An emotional intro to Bollywood

“In Bollywood, it's always a happy ending.”
-Aishwarya Rai Bachchan


Fig.1 Aish & her dreamboat, er, husband, Abhishek

Naturally, when it came time that I wanted to learn more about Buddhism’s parent religion, I turned to the movies. Luckily, the great Hindustan (“Land of Hindus,” or more archaically, “Land of the Indus River”) has a glut of source material, along with an entire industry dedicated to disseminating its motion picture culture outside its borders for the comfort of all the NRIs (Non-Resident Indians) and curious film buffs out there.

It wasn’t until my third year at college when I finally saw my first Bollywood movie. It was Mission Kasmir, starring the buff and handsome Indian superstar Hrithik Roshan and super beautiful actress Preity Zinta. Just how distracting is Hrithik’s super handsomeness? He’s so hot that it took me years to realize he has an extra thumb on his right hand. And it’s a pretty serious thumb, too, not some measly little bugger. It’s possibly the most famous digit in history. He’s THAT hot.


Fig.2 War is hell, but Hrithik is hella HOT

Mission Kasmir is the story of a young boy whose parents were killed by police, and he gets adopted by one of the sympathetic officers involved. When the boy grows and up discovers the dark secret, it’s time for revenge, but not without involving a pretty girl and a tragic political backdrop of the ongoing military discord in the contested Kasmir region of South Asia.

To my unenlightened eyes, it was a non-stop, sometimes confusing amalgamation of Jean-Claude Van Damme-like action-adventure, 50s-era MGM Hollywood romance, and high drama interspersed with random but beautiful singing and dancing numbers. The acting was intense and anything but subtle while the locations were exotic and totally new to my American moviegoing sensibilities.

The night my world film class met to watch that movie, I checked my voicemail at the intermission and got a message from my mother. I called and she told me that she had something important to say, but didn’t want to tell me while I was at class. I immediately left and rode my bike across the dark campus to my dorm room and called her back to find out that my grandfather had died. Mercifully, a minute later, my dear friend Elissa knocked on the door and gave me hugs while I spoke to my father. At some party a few nights before, Elissa’s friend Nicky gave me a beer and I saved it in my mini fridge. I used it to calm down and my Dad and I toasted to my grandpa over the phone.

Despite the unfortunately sad association with my first experience of Bollywood, the call of the exotic eventually drew me back full-force.


Fig.3 The most exciting cricket has ever been

One summer, Elissa took me to free bellydancing classes on campus and got me some CDs with the practice music, and I fell in love with it. This new interest paved the way for me to investigate all things Eastern.

Soon after coming home from graduation, I found myself back in a town very much lacking in the video store department. Gainesville had plenty of Blockbusters, Hollywood Videos, and movie theatres that played independent films. There was even one at the student union a five-minute walk from my dorm that screened second-run flicks at discount prices. Add all the free screenings of obscure foreign stuff I went to as part of my film classes and you can see how heavenly things were for me.

When I had to leave all that, the online rental service revolution was just going mainstream. As soon as I realized how logistically and economically ridiculous it was to drive to the store and rent DVDs at 4 dollars a pop, I signed up for Blockbuster Online. A vast DVD collection was at my disposal. I’d watch at least three a week, and at only fifteen bucks a month, it was obviously stupid NOT to sign up. After a while the Blockbuster system made too many mistakes and took way too long, so I switched to Netflix and lived happily ever after.


Fig.4 Shah Rukh Khan and Sushmita Sen in Main Hoon Na, a Farah Khan classic

Consumer advertisement aside, Netflix has proven to be a Bollywood fan’s best friend. The large and varied collection of Hindi language movies was available at my whim, so I immediately learned to worship Indian stars as the Indians did.

The first thing you learn from Hindi-language films is that the Indians really love American movies. They not only produce their own re-mixed versions of their favorite big Hollywood flicks, they constantly reference dialogue, scenes, and characters that we Americans know and love. It’s easy for people to mistake this tendency as unoriginal, the results being cheap “rip-offs,” but Indian filmmakers are just like the French Nouvelle Vague directors of the 1950s. Their art is significantly reactionary to American cinema.


Fig.5 Some of their favorites are The Matrix. And Star Wars. Can you tell?

