Of Indian Movies and Insanity

Bollywood. Long, convoluted, impossible love stories with the leading men and women going into collective colorful dreams running around trees (or around the Pyramid/Opera house, if the producer has enough money).

Indian cinema had successfully conceptualised and mastered the idea of collective dreams(It is time Christopher Nolan admitted that his Inception was inspired by Bollywood) when Hollywood was struggling with black and white cinema.

Many think that drama, emotion, love, sex behind shaking plants and kisses behind flowers bumping into each other in approval is ALL to Bollywood.

Ignorance. I pity them.

Fights. Chases. Dhushum dhushum. Right from the age of plastic swords, rubber snakes and super fast cycles to the Mission Impossible Balakrishna in a recent Tollywood (Telugu movie factory which churns out more movies a year than the number of serials Ekta Kapoor ever managed) flick, it has been the action which set Indian movies apart.

While the actors, directors, musicians, etc. steal undeserved limelight, the beacons of creativity in the pedestrian darkness of the great Indian movie industry from Bollywood to BhojpuriWood have actually been the action choreographers.

How would you otherwise explain the task of turning a middle aged, bald (enough to play professional ping pong on the head), huge (enough to get a zip code of his own) actor into a super hero?

Our choreographers often thought out of the box, over the roof, under the vehicles and through the walls. I wish sky was their limit, but it was almost always the hero's pot belly.

And if all the creative thinking didnt help, they had the goons to fall back on. Feather light, dumb and bald,(fair competition to the hero, sans the makeup), they would fight with the hero in an easy, predictable round robin basis. Sometimes a goon can actually somersault 4 to 5 times in the air before falling with an expression beyond words on a fragile wooden table.

Some people say that these action scenes are funny, sick and crazy.

Establishment sell-outs, pseudo intellectuals and morons, I say!

I salute the creme de la of our cinema with a few awe inspiring action scenes...

My Name Is Thackeray

My Name Is Thackeray.

I live in 1966.

While the whole world zoomed past me into the 21st century, I still do not get the concept of peace and harmony in a cosmopolitan society.

I strongly believe that if it were not for my valiant efforts, Mumbai would have been the capital of Bangladesh. Or worse, some Gajodhar Srivastava would have been the Chief Minister of Maharashtra.

I write fiery editorials and make inflammatory speeches for a living. If I am not busy with either of these, I give ultimatums and accept apologies. I hold the world record for giving 3657045 ultimatums and getting 254 apologies.

I am the Rajnikanth of bullying industry, iPhone of hate speeches and the God Of All Fanatic Things.

I hate muslims. I hate south Indians. I hate north Indians. I hate Pakistan, Mongolia, Venezuela, Congo, Zimbabwe and Peru for no specific reason. I just love to hate.

My incredible appetite for hate and an uncanny ability to use it to win votes have helped me rake up the religious and regional sentiments on multiple occasions resulting in the death of hundreds of Marathi Manoos.

I sometimes think that I am stuck in a time warp from which I cannot and do not want to emerge. My old age and an extremely incompetent son do not make things any easier.

But I am sure my legacy would be carried forward by my nephew aaj ka Goonda"Raj". His brazen acts of violence, his utter disrespect for democratic values and above all, his abhorence for anything remotely related to pandey, chauhan or Srivastava make me immensely proud.

Seriously, how can a movie made in Mumbai be named My Name Is Khan and not My Name Is Kulkarni?

My name is Thackeray. And I am insane.