Jhoom Barabar Jhoom: Fictional Realism

I had first seen Jhoom Barabar Jhoom about seven years back at its release. I remember the brouhaha over the film as it was getting terrible reviews from all. My cousin and I watched it at Chanakya, and we, actually, did not find it as bad as it was made out to be. In fact, it was not a bad film at all; I liked the movie, and perhaps it was a little slow. I still remember the conversation with a friend after I told her that I wanted it, and she was aghast at how can anyone like that film. I think that was when I started hiding the films. I liked to spare myself the social shaming and the embarrassment that people indulge in, but I realized how foolish I was over the years. As I have written probably for the umpteenth time before, liking a film is like picking a dress that depends on a person's choice. In 2012, every critic except Baradwaj Rangan trashed Aiyyaa calling it Rani Mukerji's worst film. I think it was such a brilliant version of Alice In Wonderland that they just did not get the movie. Many other splendid films are so less understood. A few days ago, I was watching Kiss of Love, a song I absolutely love, and suddenly got this epiphany to watch Jhoom Barabar Jhoom again. And then, I watched it over three-four days, and this time, I understood some parts of the movie and liked it in many more ways. At one point in the film, Alvira (Preity Zinta) says, "Chhoti chhoti cheezon me hi to bada lutf hota hai," which perfectly summarizes the movie. It might not be a terrific film, but there are some fabulous chhoti chhoti cheezein imbued in the movie that gave me enough lutf.

One of the main things I felt in the movie was the concept of dualism prevalent throughout the film. Take the title Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, in which the word Jhoom is repeated twice. This repeated word is separated by the word Barabar which could mean equality, completeness, or balance. The word barabar brings a sense of balance to the two swaying jhooms. Or, for another instance, look at the bohemian Bulla Man (Amitabh Bachchan). He has a guitar with two necks, just like the repeated word in the film's title. In addition, the film is a story of two couples—Alvira (Preity) and Steve (Bobby), and Anaida (Lara) and Rikki (Abhishek)—who pretend to be someone else they really are. Alvira and Rikki are in love with each other, and both make the same lie that they are engaged to someone else. Alvira pretends that she is engaged to Steve, while Rikki acts that he is engaged to Anaida. In reality, neither Steve nor Anaida really exists, and both of these imaginary characters are forced to be played by Satvinder and Laila—both of whom have no love lost for Rikki and Anaida. The parallels between the two main characters and their two imaginary lovers clearly underscore the concept of dualism in the film.

In another instance of this concept of twofoldness, take the gorgeously choreographed song Bol Na Halke Halke. The song is one of the most beautiful sequences in the film. Rikki and Alvira are in a state of reverie, trying to imagine the scenario if they had met each other earlier. The song is a visualization of that scenario. And then, in the song, we see more double references. Rikki and Anaida talk about the similarities in their religions. Rikki says that before entering a gurduwara, we cover our heads. Alvira responds that the same is done before entering a shrine. Before bowing our head in the gurudwara, we wash our hands and faces; likewise in the shrine. And both the places offer tabarukh—divine love—as a blessing, and that meri ibadat is the same as tumhari ibadat. Later in the song, we see that Rikki and Alvira marry in the Sikh traditional style in front of the Taj Mahal, and they have two sons who are twins. It is a beautiful concept that details the essence of the sameness of the two religions, like the two necks of Bulla Man's guitar producing the music from one guitar. Ultimately, both the religions have the same body, only the path of creating the music might be different. Again, the fact that Alvira is from Pakistan and Rikki is from India, two nations made from one body is quite befitting this concept. Also, I found the story about South Asians who are set in England, another instance of the depiction of the concept of dualism where these people are not only known by their original South Asian identity but their acquired English identity as well (notice how Rikki uses the word blimey).

