his face, picturing myself to be a massive giant wreaking havoc on a hapless soul. I didn't want to crush him to death but I wanted to give him enough of a chance to survive a windy gale.I felt no remorse.
As my lungs gave out, I was surprised to see him rooted to the spot. He paused for a few seconds and then continued to scurry cautiously across the napkin as if bombs might explode under his feet any instant. My amusement turned into irritation. I wasn't going to let a bug humble me. Taking another deep breath, I blew from the rear so that he might get taken by surprise. My shoulders slouched in exhaustion. He was still there.
Pushing him with the edge of the napkin, I tried to force him off the side of the table. Had it been any other bug, I wouldn't have thought twice about flicking him away. But the sight of the ugly spider trying to climb over the moving napkin hurt my eyes even as my fingers moved without conscience.
I pushed him off the edge a few times and he came crawling right back. The feeling of guilt was overpowering and my uncharacteristic nature chilled me. My own imperfections are my darkest secrets and I'd sooner join the rest of the world in denying them rather than acknowledge their existence.
I wanted to put an end to my ordeal. I waited for a few moments as the spider's legs moved cautiously. I wanted him to be caught unaware. Summoning one last deep breath, I blew strongly at his many legs. He struggled to maintain his balance but his legs gave way and he vanished into the air.
I leaned over to check if he had fallen on my slacks. The last thing I wanted today was a thin trail of spider goo staining my crisp cream slacks. My eyes fell out in amazement.
Curled into a tiny speck of a ball, the spider was elevating himself as his front legs worked furiosuly to pull his body up a strand of his saliva which remained suspended from the edge of the table. After he gained strength, he positioned himself and swiftly rose to the edge of the table once again. Pausing for a few moments, possibly to regain his composure, he proceeded to scurry across a paper desert and finally sink into a small crevice on the surface of the table.
I stared at the crevice in shock, wonder, amusement and finally in shame. I looked around to see if spectators had been witnessing this sadistic torture. There wasn't a soul in sight although I was pretty certain Miss Perfection sitting at her table indoors would have judged me with her cold green eyes.
I closed my book and gulped down my soup as quickly as I could. I wanted to get away. Scurrying back to my office, I locked myself inside and sat behind my desk, staring into my computer lost in thought.
Finally, I pulled open my drawer and opened a file. I retrieved my resignation letter and tossed it into the shredder.
Welcome one, welcome all to "Breaking down Bollywood songs - an Intro to understanding popular Indian movie songs through the ages"! Now a lot of you American ignoramuses might dismiss off bollywood songs to be crazy potpourri of gaudy costumes, hip thrusts and smoke bombs. Nothing could be farther away from the truth and it is my moral responsibility to present the Indian film industry in proper light.
Now in Hollywood movies (where hero heroine remove clothes in middle of movie and do dirty things without shame), sound tracks are fitted to suit only certain scenes (wherever director says) and win Oscar awards. This is complete disrespect to music profession in opinion of Indian music directors. We feels that the songs are the backbones of the movie , like the skeleton. Therefore, it is essential to build skeleton first and then build body.
Any movie in Bollywood MUST essentially contain the following types of songs (minimum 1 each) for box office success. For each type, I will illustrate with one example to show how proper lyrics should be written.
1.Hero's intro - mixing with college students (20-30) or village folk/city folk(hero 30+) Hero is always man of masses.Hero introduces himself as best of best men. Sometimes hero also tries to pass cultural value message through intro-song to remind us all about Indian values which are foundation of all movies.
Eg:Anil Kapoor in "My name is Lakhan"(Ram Lakhan)
Ey ji Hey you! Oh ji Yeah you! Ey ji Oh ji Lo ji sunoji Hey you,yeah you,look,listen to me! Main hoon manmoji I'm everyone's favourite here Karta hoon main jo woh tum bhi karoji Just do whatever I do 1 2 ka 4....4 2 ka 1 I'll make 4 out of 1 and 2....and 1 out of 4 and 2 (oooh!) My name is Lakhan My name is Lakhan My name is Lakhan My name is Lakhan Sajjanon ka sajan,mera naam hai lakhan The best of them all,my name is Lakhan
Then again,sometimes hero not so dashing-smashing. Tries hard to find love.
