#but there's so many heart wrenching bangla songs that make me want to throw myself through a wall

[cult-of-the-eye]

I had such a cute little discussion with my family today about impactful song lyrics so I'm gonna tell you mine. The lyrics I think about the most are "sometimes, sometimes bones are wrong" from the song Betrayed By Bones by Hellogoodbye. Although the song is explicitly about a romantic relationship, I interpret the lyric more as an allegory for refusing to let things like your biology, your genetics, your upbringing or anything out of your control determine your choices for you. I love the idea that there may be something innate and unchangeable about you that's steering you to a pathway that no longer fits and both acknowledging that it doesn't fit and striving to change despite all those factors going against you. On those days where I want to let my brain keep me in bed, I think about this line and how in the end, myself is the only thing I have control over.

[ajapablog]

Bollywood Blues

I grew up on a very heavy dose of Bollywood, I love Delhi and I am a South Asian historian-in-training. So when a friend recently shared this question from a Bollywood Trivia to me, it wasn’t hard for me to answer. In fact, it was so delightful, it made me realize how much I love all three: Bollywood, Delhi and History. It felt like an reaffirmation of who I am and my life’s journey in a time where this pandemic, political upheavals and emotional anxiety has made me feel like I’m sinking in quicksand. Here’s the question:

X derives its name from the Persian Dur-e-be-baha, which translates as “unparalled pearl.”This is in reference to its history as a popular market for precious stones precious stones and gold and silver jewellery, especially under the reign of the 17th century Mughal emperor Shah Jahan. The location witnessed the bloody massacre of Delhi in March 1739, ordered by the Persian invader Nadir Shah, when hundreds of innocent civilians and soldiers were killed and the gold shops were looted....Y was appointed as the poet tutor of Bahadur Shah Zafar II and the royal historian of the Mughal court. After his death in 1869 he was buried near the tomb of Nizamuddin Auliya. His honorific titles include Dabir-ul-Mulk, Najm-ud-Daula, His house in locality Z has now been turned into a museum/memorial. X and Z are very close to eachother, within a kilometer. This proximity was referenced in a song in a 2005 film. Name the film. 

X = Dariba Kalan : where I used to browse silver jewellery

Y = Ghalib

Z = Ballimaran The song = Kajra Re in Bunty Aur Babli

The lines: Ballimaran se Daribe Talak, teri meri kahani Dilli mein. 

This made me pull up a map of purani Dilli again and reminisce my forays into the crowded streets of Delhi which are perhaps lost for now to the pandemic. Dariba Kalan leading into Kinari Bazaar, leading to paranthe wali galli and then to Ballimaran. I thought about Sis gunj sahib and Bangla Sahib, the trimmed geometric gardens of Lutyens’ Delhi, the musty smell of old files, Andhra Bhawan. Memory lends itself well to literary reproduction because to remember is after all the desire to recreate and relive something. When we write literary things, we constitute ourselves. Of memories altogether, memories of Bollywood are too many. As Bollywood keeps maturing (Thappad was amazing) so do I. So an arcaheology of my encounters with Bollywood is an archaeology of my self. They will tell you as much about me, as they do about the nature of memory itself and some very common South Asian expectations that need to be dismantled. In dark times, with a hint of sarcasm, and a fair bit of laughing at myself and the circusmstances, let me try to break patterns of some engrained expectations so here goes:

When I was 4, Hum Aapke Hain Kaun came out I got hooked to Didi Tera Dewar Diwana. Imagine a child singing the song in toddler-speak. It must have endeared my father’s friend so much that he bought a cassette of the movie’s soundtrack and sent it to us through the post. As I grew older, I wouldn’t miss watching the movie when it came on TV. There is no way that Suraj Barjatya’s, low conflict, song heavy, family-centric, conservative, misogynist dramas have not shaped my ideas of a good life. In fact, if you ask me to watch one right now, I will. But I think the untenability of the families, relationships and the circumstances that they show are increasingly stark. It is obvious that no one, and certainly I cannot perform the emotional and physical labor expected of  women and men in any patriarchal system. Even if I could, life throws one thing after the other, no one remains naive and who can possibly believe that years can go without any kind of conflict and frustration. So here we are, certain that no one is visiting Ram Tikri, and no one is getting engaged in the span of two days. That makes no sense. 

When I was 8, Karan Johar’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai came out. My cousin and I watched it together on a VHS cassette player and we were hooked. This was a time when small shops in Kathmandu allowed you to rent out VHS cassettes of latest releases for a couple of days, I think 3 days. My cousin and I became quick friends with a VHS shop guy in Kamal Pokhari and he allowed us to rent out Kuch Kuch Hota Hai for about 8-9 times until we learned all the dialogues. Whenever the movie came on TV, my cousin would call me up to let me know it was on TV. The movie was neoliberal India’s offering to South Asia of branded clothes, complications in boy-girl friendships in a modern co-educational context, foreign scenes, etc. Like Dil Wale Dulhania Le Jaayenge, this was a story of how if everyone was rich enough to go to summer camp or lived abroad, things would work out fine. Well, it doesn’t. The state of being a migrant even a privileged neoliberal one sucks and bright branded clothes are terrible and if a guy doesn’t like you with short hair, he has no business liking you with long hair, that is just shallow. Stay away. Also, boy-girl friendships do not need to be sacrificed at the alter of romance and to act like an adult is not to throw your dupatta at your best friend’s boo while you run away on a train because you can’t deal with your feelings. 

When I was 10, JP Dutta’s Refugee came out. My mother and my aunts took us children to Gopi Krishna Cinema Hall in Kathmandu. I don’t think Bollywood films had Parental Guidelines and neither did the adults who took us for these films ever understand them but we went to see Refugee in 2000 about a strange cross border relationship. I spotted a guy and a girl from the upper grades in my school together at the movie. This was also right after I started getting my periods. So in the throes of puberty, I developed a major crush on Abhishek Bachchan to everyone’s surprise. I think my 10-12 year old self constantly told I was ugly saw the actor as relatable and “Mere Humsafar” as the ultimate love song. A complicated cross border romance situation still appeals to me and  I still keep an eye out for anything that has Abhishek Bachchan (apparently he has a new TV show on Amazon prime and caught COVID 19) and I continue have a thing for men with beards. But I also know that splitting my life in different locations is not my idea of fun. I don’t want to be torn between here and there so here I am coming to terms with untenability of transnational relationships, definitely not in the time of a pandemic. 

Some movies between 2000 and 2007 that I can vividly remember watching include Dil Chahta Hai,  3 Idiots, Taare Zameen Par, Rang De Basanti etc. But it was Jab We Met with its witty dialogues, its upbeat tenor and its fantastic songs that became a favourite. Like many women, I must have imagined myself as Geet. I wonder whether my recurrent desire to teach at an Indian boarding school years later in my life was because of those heart wrenching scenes of Geet teaching in Shimla while nursing a heartbreak. But here is the deal, as someone who spent the prime of my life in North India, let me tell you, you will find annoying people on trains. Missing a train in the middle of nowhere is not going to lead you to a grand love story and you shouldn’t expect millionaires to save you. In fact, no one will save you from anything, especially not emotional wounds from shitty relationships and you shouldn’t either. If ever you choose to teach at a boarding school in the Indian hills (or a residential summer school for that matter) or continue school wherever you are, you can find ways to take care of yourself and enjoy life, watch Bollywood and be an adult and be happy.