The leitmotif of dualism is conspicuous in the film's sequences and story, but another aspect of this recurring motif quite subtly permeates the film. The film merges another pair of binary notions—fiction and reality—in itself. At one point, Rikki and Anaida are talking, and he says, "Kahan tum Miss World, aur kahan Rikki Tukral," and that he is not worthy of her. In real life, Abhishek Bachchan is married to a former Miss World, Aishwarya Rai, and we think, is that Abhishek saying or Rikki saying? Not to forget that Lara Dutta has also been a Miss Universe at some point in real life. Or, for another instance, take Alvira. When she meets Steve at his mansion for the first time, she is stunned by his wealth and says that he is even bigger than Prince Charles in stature. And, we think is it Alvira saying this or Preity saying this because then she was dating the millionaire, Ness Wadia (their recent relationship turmoil is another topic of discussion, though). Or at another instance, we see Rikki talking about the famous Indians in Madame Tussauds. When it comes to Amitabh and Aishwarya, both his real-life family members, he says it with a glint in his eye, and we wonder, is that Abhishek's or Rikki's? Or in the song Bol Na Halke Halke, the first shot that we see is that of Rikki walking on a station platform in a bright red kurta, so reminiscent of his father's role in the film Coolie. Then, Alvira visits Delhi, and her look mirrors one of her earlier films, namely Veer Zaara (Alvira and Veer Zaara—Veer connection?). Recall that in that film, too, she had come to visit India, and she was from Pakistan in that film. In that song, there is another sequence in which she gets old and looks like the old Naina (played by Preity only) from the last scene of Kal Ho Na Ho. At another point in the song, Rikki and Alvira are talking near the Taj Mahal, and the song Jo Vaada Kiya Woh Nibhaana Padega from the movie Taj Mahal is playing. And again, we wonder at the juxtaposition of what we see on the screen with the musical reference of that thing itself. At another point in the film, when Satvinder (Bobby Deol) comes for the first time, the song from one of the films of Bobby's real-life father, Dharmendra, plays, which was Main Jat Yamla Pagla Deewana (it is rather uncanny that the song itself became Bobby's own film Yamla Pagal Deewana in 2011). At another point, we see the iconic motorcycle from Sholay given a tribute in Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, and it is quite fitting that now, the sons of both the actors who sang that immortal song in the motorbike in Sholay, replicate the same scene in this film. And, if these were not enough, Shaad Ali refers to a dance step from Kajra Re of his own film Bunty Aur Babli in the song Ticket To Hollywood. These instances subtly juxtapose fiction and reality, blurring the boundaries between the two realms, giving us something called fictional realism, if I may coin an oxymoron.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom is also a musical film. The musical film is a film genre in which the songs sung by the characters are interwoven into the narrative. All our Hindi films are called musicals, but a real musical film is one in which the song takes the plot forward, unlike our typical films where songs are forced into the plot. All the songs of Jhoom Barabar Jhoom are interwoven in the script, and some, like Ticket To Hollywood would not mean anything if we don't know the plot. Or the fabulously choreographed Kiss of Love comes when we are in a serious courtroom in line with the film's story, and all of a sudden, it starts playing. I love the way Bobby dances on the steps with the cap and the gown in the song. The film's songs and the choreography are worth the price of a ticket itself. What is also interesting is that these songs don't play out entirely but in parts. Like Bol Na Halke Halke. The song would play for a few minutes and then stop, the characters would talk, and then it would again start playing. The same happens in the resplendent Jhoom Barabar Jhoom song itself. That is a true musical film, and Jhoom Barabar Jhoom does that nicely. Jaaneman is another example of a real musical.

Early in the film, when Rikki and Alvira are talking about their love stories, Rikki says his fiance's name is Anaida, and he saw her at the Ritz in France, where was she taking care of Lady Diana and Dody. At first, I thought that the names Diana and Anaida were quite similar, with some connection. Later, when Alvira talks about Steve, she compares him to Prince Charles. I definitely felt some connection between Prince Charles and Lady Diana. It was only in the end that we got to know the link. I had seen the movie for over two to three days, and only on the third day did I realize it was so obvious when I finished watching it. The film's Facebook page also makes this point. Anaida and Steve, better known as Laila and Satvinder, embodied Diana and Prince Charles, and it is they who run away in the end. I am not sure, but it is interesting how Jhoom Barabar Jhoom could be similar to Lady Diana and Prince Charles's real-life love story, who incidentally was involved with different people in real life. Diana was involved with Dody, and Charles was always in love with Camilla Parker Bowles, making Lady Diana make the famous statement, "There were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded." Like the four couples in the film. Unrelated Fact: Many people, even in the movie, refer to Lady Diana as Princess Diana. She was a princess but not Princess Diana because, as per the English monarchy rules, she was Lady Diana, Princess of Wales. The word princess with the first name is only used for the monarch's daughter, so calling Lady Diana to be Princess Diana is incorrect.