Eg:Sharman Joshi and Sahil Khan in "Excuse me!Kya re?"(Style)
Excuse me, kya re? Excuse me. Yes, What is it? Mera dil tere pe fida re My heart crazy about you Bus stop pe dekha tujhe pehli baar Saw you at the bus stop the first time Jhatke se ho gaya tere se pyar Fell in love when bus slammed brakes Bolta hoon main sacchi baat I speak the truth Samajhna isko bakwaas kya? Not rubbish, ok?
Excuse me ? Haan bol na ! Excuse me. Yes, tell me! Main pehle se shaadi shuda re! I'm already married!
2.Heroine's intro - in garden (for sweet rich girl image), waterfall(for Mandakini image) or Ooty hills(for pahadi type image) Goodygirl heroine is like safebox where you store jewels. Once open and available for public display, it , sorry she, might get looted and robbed of family prestige. Therefore, please protect your girl child like flower.
Eg:Venkatesh and Karishma in "Phoolon sa chehra tera"(Anari)
Phoolon sa chehra tera Like beautiful flowers your face is Kaliyon si muskaan hai Like buds your smile is Rang tera dekh ke, roop tera dekh ke Looking at your complexion and form Khudrat bhi hairaan hai Even God is shocked
3.Teasing song(boy teases girl or vice versa) Boy and girl are like fire and firecracker. Chemistry happens with explosion and dishum-dishum first. So first we have playful fights between lovers, then lovers realise they'd rather spend time loving instead of fighting. Such a beautiful truth there is! Let us all do the same!
Eg:Govinda and Karishma in "Ik hai anaar yahan"(Dulaara)
(Please do not start controversy about song resembling American pop song. That music star says his shirt is sexy.Govinda ji says his pant is sexy first. Infact,even his rumaal is sexy!)
Ik hai anaar yahan kitne beemaar yahan One pomegranate here but so many sick girls yeh dil main kis kis ko doon? How many people can I give my heart to? Har ik ladki mujhpe hai marti Every girl falling for me Main sab ke dil mein rahoon They all want me to live in their hearts Kyuni Mere pant bhi sexy 'Coz my pant is sexy(only pant not pants) Meri shirt bhi sexy My shirt is also sexy Mere baal bhi sexy All my hairs are sexy Meri chaal bhi sexy My walking style is sexy Yeh rumaal bhi sexy hai! Look!Even this scarf I wear is sexy(not girly on a tough guy like me!)
4.Duet 1(fantasy - before hero heroine say I LOVE YOU)
Even though boy teased her, girl is not able to resist boy's charms.Therefore she puts up icy exterior to prevent his advances but secretly she is sending out pheramones to let him know that he is right up her saree,sorry alley (if you pay close attention, Govindaji mentions this in previous song!). At this time, either girl fantasises about duet or boy fantasises. The location should ideally be Ooty hills with 12-24 or 36 dancers (all female).Please pick celestial damsel costumes(Urvashi Taylors) for back-up dancers. Smoke bombs can help add colour to scene.
(yes yes I know that all examples seem to have Loloji but what to do, she is mast Punjabi kudi perfect for these songs!)
Dil ka panchi bole kuku kukuBird in my heart says kuku kuku
Sanson ki bansi bole kuku kukuFlute in my breath says kuku kuku
Tera bhi dil bole kuku kukuYour heart also says kuku kuku
Mera bhi dil bole kuku kukuMy heart also says kuku kuku
Mujhko pasand tere kuku kukuI like your kuku kuku!
Tujhko pasand mere kuku kukuYou like my kuku kuku!
Jo tha khwab mein,hai woh saamneWhat I dreamt of is now in front of me
Roz karenge ham kuku kuku ku ku ku kuNow daily we can do kuku kuku !!
Boy handles initial butterflies in different way. Boy wants to celebrate with his loafer-friends who are quite the poets. They compares the love feeling to wonderful disease!
Eg:Shah Rukh Khan and Juhi Chawla in "Loveria Hua"(Raju ban gaya gentleman)
Kya hua, ise kya hua? What's happened to him? Doston yeh ise kya hua? Friends,what has happened to him? Iska to baj gaya baaja This guy is done for! Yeh kya hua?Arre re kya hua? What happened to him?Oh what happened to him? Sardi khansi na malaria hua Not a fever,cold or malaria Yeh gaya yaaron isko This guy's done 'coz he has caught Loveria hua!Loveria hua!Loveria hua! Loveria!Loveria!Loveria
In some cases, hero is so smitten he wants to enjoy the feelings in garden setting.
