It is freakin' awesome to be from Mumbai, where people are so inspired by the greatness of their city that they sing and dance through the streets, remarking upon the discos, parties, etc. Sometimes they wear Color Me Badd-esque suits while doing so, amping up the awesome factor considerably.
If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all: I was thinking snarky thoughts about Maddy's dad's music shop, musing over whether the big red graphic on the wall in the background was the logo for either Aerosmith or Bozo the Clown (probably neither, of course, given that the store was in Mumbai and not Aurora, Illinois), when I realized it bore an eerie resemblance to the HMV on Yonge Street in Toronto I used to go to in 1997, which I'm sure the flock of 17-year-olds on Yonge found the epitome of cool at the time. Hush my mouth.
Mechanical engineering students, despite their rigorous course requirements and need to direct their brainpower elsewhere, have pseudo gang affiliations and occasionally like a good rumble.
In my viewing experience, basketball courts appear frequently in Bollywood as settings of challenges and tensions of various kinds: friendly/flirty girl vs boy (Kuch Kuch Hota Hai); true love vs fiance-she-agreed-to-because-she-didn't-know-her-true-love's-wife-had-died (KKHH again); showing off of general sexiness, which if you think about it is girl vs all other girls in the immediate area, although the latter contestant is not present, just understood to be impressed (Mujhse Dosti Karoge!); hero vs bully (Koi Mil Gaya); and, of course, two stupid boys beating each other up for no apparent reason (this film). The fact that the court here had "DUDE" emblazoned on it should maybe be a clue to forget it and just go home, as in "Dude, you're both virile and attractive, so just agree that you disagree on ill-conceived fashion and get on with your lives." Maybe Aamir Khan will make a really powerful historical drama about India thumbing its nose at Britain via a basketball challenge, the stakes of which are the rights to tea distribution or something, and they'll end up fieldling an amazing team that runs rings around opponents to the tune of "Sweet Georgia Brown."
Speaking of which, boys: denim is an excellent suiting option.
Girls: choose the boy who threatens you physically, is selfish and violent-tempered (even if you like to call it "ill-mannered" to make yourself feel better), is clearly and admittedly a bold-faced liar, and is known to you for only five days. Once a thug, always a thug.
You don't have to marry your parents' friends' son, either, since you only knew him when you were kids, and after he shows up from Amrika he hasn't done anything of particular note.
If you do marry the thug, be sure to befriend his dad, because he is also the father of a slew of movie stars - Shahrukh, Aishwarya, Rani. Remember how thug-boy told you your palm indicated you would stay in Mumbai? Enter the movie biz! Work the connections!
Bong Along: a blog on vintage Bengali movies co-written by Indie Quill and me (and perhaps a few very friendly appearances by other friends as well).
Masala Zindabad: the podcast by Indie Quill and me, often featuring other writers and fans as guests. Masala Zindabad is an affectionate and thoughtful look at the broad range of themes that define Bollywood and make Bollywood defy definition. Available at iTunes.
The Cultural Gutter : my work on Indian cinema at a site dedicated to thoughtful writing about disreputable art.
Order of the Skeleton Suit: the Agents of M.O.S.S. are a shadowy confederation of like-minded writers, broadcasters, creators, and jetsetters who have banded together in a bold mission to bring international intrigue and pop entertainment to the masses. Can anyone stand in the way of their diabolical schemes?
Text (c) 2005–2017, Beth Watkins. The ideas and opinions expressed in this site are mine alone unless otherwise attributed. They do not necessarily represent the views of my employer or of any other organization or website with which I may be associated.