As always, I love finding references in films. Jhoom Barabar Jhoom was paying tribute to our mad Hindi cinema in so many ways. I counted references to Sholay, Qurbani, Don, and Aradhana. At one point, Rikki and Alvira, along with their partners Laila and Satvinder, go to the South Hall dance competition, and they try to make each other jealous by canoodling each other. I was instantly reminded of Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna when Maya (Rani Mukerji) and Dev (Shah Rukh Khan) go to watch the ballet performance along with Rishi (Abhishek Bachchan) and Rhea (Preity Zinta) and make each other jealous, especially Dev who could not withstand Rishi touching Maya. What was fascinating was this time, Rishi and Rhea of that film are played by the same characters in Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. In another scene, the film pays tribute to one of the most famous characters known for playing the villain's sidekick—Actor Sudhir—just like Zoya Akhtar did to Mac Mohan in Luck By Chance. Actor Sudhir is dressed in a hybrid of Elvis Presley and Rishi Kapoor's style. Qalandar makes such a fabulous point about Sudhir. He says, "The culmination of this everyday oddness is the dance competition, presided over by veteran character actor and villain sidekick Sudhir (known to and beloved by at least two generations of Hindi film-viewers as just that, and wholly independent of whatever any character he played was called). Sudhir spent his career in the shadows of more famous actors, and it is fitting that he and not Amitabh Bachchan, who opens and closes the film should take center stage here, in perhaps the only film featuring both of them where he has a speaking part and the Big B, none, fitting that Sudhir's dance competition determine which of these lives lived in the shadows of the Princess Dianas of the world will be acknowledged on a Southall-wide basis." Not only this, but the film also, in a way, takes us to a reverse dream sequence as if making a point about our fascination for foreign settings. The entire movie is set in London, and we are in India when the song Bol Na Halke Halke comes. If it had been any other film, we would see the exact opposite, a film set in India with the dream sequence shot abroad. And, what is with Yashraj's heroines not liking Indian men? Alvira prays to God to not marry her to a kale kaloota as she liked white men. Remember Meera and Sir Jesus in Jab Tak Hai Jaan? 

The cast of the hit BBC TV show, The Kumars at No. 42, makes an appearance. So many years later, Kapil Sharma's Comedy Nights, a derivative of that show is scorching the TRPs in India.

The funny subtitle(s) for the week:

Teri Hamesha Phatati Kyun Hai

O billoni, billoni, billoni, hath maar de taaliyaan

Interesting credits:

Story Development by Anurag Kashyap and Tigmanshu Dhulia

The character of Huffy Bhai is a tribute to Khan Sahab

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom is not flawless; it is slow and sometimes tests our patience, but it is a mad, mad film. It is all in the details, says, and delivers on that front. I am not really sure even if I understood the movie's depth in its entirety. If nothing else, the song Bol Na Halke Halke, with its gorgeous camerawork, is worth the ticket price. I am eagerly waiting for Shaad Ali's next — Kill Dil.

More later.
Dialogue of the day:
"Chhoti chhoti cheezon me hi to bada lutf hota hai." 