Jab se hui mohabbat Since I fell in love Kal ki nahin fursat No peace of mind Kabhi unke khwabon mein Sometimes lost in dreams of her Kabhi unke khayalon mein Sometimes lost in thoughts of her
5.Duet 2(fantasy - after hero heroine say I LOVE YOU) All Bollywood movies are about love-love for one another, love for parents,love for children,love to kill,love to steal,love to die,love for animals,love to dance etc. Therefore it is necessary to have lots of love songs, especially in second half of movie (incase people forget story during intermission).
Eg:Shashi Kapoor and Mumtaz in "Phool ban jaoonga"(Pyar kiye ja)
Phool ban jaoonga sharth yeh hai magar I'll become a pansy only if ...sorry,a flower only if Apne zulfon mein mujhko saja leejiye You promise to let me adorn your hair Khwab ban jaaongi sharth yeh hai magar I'll become a dream only if Apne aankhon mein mujhko basa leejiye You promise to nest me in your eyes
Please note wonderful director ji's-touch where Shashi Kapoor grants Mumtaz's request when he wears Rayban glasses reflecting her image.
6.Duet 3(reality - identity song in case one of them cheats later or is missing) Love is blind. We Indians realise this very early in movie making. That is why sometimes the hero forgets the premika or vice versa. For jolting memory, it is necessary for them to learn a song together in cases of mistaken identity(very popular theme!).
Eg:Shammi Kapoor and Saira Banu in "Ehsaan hoga tera mujhpar"(Junglee)
Ehsaan tera hoga mujhpar You'll be doing me a favour Dil chahta hai woh kehne do If you can just tell me what your heart wants to say Mujhe tumse mohabbat ho gayi hai I'm in love with you Mujhe palkon ki chaaon mein rehne do Let me stay in the shade of your eyes
Version 1: Boy singing (makes lofty promises)
Version 2:Girl singing (boy shocked by girl's lookalike and rebuffs her but girl's attitude is 'never give up!')
7.Family song(can be changed into Mother-son song if needed) Family ! Family ! Family ! We CANNOT stress importance of family in Indian movies. Family always sticks together and nothing unites them like a family song. This will help as identity in future if children are separated or if they have gotten corrupted by modern culture. Parents can use family-song to set them straight!Best example I can think of combines lesson in English with lesson in music and quick 5-minute video tour of Indian tourist spots. Value for money ! Eg:Family number in "Hum Saath Saath Hain"
ABCDEFGHI ABCDEFGHI JLKM JLKM NOPQRST UVWX NOPQRST UVWX YZ YZ I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!
8.Philosophy song(after either hero or heroine go through pain to learn meaning of life) Now Now life is not always song, dance, teasing,joking. Lovers need to understand that they need to get tested the hard way. Chee Chee no, not STD testing. In Indian movies lovers dont do dirty business. But lovers do need to face hardship because there is no such thing called free love. The lessons learnt will serve to educate the silly romantics who waste afternoons thinking love is easy. Please appreciate multi-purpose lessons learnt through Bollywood movies.
Eg:Taariq and Kaajal Kiran in "Kya hua tera waada"(Hum Kisi se Kam nahin)
Kya hua tera waada What happened to your promise? Woh kasam woh iraada Your promise and your intentions? Bhoolega dil jis din tumhe The day my heart forgets you Woh din zindagi ka aakhri din hoga Should best be the day I die
Please note poor lover doesnt get angry even though childhood sweetheart cant recognize him. Instead he takes frustration on guitar-ish device and lets childhood memories torment her. Effective strategy!
9.Devotional song(in case God has to rescue their love through miracle) But not everything can be left to fate of lovers.Sometimes fate has to be moved in right direction. And only faith in God can change faith, as has been repeatedly insisted in our Bollywood movies. Praying to God is absolute must. That's why our villages are named Rampur while our heroes are usually Ramu (heroines Sita or Gita). And remember, devotional songs aren't always for lovers !