Everything is a loving homage to what they see in the Hollywood craft, and they most definitely inject their spicy, colorful flavor to the mix, resulting in a hyper-real experience. Bollywood films more often than not deliver a more heightened sensual and emotional experience than Hollywood does. What we call “too much melodrama” in their performances is really just a more stage-inspired “pre-Method” (almost DelSartean) style of acting in which all emotions are exaggerated for greater emotional impact. And boy, does it work.

The highly successful and popular Dhoom franchise is basically Bad Boys plus sexy music videos. Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi Hai is literally My Best Friend’s Wedding, plus sexy music videos. Moulin Rouge, with its high drama, zany comedy, romance and costumes interspersed with pop music and beautiful settings is actually the closest thing to Bollywood any average American has seen. Sorry, but Bend It Like Beckham doesn’t cut it. Slumdog Millionaire is not your standard “masala” movie. The “Jai Ho” item song in Slumdog is the only thing remotely Bollywood in the entire thing. If Bride & Prejudice weren’t in English… then we’d be cookin’.


Fig.6 I'm crossing my fingers for Dhoom 3

Although more recently, some Bollywood filmmakers (Mani Ratnam in particular, who seems to have a crush on the delicious Abhishek Bachchan) have been experimenting with more realism and grit in their films (Yuva, Rang De Basanti, Sarkar, Guru, Kaminey etc.), the escapist cinema still dominates the industry (Main Hoon Na, Dhoom 2, and the ultimate escapist spectacular Om Shanti Om).

The second thing you learn from Bollywood movies is that religion is everywhere. And it isn’t sublimated into non-denominational themes and motifs, but presented on a golden platter, as simple to pick up as ladoos and samosas. Hearing the many terms for God being dropped all over the place in every genre of film—not just the spiritual ones—was a new experience.


Fig.7 Grit and music actually pair well together

to be continued...

Get your puja on

Apu: I have come to make amends, sir. At first, I blamed you for squealing, but then I realized, it was I who wronged you. So I have come to work off my debt. I am at your service.
Homer: You're...selling what now?
Apu: I am selling only the concept of karmic realignment.
Homer: You can't sell that! Karma can only be portioned out by the cosmos. (slams the door)
Apu: He's got me there.

--The Simpsons

Fig.1 My favorite Hindu

Like many Americans my age, the first Hindu I met was Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. As a kid with no previous concept of racial stereotypes or the offensive nature associated with them, I embraced Apu with pure love, if only for his humorous accent and the friendly way he always said “Thank you, come again!” no matter how terrible a customer was.

In a roundabout way, Apu represents the most patriotic of institutions: the American Dream. He graduated first in his class of seven million from CalTech (Calcutta Technical Institute) and came to America to get his doctorate in computer science. He started working at the Kwik-E-Mart to pay off his student loans, but remains in Springfield to this day. He married Manjula, fathered eight kids and keeps a garden on the store’s rooftop accessed through the secret door disguised as a freezer case containing non-alcoholic beer.

Possessed of a tireless work ethic, a sharp intellect and a deep devotion to Ganesha, Shiva and Vishnu, Apu is, despite over-generalized appearances, a very positive Hindu figure in American culture. His perpetually open convenience store has helped the Simpson family through many hard times, and if the appearance of real-life Kwik-E-Marts across the country in the summer of 2007 is any indication, Apu’s humble business is a quintessential symbol of American life. For me, walking into a Kwik-E-Mart in Burbank and drinking a Squishee for the first time was nothing less than transcendental.

Alongside Apu, Indiana Jones had a big hand in my youthful perception of Hindus. I was only sixteen months old when Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom was released, but the pop cultural engine created by Spielberg/Lucas and company was running at full steam by the time I could put two words together. I grew up with my parents’ large VHS collection and knew all the references to Harrison Ford characters that the Muppet Babies blatantly showcased in nearly every episode.


Fig.2 Not standard operating procedure for Hindus

When I was still too young to be at home by myself after school, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house. My sister and I made forts out of sheets and spent all our free time carrying out our shameless obsessions by watching the same movies and TV shows on a loop. Of course, one of the looped VHS tapes on my granny’s TV was Temple Of Doom. By the time DVDs appeared, that tape in particular was run through the VCR so many times that the CRT had a permanent image of Harrison Ford’s face magnetized on the glass. I would put on the movie, set up pillows on the carpet in a big rectangle, wear my favorite old ratty silk nightgown, lay down in it like a frozen snow angel and when Willie Scott was being latched into Mola Ram’s sacrifice cage, I’d pretend I was being lowered into the volcano and plead for Indiana to save me.