— Alvira, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom

The Art of Subtitling

Some time ago, English TV channels started the trend of subtitling their shows, even if the show is in English. The thing with subtitles is that they are distracting, but after some time, our eyes get used to them. I used to hate subtitles but of late, I have started to love them. Subtitles, actually, not only help us understand the language better but the cultural slang, cliches, and colloquialisms, which might not be familiar to a non-native person, can be understood better by them. Take for instance any episode of Friends. We all must have seen its episodes a bazillion times, yet in every episode, there are a few phrases, which we just ignore. I have been watching some Friends' episodes with subtitles, and now, I am able to understand some jokes even better. The subtitles in one of my favorite shows—Orange Is The New Black—are so good that I don't know if I would be able to understand even half of the show, if there were no subtitles. A bunch of American women from different socio-economic classes, ghettoed in a prison, and talking in different accents of the English language — how can someone like me understand them? There is a belief that the entire US speaks in American English but the fact is that there are various accents of English. Like we can instantly recognize which part of India is a person from by the way he speaks Hindi, people in the US have different regional accents. People from the Southern USA (Atlanta, Georgia, Mississippi, etc.) have an altogether different accent called the Southern. And, there are many others. There were some classmates of mine from the South, and sometimes, I could not comprehend what they were saying. I, actually, prefer watching all TV shows and movies with subtitles. Not only the cultural slang, but the punctuation and the grammar of Orange Is The New Black's subtitles are so perfect that I rewatch some episodes just to learn and improve my grammar skills, and I have learnt such nuances of punctuation from that show that I never realized that I was using an incorrect form since childhood. I just hate any grammatical error in my writing and I can bear someone calling my content as trash but having even one grammatical error or any malapropism makes me livid. As usual I digress, but the basic point I am trying to make is that subtitles can accentuate our grasp of a movie or a TV show.

That goes for the English TV shows, but what about watching Hindi movies with English subtitles? In the last two years, I have been to theater only about five-six times, and I have watched only three Hindi movies in a theater — Jab Tak Hai Jaan, Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, and Queen. Gone are the days when I used to watch a Hindi movie every Saturday morning. I miss doing that, and now, I have to wait about three months to watch a movie. Even in Seattle, there are no Hindi movie theaters nearby (in any post, I digress so many times — apologies). All Hindi movies are played with subtitles in the US. The essential thing with subtitles is that they have to convey the meaning as desired. The subtitling in Hindi films is, generally, of low quality. Most of the film subtitles simply transliterate them whereas the actual purpose of having subtitles is translation. One of the two movie reviewers whom I idolize—Beth Watkins (the other being Baradwaj Rangan)— maintains this terrific blog called Paagal Subtitle, where she collates the idiosyncratic subtitles in our movies. Nuance is lost in transliteration, but of late, our film producers have been paying enough attention to these subtitles. When movies make more money overseas these days, film directors have to take care that the audience understands the colloquialisms in the film. Will the foreign audience understand an Anurag Kashyap film talking about some of the choicest of abuses in Hindi? Will they understand what thulla, katta, or khokha mean? For instance, take Dil Chahta Hai. In a scene, Aakash (Aamir Khan), Sameer (Saif Ali Khan), and Sid (Akshay Khanna) are having a discussion on Sameer's love life. At one point, Aakash says to Sameer that he should forget Pooja (Sonali Kulkarni) because after three months, he will fall in love with someone else. He says, "Aaj Pooja, kal koi dooja." A native Hindi speaker can appreciate the hilarity of the remark, but if transliterated, it would be read as, "Today it is Pooja; tomorrow, it would be someone else," and the entire meaning of the dialogue would be lost. The actual subtitle used in the movie says, "Today it is Pooja; tomorrow, it would be some Ahuja." This is the right way of doing subtitling where the original intended meaning is not lost while, simultaneously, maintaining the situation of the character's expressions. 

In other instance, take Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani. At one point, when Bunny (Ranbir Kapoor) and Adi (Aditya Roy Kapoor) are fighting, Aditi (Kalki Koechlin) comes and says to them, "Karan-Arjun." Again, a Hindi film watcher would understand that she meant Karan and Arjun from the iconic Rakhee-mere-Karan-Arjun-ayenge-starrer Karan Arjun. In the film, they show the subtitle calling them as Beavis and Butt-head, which are characters from a famous American animation series. At another instance in the film, they translate the word Madhubala as drama queen. If I had not watched the movie with subtitles, I would never have known the cultural significance of these characters. Unrelated trivia: In Wake Up Sid, Sid (Rabir Kapoor) wears a T-shirt with these characters. Perhaps Ayan Mukerji loves Beavis and Butt-head.