Eg:Akshay Kumar and Baddy girl Rekha in "Maa Sherawaliye"(Khiladiyon ka Khiladi)
Maa Sherawaliye Mother riding tiger Tera sher aa gaya Your tiger has now arrived ! Apne khoon se nehlane To bathe you with his blood (ouch!) Tera beta aa gaya Your son has now arrived !
Please pay attention to over-acting by Akshayji since Rekha madam's evil designs are driving him crazy!
10.Cabaret song/Item song(gangsters anthem when heroine is captive) With devotional song, hero has double confidence and double shakti to face any obstacle. Alas,What a tragedy!Villainji has kidnapped innocent damsel heroine. She must be rescued by hook or by crook. Usually plot is complicated by including stolen diamonds or lost family relative resurfacing in gang. While hero tries to figure out how to solve these problems, villain's goondas are busy getting entertained by sultry vixen. Vixen is all about the fun things in life, after all, there has to be some perk to being the bad guy and dressing up in awful clothes!
Eg:Helenji and Parveen Babi in "Koi aaya aane bhi de"(Kala Sona)
Koi aaya aane bhi de If someone has joined, let them join Koi gaya jaane bhi de If someone has left, let them leave La La La Tujhko toh hai masti mein jeena You know how to live life Jee le! So go ahead and enjoy!
Caution!Sometimes the chudail just might turn out to be the gatekeeper with a heart of gold so dont dismiss her as woman of bad character!
11.Warning song(when hero uses dancing distraction to make strike on gangsters) Now hero knows where premika is trapped. He has to rescue her but needs distraction.Sometimes baddy girls can help if they have change of heart. She entertains gangsters while trying to mix secret message in her words. What a responsible temptress!
Variation:Hero can disguise himself and try to save damsel. Even pencil-line moustache can do.Gangsters are super-dumb for a reason!!!
Naach meri bulbul ki paisa milega Dance, my bulbul, so that we can make some money! Kahaan kadardaan hamen aisa milega Where will we find such a donor? Ghungroo banaake paaon mein baandhke I'll make anklets for your feet Kahan meherbaan hamen aisa milega Where will we find such kindness?
12.Happy song(all's well that end's well)
No matter what evil hero-heroine face, everything always ends on positive note (unless public demands tragedy where they die like Romeo-Juliet). In the end, we need to remind people about power of love which converts bad people to good people and villains to friends. Ending song also lets public walk out of movie theatre on happy note and singing nice song.Happy Happy Everyone Happy!!!
Eg:Entire cast in (Pyar,Ishq aur Mohabbat)
Yahan wahan idhar udhar dono taraf aag hai lagi Here there both sides there is passion's fire Dono taraf pyaas hai jagi Both sides thirst is there
Dono taraf ek jaisa haal Both sides same condition
Dono taraf dil hai beqaraar Both sides hearts are restless
Isi ko to kehte hain pyaar This is what they call love
Above was basic minimum song-set for success formula. For better luck at box office, bollywood gurus insist on including one or several numbers of the following types. Please remember, between over-drama and under-drama, always go for over-drama!
1. Fun and game song(for kids) Teaching the family values to the young ones in fun way is the prime importance in the Indian culture. Please watch little boys cajole granny here.
Dadi Amma Dadi Amma maan jao Grandma Grandma don't be mad Chodoji yeh gussa zara hanske dikhao Drop this anger and smile a little Dadi Amma Dadi Amma maan jao Grandma Grandma don't be mad
2. Wedding song(guaranteed hit) No Indian movie can be hit without shaadi-scene. Spend lots of money on bridal dress. Seat groom on horse and cover his face with flowers so that he can walk unawares into marriage. Indian wedding is where bride's family has to say tata to innocent flower raised in love and care as she steps into house of in-laws to become kitchen-slave. Please release waterworks for girl's dad, girl's mom,girl's siblings, girl's kabootar and all the 100 extras hired for the bidaii scene.
Babul jo tune sikhaya Hey Dad, whatever you taught me Jo tumse paya Whatever you've given me so far Sajan ghar le chali I'm taking everything to my hubby's place Yaadon ke lekar saaye Taking images of memories Chali ghar paraye I'm off to a new house Tumhari Laadli Your lil girl, Mommy!