For years, I believed in Shankara stones and faraway Indian jungles filled with giant vampire bats and the beauty of Pankot Palace. Most of all, I marveled at the bright and sparkly costumes worn by Willie and the palace dancers. The Hindus had it going on, as far as I was concerned. Like many westerners, I was allured by the mysterious glamour of Indian culture, swept away by its music, dance, and polychromatic artistry. It was centered so far away on the planet as to feel fantastic and surreal, and kids are such suckers for everything so different from what they’re used to.

Fig.3 You can rescue me anyday

As adults, we get annoyed that kids display such a degree of endless passion for new things, but deep down, we envy them their unquestioning devotion. Before life became colored by injustices and complexities, devotion was easier and more fun. We shake our heads at adults who can recapture that brand of loyalty, and I can’t help but believe that children remember something we forgot.

After I freed myself of the bedsheet-and-table-fort-building years, my next Hindu influence appeared on a real-life plane of existence. My circle of middle school friends included Sneha, a tall, slender, and very brainy girl who didn’t eat beef. She was clever and funny and shared my love for The X-Files and of course, a huge crush on Fox Mulder. We went to the same high school and kept in touch for the first few years of college.

One day, while riding our bikes to a local book store to buy some class texts, she mentioned that that narrow street north of University smelled like Bombay. Garbage, restaurant fryer exhaust, and urine. I will forever remember that going to Goerings is not unlike a trip to an Indian metropolis.

One year, she invited my friend Alan and me to an Indian cultural function at UF’s O’Connell Center. We met up at her apartment and marveled as she dressed up in a sari and told us what to expect. We arrived amongst a slew of similarly attired Indian immigrants and their American-born families. In retrospect, I suspect it was a Diwali festival, and they celebrated with a colorful variety of food and shopping stalls selling jewelry, clothes, trinkets and what I would later discover to be my favorite Indian export: Bollywood DVDs. As we perused a DVD booth, Sneha happily pointed out actors she recognized and how sexy they were, constantly reminding me of how essential to life it was that I watch some Hindi movies. I was lost in a sea of unfamiliar and beautiful faces and was eager to take her advice.


Fig.4 Y'all can rescue me too, please

There was lots of dancing on the basketball court, so Sneha eventually went down there to join a large group of other smiling faces for a traditional dance using sticks and catchy drum music. I bought some child-sized bangles (the only ones that stayed on my wrist!) and took in the festivities with great interest. It was a nifty peek into a world I would later dive into with much enthusiasm.

Sneha and I lost touch as the months went by and classes got more involved. As is customary for my generation, I caught up with her again on Facebook. She lives out of state now, so our interaction remains a digital one, but her influence on my current interests has turned out to be monumental. I don’t know that I’d have been so open-minded about studying Hinduism and Indian culture had it not been for her presence in my youth.


To be continued...

Critical Mass

“For Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs and lovely in eyes not his.”
-Gerard Hopkins


Fig.1 Eggs are for omelets, silly rabbit

My little cousin was raised Catholic. She went to a Catholic private school until eighth grade, serves at mass, goes to many church functions and camps and jokes about the priests’ varying sermon-giving skills with my grandma around the Easter dinner table.

One Easter Sunday we sat around and discussed the resurrection story, spun it into contemporary language, and in the end, realized that it was actually the craziest Spring Break “Disciples Gone Wild!” vacation story ever.

Just imagine Jesus explaining it to his mother:

“I don’t know what happened. One minute I was at a party, drinking with my buddies, the next, I wake up in a cave wrapped in a shroud. Then I looked at my hands and went, ‘Whoa, where the hell did those come from? And all these scars on my back and my head and this gash in my side… I swear, I had no clue what went on between Passover dinner and the cave, so I called Father and he moved the stone out of the doorway for me and went to find the guys.

“I asked Peter and Paul what happened. They were all like, ‘Dude, we thought you were dead,’ and I was like, ‘You morons!’ Son of God here! I am one with the Father and the Holy Spirit! Get with the program!