What I also love about the subtitles is that they help us understand meaning of the lyrics. I remember when I watched Jab Tak Hai Jaan, it was the first time, I, actually, understood the meaning of the song Heer. I know, even after coming from a Punjabi family, it is a shame but I did not understand the lyrics in Punjabi. I knew it is about Sahib and Mirza but watching the song with the subtitles explains the lyrics making the song even more fabulous.

"Ohde je hi, main te oh Mirza mere varga"

I understood the brilliance of Highway even more when I watched with subtitles enabled. As I wrote in my review of Highway, there is a leitmotif of a journey in its songs. Veera (Alia Bhatt) moves from a state of vulnerability and ignorance to a state of spiritual enlightenment, depicted by Tu Kuja Man Kuja and Tu Saath Hai, Din Raat Hai. The subtitles of the songs enriched me with the complexities of the film. That is why these days, the first time when I watch a movie, I, typically, keep them off but when I am re-watching some parts to research or when the songs are coming, I make it a point to switch them on, and this is why I wait for DVD. Not only for a good print to see the details of the scenes, but the subtitles, too, that come with the DVD. When Highway's end credits were rolling, it credited subtitles to Nasreen Munni Kabir. I heard about Nasreen this year only when her book Conversations with Waheeda Rehman came out. Seeing her name pop-up again for subtitles made me curious and I researched more on her. Typically, I have never seen credits for subtitles. In fact, Nasreen is one of the most reputed subtitlers of Hindi film and has done subtitles for over more than 400 films. She is said to be the first person to be credited for subtitles in a movie which was Jodhaa Akbar, according to Philip Lutgendorf (heartening to see that Philip is also from the University of Iowa — cosmic connections!). 

Baradwaj Rangan, in a splendid note on how to be a film critic, writes,  "...stop trying to figure out what the director intended. Only he knows. Besides, there’s no guarantee that what he wanted to make is actually what he’s ended up making. Trust the tale, not the teller." Even though I agree with this statement given my ability to analyze (and over-analyze) movies, the subtitles help us give some clarity on the director's viewpoint, as well, which I think is not too bad a thing to get a perspective on what he is trying to say. But there is a caveat as explained here. "The subtitles of the Lage Raho Munnabhai ambitiously overextend themselves, often to lame effect. They so often make up new material that they seem to construct an entire (irrelevant) parallel literature: For instance, where in the original ‘Circuit’ politely explains at knifepoint to the professor that they should help each other in life, and that in exchange for information on Gandhi, he’d be perfectly willing to impart knowledge on “Shakeel Heda, Dagdu Dada, Afzal Tonda”, the subtitles mention “Franky four-fingers, Bullet-tooth Tony, Boris ‘the blade'”. This seems less an intentional tribute to Guy Ritche’s Snatch (nowhere present in the original) than simply a failure of imagination in coming up with gangster names, and distracts from what’s happening onscreen. The moral, I guess, is that though “cultural translation” can be better than literal translation in conveying the intended effect, and is always worth attempting, it is not the point in itself, and must be carried out only so far as the result is palatable, and the translation does not draw undue attention to itself." By this logic, some people might find Karan Arjun as Beavis and Butt-Head to be too conspicuous. This is, then, the whole conundrum, where do we stop? Eventually, again, it becomes a film director's call and the audience he wants to target. To sum it up, as Nasreen says perfectly, "Good subtitles can’t save a bad film, but bad subtitles can ruin a good one." 

Maybe I should become a subtitler in films given that I don't have talent for any other aspect of film making. There is a lot to learn from our movies. Some day, I will write a post on some interesting beginning and end credits. For example — Jab Tak Hai Jaan had a bomb consultant in its credits. Highway credits Ashley Lobo as a body language consultant, apart from crediting someone as a dialect supervisor. Till then, if you like me love to analyze our films, or are one of those who says Hindi films are not made with detail, read this terrific blog — Taking Credit, The Fabulous Art of Indian Film Titles — that finds such intricate layers in the beginning and end credits of some of our popular Hindi films. 

Dialogue of the day:

"Usne kabhi mudke nahi dekha aur maine intezaar bhi nahi kiya." 