3. Separation song(when lovers separate from each other or from family) Parents never approve any kind of romance between boy and girl. Afterall, they didnt get a chance to date when they were young!Why let these kids enjoy? Pain of separation is so bad that girl has no idea about the things she is breaking or setting on fire. Boy meanwhile decides he will sing sad song in endless desert or on top of cliff so whole world can hear him. But ultimately,only girl knows how to steal show. She might drink poison or cut herself so that we forget about joker in desert and focus on her frail form instead!
Eg:Salman Khan and Ayshwarya Rai in "Tadap Tadap"(Hum dil de chuke sanam)
Tadap tadap ke is dil Suffering suffering heart is Se aah nikalti rahe Gasping "aah" on and on Mujhko sazaa di pyaar ki You gave me punishment of love To aisa kya gunaah kiya What crime I did? To lut gaye...lut gaye All lost ..all lost Lut gaye hum teri mohabbat mein All lost in your love!
4. Tragedy song(when life hits you hard)
When Lady Luck isn't kind to you, only thing to do is put pain into poetry. Sometimes she gives you shitty deal like Raj Kapoor got in following example.
Eg:Raj Kapoor in "Dost Dost na raha"(Sangam)
Dost dost na raha A friend didn't turn out to be a friend Pyar pyar na raha My love didn't turn out to be my love either Zindagi hamein tera Life, I have lost faith in you Aitbaar na raha, aitbaar na raha Lost faith in you
Please make sure actors tend to over-act.Every cheek muscle and facial expression is important. Sometimes it helps for boy and girl to cry. Also make head turn for every word or every line in song. That shows how words can pierce like dagger.
5. Motivation song(for fighting spirit)
Ok now all actors finish crying. What to do ? We fight! That is life's lesson...unless movie makes more money by killing off hero/heroine in tragedy drama (make note!). But life is never over....that is moral we exploit in Bollywood cinema. Pick heart-moving motivation song and if that doesnt work, go for reincarnation to bring back all new supershakti hero/heroine.
Eg: Nargis in "Duniya mein hum aaye to"(Mother India)
Duniya mein hum aaye to jeena hi padega Lets face it, we're in this world...so we gotta live! Jeevan hai agar zeher to peena hi padega Life's a crappy bottle of poison, so drink up! Gir gir ke museebat mein sanbhalte hi rahenge We stumble on obstacles but pull ourselves up Jal jal gaye magar aag pe chalte hi rahenge We might get burnt but we tread on fire anyway Gham jisne diye hain wahi gham door karega The One who gave us these sorrows will take 'em away soon
Please note,ladeez end gentelmen...in this song, motivation is exhibited by ideal woman like Nargis-she is the 50-50 of Miss India+Mother India.
6. Foreign Location song Average Indian cannot afford to visit the Europe and the America.So Indian moviemakers become genius. They shoot one duet song in foreign location to show handsome hero+beautiful heroine dancing in lovely London,nice nice New York, beautiful Belgium and other places. Even better to get local kudis to dance with our superstars. Colourful costumes and sportscars look great in such songs. Hero can wear fluorescent green suit while heroine HAS to wear tight skirt or chiffon saree(even if it is in Alaska). Please note that audience wont care for lyrics in such songs. Just add some crap about "khoob","mehboob","dil","mast","jaaneman","dhadkan" and other rhyming words. Eg:KamalHassan and Manisha Koirala in "Telephone dhun mein"(Hindustani)
Telephone dhun mein hasne wali You laugh like telephone ringtone Melbourne machli machalne wali Exciting Melbourne fish Digital mein sur hai taraasha Your voice is like Dolby Digital Madonna hai ya Natasha Are you Madonna or Natasha? Zaakhir Hussain tabla tu hai kya? Are you Zaakhir Hussain's tabla Sona Sona tera chamke roop salona Goldy Goldy your complexion is all golden Sona Sona cellular phone tum to hona Goldy Goldy you are my cellphone! Computer ko lekar Brahma ne rachaya kya? Did Brahma use a Mac to create you?
7.Patriotic song (we love India) But please remember, no foreign country is equal to our India!Long live Mother India! All desh-bhakti songs must have hero-heroine in traditional clothes. Please have heroine prance like little deer.That is true Indian beauty. Hero should be man of masses or try to show Indianness in any environment.
In following example, we combines the Indianness with the partyness.
