My dad rarely enjoyed Bollywood movies, especially since his youth was around Rajesh Khanna, Dilip Kumar, and other very mushy kinds of heroes. He was a comedy, thriller, mystery and action guy, which is why Hollywood was more attractive to him than any Indian film industry, although he was partial to Tamil films, but again only the action ones. I suppose he passed this feeling to my brother and me too since it was much later in life that I found my connection with Bollywood.
My dad avoided drama like the plague, in all languages. His famous joke on melodrama was, “Why should I pay money, travel to a theatre to cry and feel sad when it was freely available in my real life?”
Obviously, my dad hadn’t read Aristotle’s Poetics to know the concept of catharsis while watching tragedy and drama. But knowing my dad, he would’ve agreed to disagree with Aristotle and kept avoiding drama and tragedy.
I told the comedy genre came right on top for dad, right? I think that has something to do with the Tamil film industry, where comedy has a very strong foundation from the start.
N S Krishnan, Thangavelu, Balayya, Manorama, a rare female comedian way ahead of her time, and of course, the inimitable Nagesh influenced my dad a lot. He felt that, except for a few, most Bollywood actors couldn’t manage comedy the way South Indians did. Maybe that partiality came from his deep Tamizh roots, even though he lived in Mumbai for many years.
My dad opined that after years of mushiness, came the angry young man, Amitabh Bachchan and his heart turned. He adored AB’s Zanjeer and passed love and admiration for the actor on to my brother and me.
The peak of love for AB happened with Sholay, that legendary film that combined comedy and action. Yes, a bit of drama too. But Dad was more than happy to accept it when his beloved genres were the primary ones. Dad knew and told us too that Sholay is loosely based on “The Magnificent Seven” but done really well (high praise from him, believe me) from an Indian perspective.
That the Hollywood version itself was a remake of Akira Kurosawa’s “The Seven Samurai” is something he didn’t know then. He would have known it now, as I do.
Asrani became a family favourite with Sholay. His “angrezi ke zamaane ke jailor” was, is, and will continue to be hilarious for my brother and me. Asrani rattling down those three steps, missing them every time, and exactly in the same way, gave us a giggling fit every time! My brother and I laughed till our stomachs hurt. Then came the legendary dialogue, “aadhe is taraf, adhe us taraf! Baaki mere peeche.”
Dad would always ask, “ Where is the miccham?” And laugh uproariously. Miccham in Tamizh is baaki. We would laugh at that too, like it was the first time we heard that line. What innocent, happy days! It was so easy to laugh and be happy.
After Dad’s passing, the first time we watched Sholay together was about a month after that unforgettably painful day. That day, my brother and I watched this scene unfold again on our TV screen. Tears streamed down our faces, even as we smiled, remembering my dad laughing, hoping he could watch this movie again and again, wherever he was.
Sholay still clutches our hearts even now. Asrani’s passing a few months back brought fresh tears to my eyes. For Asrani and for our Dad. In fact, I watched that rather abominable Akshay Kumar movie, “Bhoot Bangla,” as a salute to Asrani, the Bollywood comedian my dad loved with all his heart.
Author’s Note:
“This post is a part of ‘Pass The Popcorn Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed and sponsored by Jaico Publishing House under #EveryConversationMatters blog hop series”