— Naina, Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani

Satrangi Re — The Seven Stages of Love

Dil Se has been on my list of movies I have wanted to watch for the longest time. I have seen it only in parts when it came on TV sometimes. This week, I finally got some time to watch it. I have seen only about an hour of the movie and am already floored by its sheer beauty. I have always believed Dil Se to be A.R. Rahman's finest work. His music is spellbinding. Farah Khan's terrific choreography and Santosh Sivan's spectacular cinematography are some of the best I have seen in a Hindi film. However, this post is not on the film but on one song from the film—Satrangi Re. The music and the lyrics are thoughtful, having that characteristic Rahman vibe. The video is gorgeous. When I realized the depth of the song, I was amazed by how anyone can make something as beautiful and poetic as this. So, today, I try to deconstruct the meaning of Satrangi Re.

The word satrangi means something that has seven colors, and it is generally used to describe a rainbow. In the song, we see the seven colors of the rainbow — violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red — popularly known by the term — VIBGYOR. The song is filmed on two lovers, in which a man (Shah Rukh Khan) sings and expresses his love for a woman (Manisha Koirala). He calls her satrangi, and we, actually, see her in all the seven colors of the rainbow. Not only is this a literal depiction of the colors produced by the dispersion of light by a prism, but also of an underlying symbolism alluding to the seven stages of love. Earlier this year, Dedh Ishqiya's trailer talked about these seven stages. In Arabic literature, love is supposed to have seven stages. The seven stages are namely hub (attraction), uns (infatuation), ishq (love), akidat (trust/reverence), ibadat (worship), junoon (madness) followed by maut (death). Satrangi Re, in some way or another, whether through lyrics or the choreography, gloriously portrays these stages of love and charms us along.

The song begins, and we see both lovers dressed in black. The lyrics say,

Koi noor hai tu, kyun door hai tu,

Jab paas hai tu, ehsaas hai tu,

Koi khwaab hai ya parchhayi hai, satrangi re

Hub

It is as if some kind of light is attracting him to her. He wants to go near her and wonders why she is far away. At some point, he is near to her and at the other point, he is far away from her. When she is near, she appears to be a thought, a dream, and a shadow. The shadow is represented by the black color of her dress, and the enigmatic quality pulls him toward her. This is the first stage of love — hub. 

Then, when he sees her in reality, she is far away from him. The distance between them is shown by the presence of water between them. She is wearing white, as pure as the snowflakes on her head. When he was dreaming, both of them were dressed in black, but now, she is away from him, and she is dressed in white, and he is dressed in black. To reach her, he has to cross this path and undertake a journey as if moving from darkness (black) to light (white). 

Then, he says,

Aankhon ne kuch aise chhua,

Halka halka uns hua

He is infatuated by the touch of her eyes. His heart feels that infatuation. This is the second stage of love — uns. 

Uns

Then, the lover sings,

Tere jism ki aach ko chhoote hi, mere saans sulagne lagte hain,

Mujhe ishq dilaase deta hai, mere dard bilakhne lagte hain

He says that as soon as he touches her body, his breath is ignited. His pain makes him cry, but his love for her consoles him. The fire in the tree behind them represents the fire burning inside him. This is the third stage of love — ishq — as is evident in the lyrics. 

Ishq

Then, he says,

Chhooti hai mujhe sargoshi se, 

Aankhon mein ghuli khamoshi se

He says he is enchanted by her fragrance. He is enthralled by the silence of her eyes. He is showing reverence and admiration, symbolized by the lighting of the lamps in the monastery. He looks at her with deep reverence in his eyes. She is his aarzoo. This is the fourth stage of love — akidat.

Akidat

After that, he begins to start worshiping her. 

Main farsh pe sajde karta hoon, 

Kuch hosh mein, kuch behoshi se

He kneels down on the floor and bows in front of her, sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously. Thus, he has reached the fifth stage of love—ibadat.

Ibadat

Now, he has become united with her, and they are joined to each other. Their passion is depicted by the red color.

After they become one, they dance in the water. She has now become the water of his life, symbolized by her blue- and indigo-colored dress. He cannot live without her if she leaves him, even for a few moments. He feels helpless when she goes away.