Eg:Salman Khan in "India is the best"(Judwaa)
Yahaan ki ladki wah wah Girls here wow wow Badan pe sari wah wah Sari on body wow wow Maathe pe bindiya wah wah Bindi on forehead wow wow Kaanon mein bali wah wah Earrings on ears wow wow Pairon mein payal wah wah Anklets on feet wow wow Honthon pe laali wah wah Redness of lips wow wow Hai bholi bhali wah wah Very innocent wow wow Hai sharmili wah wah Very coy wow wow
Saare jahan se acha Better than all the nations in the world Hindustan hamara Is our India Hum bulbulein hain iski We are tied to this land Yeh gulsitan hamara This is our paradise
East or West East or West India is the best! India is the best!
Fletcher stared into his pale reflection as he scrubbed his hands vigorously. This wasn't his first time but that familiar, unpleasant feeling was back in his stomach. He noticed beads of perspiration form on his forehead and he splashed cold sterile water to steady himself. "It's not going to take long, 20 minutes tops and I'm out", he muttered to himself. And this time, the condemned wasn't someone he already knew. Anonymity made the task easier, as small mercies went.
Changing into his uniform and reaching the chamber, Fletcher found some orderlies topping off bottles of saline solutions and laying out IV needles on a stainless steel tray. A large heavyset man was strapped to a gurney.The veins on his arm were popping out from the pressure but strangely, he had a placid look on his face. His eyes reflected a composure Fletcher struggled to own himself. They locked into Fletcher's and followed his every move.
"You doin' ok?", Fletcher asked as he scanned some stats on a clipboard. "How am I supposed to answer that?", grunted the man as his eyes narrowed. "This won't take long. You probably won't even feel it." "Probably? Gee that's great, isn't it? Except I won't be able to 'thank you' later. Maybe I should do it now..."
Fletcher felt strangely uncomfortable as the man's eyes followed heart monitors being placed on his chest. Typically he masked his anxiety by avoiding small talk but this man was able to read his face. "Tell me, you like doing what you do here? That make your ol'man proud?", prodded the prisoner. Fletcher's fingers clenched when he heard the man mention his dad. Nothing would have ever made his dad proud of him, not that it mattered anyway. When he was 7, Fletcher's dad had killed his mother in a fit of drunk rage. Then he had turned the gun on Fletcher and reached for the trigger just as Fletcher's brother swung a baseball bat to his head. As his father collapsed in a pool of blood, his brother had run away when police sirens screamed in the night after frantic neighbours made calls. Through the course of a single,dark night, Fletcher had lost his family. Since then, he had been trying to lose their memories for 23 years.
As much as he hated to admit it, the terror he witnessed had goaded him to eventually fight back in a way he had never managed to do that night. The tens of thousands of children living in fear every day, never sure if their own parents could one day kill them in rage....the people who had given their everything only to be treated like slaves...the women mutilated beyond recognition after they had been ravaged without mercy...he wanted to fight back for them all. The fury he felt each day was never appeased by the degenerate he put away doing what he did. And deep inside, he knew that he still lived in fear himself; a fear he had tried to suppress by donning the garbs of an executioner.
"It's really none of your business", he muttered back. "Oh no? It's your business to put me to sleep but not my business to question it? Kinda unfair there,wot? Who decides you can do that anyway?" Fletcher gritted his teeth as his palms started to sweat inside their gloves. I wouldn't be here if assholes like you didn't have to be put away,he said to himself. "Feel like a hero,huh? Throw the bad guys in the doghouse .. kill 'em if you can! You feel like a hero strappin' me to this table,you wimp?" You probably aren't gettin' half of what you deserve, so why dont you just shut your fuckin' mouth before I seal it tight? "You figure I deserve this huh? I do a favour and wipe off a bunch of perverts and you think I deserve this? I kill those sick rat bastards and you kill me instead. What makes you the bigger guy?" Who the heck do you think you are ? Friggin Batman? Fletcher was seething. "The doc figures I got a screw loose upstairs. What excuse you got?", spat out the giant. "Just shut the fuck up!" yelled Fletcher as he picked up a needle and felt the man's right arm strapped to the gurney. He didn't wince as the needle punctured a thick vein.
Breathing heavily,Fletcher walked to the other side of the gurney and tried to repeat the procedure with another needle.