Fig.2 TTYL

“They said that after the dinner we went to Gethsemane and got into so much trouble. Judas sold me out and the police came and arrested me and took me to trial and made me drag a cross through town and crucified me! Can you believe that? Wait, you saw all that? Holy shit. I don’t remember a thing.

“I mean, gese, listen: we came into Jerusalem, got A-list treatment at first, did some seriously awesome miracles… we were on a roll. Sure, Thomas forgot to book the restaurant I wanted for Passover, and the new place only let us all sit on once side of the table, but he came through. We were having fun! And then all this crap happened. *sigh* Tell you what. Life down here sucks. I’m out of here in 40 days. No, really, I’m gonna go live with Dad for a while. I think it’ll be the best thing for everyone.”

I apologize to Jesus for that, but I don’t think he sweats the small stuff.



Fig.3 Bad carpentry

As I mentioned above, I have Catholics in my family. My grandmother grew up on a tobacco farm in Puerto Rico and has been Catholic all her life. I’ve been to mass a few times for happy and sad functions, and my cousin, with whom I am very close, is very active in her Catholic youth groups. My brother-in-law grew closer to his Catholicism while abroad in the Army. It’s not foreign to me at all, and frankly, compared to my protestant Christian upbringing, it never seemed all that different from what I saw at the Methodist church.

Stephen Colbert showed me the difference, though. My in-depth Catholic education sprung from him, and trickled into several pools and eddies along the way.

It began with one of Stephen’s favorite guests: Father James Martin, SJ, a.k.a. “The Colbert Report Chaplain.” He first came on the show to discuss the newly discovered letters of Mother Theresa that outlined her lengthy “dark night of the soul” and struggle with her thoughts on the “absence of God” in her life. Stephen, in his uppity and ironically iconoclastic “Stephen” guise, instantly condemned her for her lack of faith and Father Martin defended her, explaining the difference between not believing in God and believing in God’s absence.

The conversation was conducted in a manner that fans have come to expect from Stephen Colbert: hard-lined but respectful. His words and reactions are almost always hard-lined on the surface, but the questions and retorts actually display Stephen’s deep understanding of and respect for religion, especially the nuances of Christianity.

Fig.4 If Edward Norton doesn't play him

in a biopic, I don't know who else will

Father Martin, gamely playing along with Stephen’s otherwise inflammatory inquiries, displayed that winning combination of spirituality with a sense of humor and I couldn’t resist. I went to the library and checked out his book, My Life With The Saints. With this book, he sets out to provide a bit of a primer on why Catholics revere the saints, one of the biggest sticking points in the tension between Catholicism and protestant Christianity. Written in a warm, inviting, and good-natured tone, his stories of how several different saints informed touchstones or turning points at various periods in his life beautifully revealed the great value in this tenant of Catholicism that I had never really considered before, and it inspired me more than I could have imagined.

In the book, he details his childhood, his conversion from a business career in corporate finance to Jesuit seminary, his missionary trips to Uganda and Jamaica, his pilgrimage to Lourdes and spiritual retreats, and all along the way, he is introduced to different saints’ life stories. Each story somehow corresponds with a struggle or miracle in his own life, and in this way, he befriends them, coming to know them and all their flaws and profound faith in God as close companions in his heart and soul. As a Jesuit, Father Martin interprets this experience of the saints as just another way to see God in everything, and to learn from such visions and visitations.

Fig.5 I bring you Peeps

As I read My Life With The Saints, I came to realize how much we shared in our spiritual experience. None of my saints appear on silver medallions or on prayer cards or will ever be canonized by the Pope, but in that they pop up at advantageous times in my life and help guide it toward enlightenment. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are as good as Ignatius of Loyola and Thérèse de Lisieux. Charlie Chaplin is my Patron Saint of Creativity. Michael J. Fox is my Patron Saint of Persistence. Dr. Temperance “Bones” Brennan is my Patron Saint of Logic. Paula Deen is my Patron Saint of Indulgence. Connie and Katrina are my patron Saints of Nerdiness. Elissa Hunter is my Patron Saint of Exploration… and Manatees.

It’s a distinctly Society of Jesus trait to “love God in all things—and all things in God,” which is a challenge to see God everywhere and learn from it. It’s a lesson not unlike that of Buddhism. If God is Wisdom, Truth, and Love, then Wisdom, Truth, and Love must be sought in all things. I see them in my saints everyday.

Happy Easter!