He then says,

Teri raahon mein uljha, uljha hun

Teri baahon mein uljha, uljha,

Suljhane de hosh mujhe, 

Teri chaahon mein uljha hun

Slowly and slowly, he is getting more and more entangled in her love. He wants to go back to his senses, but he is bound by her love. He simply cannot untie himself, even if he tries, as depicted by her rope dress and the net that he is trapped inside.

After that, he says,

Mera jeena junoon, mera marna junoon,

Ab iske siwa nahi koi sukoon

He is unable to free himself from her love, and it has become an obsession. His life is an obsession, like the deep violet of her dress, and it will be like this until he dies. Nothing brings peace to him except her love. He has entered the sixth stage of love—junoon.

Junoon

Finally, he says, 

Mujhe maut ki god mein sone de,

Teri rooh mein jism dubone de

He wants to sleep in the lap of death. He wants to immerse his body in her soul. He has finally reached the seventh stage of love — maut. Also, it is worth observing that he is now wearing pristine white, like her, compared to the black he wore initially. He has crossed that pond of water (as was depicted earlier) and transcended the barriers to reach her. He has undertaken all the steps of his journey, and all that he wishes for now is death in her arms so that he can be in peace. Perhaps both of them have attained some salvation and some cosmic redemption, which is why a white heavenly aura around them starts shining. He has finally attained his death, and his spiritual voyage encompassing the stages of love has reached its destination — his lover.

Maut

As beautiful as a song can be. Also, particularly note that we see all the colors of the rainbow in her dresses, apart from black and white, again referring to those stages.

Seriously, can there be a song more beautiful than this one? I found out that Mani Ratnam said in an interview that this was his intention. He had given directions to Rahman that he wanted to make a song based on the seven stages of love. There is so much more to our movies, and I wish more people could see the brilliance of Hindi cinema.

Of The Enigmatic Allusions Of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam

I had not planned to write this post as I had something else that I had researched, and on that topic, I had some thoughts that I hoped I will write this week. But something happened yesterday that made me postpone that post for some other time. Yesterday, I started listening to the terrific song Manmohini from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam as it was playing in my head for the last few days. And then, I started listening (and watching) to all the other songs in the film. Something struck me while listening, and I started observing a similar pattern throughout its songs. Sanjay Leela Bhansali considers V.Shantaram as his idol. In numerous interviews, Bhansali has said that he tries to incorporate elements from V.Shantaram's films in his own films. Whether it is Ae Malik Tere Bandey Hum from Do Aankhen Baraah Haath sung by Gulaab ji (Rani Mukerji) in Saawariya, or countless peacock motifs inspired by Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje in Ram Leela, Shantaram's influence is visible in a Bhansali film. I had written in my post on Ram Leela that the film was brimming with peacocks — the songs, the lyrics, the art direction, the characters — some or the other things were inspired by India's national bird in the film. I had never noticed but this same pattern is repeated in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. As I always say, I did not know how to watch films (perhaps I still do not know). It is after reading and constantly thinking and observing even the smallest details that I have begun to understand some aspects. There is still a long way to go but when I saw this peacock pattern in the Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam's songs as well, I felt a bit of amazement at myself why I had not seen it before. It is present everywhere in the film and considering it is one of my favorite films, how could I miss it in the first place.