"Ya wake up every mornin an' kill people like yer God? That make you feel good? You ain't no different...yer just as sick as the rest of us. How do ya sleep at night? How do ya?", the man muttered as his gaze grew intense.
Rage and guilt swept through Fletcher. The man had asked him the same questions which had tortured him over the past year. He thought he had made his peace with it but he knew he'd been lying to himself all along. The syringe in his hand twitched as his hand trembled. If looks could kill, he knew that he should have dropped dead by now.
It took some pressure to puncture. One iota too much. Fletcher felt the needle go in deeper than it typically should. His toes curled and he tried not to reveal his horror.
Turning around to make sure that the tubes were securely connected to the IV drips behind the wall, Fletcher signaled an orderly to start the flow of saline solution. The screens surrounding the chamber lifted at the warden's signal and Fletcher sighed in relief when he noticed there was no family to witness the procedure.
He walked behind the wall and turned a small plastic valve on a bottle of sodium thiopental connected to the IV. The anesthetic was meant to induce unconsciousness so that the individual felt no pain during the process. Fletcher hoped and prayed his tiny mistake would get washed away, thanking his good luck that doctors weren't allowed until after the procedure. But the jab had gone too far,puncturing a sheath of muscle. And the cool liquid flowed freely into the man's bloodstream, failing to render him unconscious. He must have sensed this as his eyes arched back to question a strange sensation.
Screw it, the bastard deserves it anyway.Fletcher started the flow of pavulon to paralyse his muscles. The pancuronium bromide however wasn't a sedative really and the man suffocated as he felt his veins being set on fire. The agony was invisible to Fletcher and the warden since his body was completely paralyzed to the point where his breathing stopped. Finally, Fletcher started the flow of potassium chloride and a few seconds later the man's heart stopped beating.
The procedure hadn't taken over 30 minutes. To Fletcher, it seemed to be a lifetime. While the orderlies removed needles and unfastened straps on the gurney, he quickly filled out some information for the coroner's examination. The last thing he wanted to do was stick around any longer than needed. After draining out the bottles of solutions he had just used, he deposited paraphernalia into a tray filled with warm saline solution and proceeded to change out of his gown.
As he stepped outside into the hallway to sign out, Dr.Sterns brushed past him into the changing room.
"Evening, doctor" "How did it go?" "Quick and smooth. 4 minutes 30 to cardiac arrest." "You're new here. Where's Jim?" "Broke his leg yesterday. Had to sub for him at the last minute." "Yikes,hope he's doin ok. What's your name?" "Travis sir."Fletcher replied "Good to meet you,Travis. Have a good night now."
Sterns changed into his gown and proceeded into the chamber to examine the man on the gurney. Things seemed to look fine. He examined the man's arms where the IVs had been inserted. A nasty feeling gnawed his mind as his eyes swept across the man's arms. He withdrew with a feeling of unease as he jotted some notes for the post-mortem examination.
Turning in his certificate to the warden, Sterns drove home lost in thought. His wife had fallen asleep on the kitchen table as he stepped in. The noise awakened her and she went over to fetch his case.
"How did it go?" "Ok,I guess. Something didn't seem right." "What do you mean?" "A young tyke put the needle in tonight. Jim broke his leg. I'm not sure if the rookie did a good job. I'll have to wait for the PM report." "Don't lose your sleep over it.Let's go to bed." "There was one other thing. When I examined him, I found an old picture in his suit.Two young boys." "His kids? Was there any family present to witness?" "Don't think so.." "Anyways, I'm going to bed..." Sterns reached for the picture from his coat pocket. The edges were frayed and the base had begun to peel off. The boys in the picture looked cheerful, one chubby and one thin. He turned the picture over to read something scribbled in black ink. "Fletcher boys.Summer of 74"
After freshman year (or 'first year' as we call it), the bunch of us never got to take classes together as a group. Daily jaunts then became more precious since those were the only times we could forget the miseries we endured in our respective disciplines or bitch about them passionately. As the years rolled on, our friendship was cemented by laughter,tears,fights and apologies. I sensed a unique connection with each of these people and I was thankful that I'd never have to pick favourites. I couldn't possibly. 
After freshman year (or 'first year' as we call it), the bunch of us never got to take classes together as a group. Daily jaunts then became more precious since those were the only times we could forget the miseries we endured in our respective disciplines or bitch about them passionately. 