In Albela Sajan, we see a peacock near the pond where Sameer (Salman Khan) is sunbathing. Then, a few moments later, Nandini (Aishwarya Rai) starts playing with a peacock. The lamps in Nandini's father's room and in Nandini's own room have peacocks on them. The handicraft piece on her room's door has peacocks embroidered on it. Nandini's room has peacock feathers and peacock-shaped brass statues. In Aankhon Ki Gustaakhiyaan, the same pattern is observed. We see peacocks on curtains, lamps, and walls. In fact, Nandini's dress has peacock booties all over. Then comes Nimbooda. What is worth noting is that as soon as the song begins, Nandini does some arm movements that are reminiscent of a peacock flapping its wings. Later, at one point in the same song, some men even say hurrr as if trying to shoo away a bird. In Nandini's parents and daadi's room, there are again peacock-shaped brass lamps. In Chand Chupa Baadal Me, there is a line that says, "Pyaar to naam hai, sabra ka humdam, wo bhala bolo kaise karen hum, sawan ki raah jaise dekhe mor hai, he rehne bhi." In Dholi Taro, yet again, we see that there are peacock lamps. Isn't this simply fascinating? Bhansali uses the same elements in Ram Leela. I guess I need to see the movie again to find more peacocks if these are the references in only its songs. Why are these included? Is that a tribute to V.Shantaram, or does a peacock hold a special meaning in Bhansali's life that he makes it a point to include them in some way or the other? I tried to research the reasons when I wrote on Ram Leela, but I am not sure if the symbolism of the peacock — beauty, love, pride, purity — is the only purpose. I, sometimes, wonder if I have something like this in me. Why do people make films? Yes, money is an obvious reason but what drives this passion for telling stories in a unique way. Why did Bhansali include such tiny details that I guess hardly anyone noticed or even cared about? Does this concept of taking inspiration and giving a tribute bring them closer to their idols? If I meet Bhansali someday (and I really hope I get that chance), I know he loves peacocks, so, does film-making help them understand their own self better? Does this creativity bring them a sense of joy that takes them closer to some metaphysical concept of consciousness? Is that why some people really want to get high — to experience that feeling of ultimate exhilaration? Perhaps, it is something that only our auteur and genius filmmaker can guide us to some answers. 

In addition to these alluring peacocks, there is another glorious depiction which my staid brain is still trying to find some probable elucidation. At one earlier point in the film, Nandini is asked to vacate her room for Sameer. Her family members make fun of her by saying all that she has to do is take out only three things — some yellow flowers, the chandelier, and her diary. I had written earlier in this post about the chandelier. Nandini and Sameer meet for the very first time at the chandelier. Nandini is shown lighting the chandelier with a candle and that was actually a symbol of the beginning of their love. When Sameer is leaving, Nandini runs, her dupatta catches fire, the chandelier shakes, and eventually, Nandini breaks the chandelier as if their love has ended. What I want to talk about are the yellow flowers. Her room is full of yellow flowers. When Sameer leaves, he remembers Nandini by these yellow flowers; one of them which he even keeps with himself. There are yellow flowers in Nandini and Vanraj's (Ajay Devgan) hotel room in Italy; nothing extraordinary, as flowers are quite commonplace in hotels. But what struck me is that the scene where Nandini is shot is filled with yellow flowers. Was this resplendence of yellow flowers a sublime sign of Vanraj's abundant and infinite love for Nandini, who loves these flowers? Nandini is dressed in a lovely green saree whose color matches the stem of the flowers. Is her face, then, like one of those yellow flowers? Does the presence of these numerous yellow flowers in some way refers to the limitlessness of Vanraj's love as compared to the delicateness of a single flower that Sameer carries, that is perhaps referring to the delicate first love of Nandini and Sameer? Nandini while meeting Sameer in the end says, "Tumne mujhe pyaar karna sikhaya, pyaar nibhana maine Vanraj se seekha hai?" Do these yellow flowers symbolize that? I am still trying to find answers. Even if these do not mean anything, the scene is gorgeously shot. 

I know I think too much but somehow, I can always find something that convinces me that, perhaps, what I am simply conjecturing might be true. A short post, but I have so many more things to write about. More later. Old posts on Ram Leela here and on Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam here. And, putting the pictures of the peacocks and the yellow flowers below.  

Vanraj's infinite love

Peacock near the pool

Nandini playing with a peacock

Peacock lamps

Peacock lamps

Peacock feathers

Peacocks on the door handicraft

Peacock brass statue 

Peacock behind the curtain

Peacock lamps

Peacocks on Nandini's dress

Peacock painting

Peacock painting

Nandini dances like a peacock

Peacock lamps on the bed

Peacock lamps on the swing

Sawan ki raah jaise dekhe mor hai

Peacock on saree

 
Peacock lamps

Vanraj's abundant love

Sameer's delicate love

Yellow flowers

Nandini's room with yellow flowers

More later.

Dialogue of the day:

"Teri yaadon ke saaye me guzaregi ye zindagi,

Us khuda ke baad to pooja hogi bas teri,

Chahe jo maang lo, sab tumhara hai."

— Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam