Dekho sixties ka Kalkatta
Khao Victoria Memorial per phuchka, dekho Parinita
(Come and watch the Calcutta of the sixties, eat Phuchka and watch Parinita)

Welcome to ‘the Calcutta of the sixties theme party’

It has Calcutta’s tram and the Moulin Rouge, and the names of Trinka’s and Flury’s are dropped in too. It has kurtas, dhotis, vests, Durga Poojas and aaratis. There are old bungalows with long corridors and Greco-Roman pillars and aaraam kursis. There is a half a second shot of the races at the Royal Calcutta Turf Club. The mini train of Darjeeling and tea gardens are also thrown in. The characters play card games and there are planchet sessions too. It has Rekha as a crooner. It has a hero and his father as the villain and a dhamakedaar background score that shakes and shocks you every now and then. It also has the mention of the latest record of Elvis, the Pelvis and deeply meaningful and unfathomable songs and lyrics. It has a Salim and his Anarkali and the Mughal-e-Aazam and also a solidly constructed Berlin Wall between the hero and the heroine. It has a marriage and the marriage feast where people are served loochis. It has a river and a boat in it. There is a heroine who has a nice little likable face with eyes that look up, down, sideways, and also shed those silent glycerine tears for the benefit of the camera. The real story is also there somewhere in this overcrowded scenario. The climax to just blows your brains to smithereens.

I have been thinking, how did Vidhu Vinod Chopra forget to put up a phuchka stall in the cinema hall’s foyer to promote his film? He could have also made some money by getting his ‘Berlin Wall’ sponsored by Ambuja cement.
 

Who made this film? If Pradeep Sirkar dares to own this responsibility, he deserves to be lynched by the Bengalis of the world for such an insensitive, and ignominious handling of a Sharat Chandra classic. And if this is how fifty-year-old Bengalis recreate the Calcutta of the sixties, I have grave doubts about their visual perceptivity and understanding of their own milieu and culture. He has not even got the Calcutta of the sixties right. Sarkar is a cheap memorabilia collector and not a filmmaker. He has inherited nothing from the long pantheon of great Bengali filmmakers, and men and women of letters.

The name of the film is Parinita. The filmmaker, and the writers have worked overtime to recreate a fake ‘doll’s house’ version of the Calcutta of the sixties instead of developing the characters, and their inter-relationships to tell the story effectively. The reviewers who say that this film is for the classes are unaware of the historical fact that the classes corrupt and kill culture, and the masses preserve and nurture it in all its native flavour and vibrancy. The assholes who consider the bourgeoisie, the prized patrons of consumerist-culture of the multiplexes, as the classes are responsible for the death of cinema and the success of popcorn-cola combos.
 

They also call the film an immortal love story. Shekhar, the hero, has a childhood love interest in Lolita. She looks after him like a surrogate wife and mother. In between, Lolita meets Girish. Shekhar gets envious when he sees Lolita eating phuchkas at the Victoria Memorial with Girish and his family. However, it is not actually a serious thing. One day, when Lolita’s friend is getting married, she is asked by Shekhar’s mother to get him ready for the marriage. Surrogate mother Lolita goes to Shekhar’s room. Shekhar does not want to attend the marriage because it has been organised so suddenly. Lolita explains the reason. The muhurat is so auspicious that even by exchanging garlands one can get married. Now, Lolita puts Shekhar’s gold chain around his neck unknowingly. Shekhar puts it around Lolita’s neck knowingly. And then they have sex while the rituals of Lolita’s friend’s marriage are being conducted. Lolita turns into a Parinita after this. However, Shekhar, being a businessman's son, fails to understand the subtlities of it all. And Lolita also fails to enligten him on the subject till the climax of the film.

There is a twist in the tale too. Shekhar’s father wants to usurp Lolita’s uncle’s ancestral house, to convert it into a hotel, in lieu of a loan he had given to the uncle. Lolita gets to know of the plan as she works in Shekhar’s father’s office. Girish is a good Samaritan who comes to Lolita’s uncle’s aid. Shekhar’s father gets damn pissed off as he does not get his hotel. He sends Shekhar away on a trip to Darjeeling’s tea gardens to sing a song on a mini train. In the meantime, he constructs a solid ‘Berlin Wall’ between Lolita’s and his house. This gives a heart attack to Lolita’s uncle. On Shekhar’s return, his wily father tells Shekhar that Lolita has sold herself to Girish because he gave her family a lot of money. Obviously the Mughal-e-Aazam has other plans for his son.

Shekhar starts thinking about this betrayal. He is not able to sleep as he sees a sizzling and sexy nightmare of Lolita getting screwed by Girish. He cannot control himself. Next day, he tells his father that he would marry the daughter of his rich friend. What a love story that does not even survive a wet and lusty nightmare? Is it a love story or lust story? What kind of love is it? The hero does not even talk properly to the heroine to clarify the issue and know the real thing. The performances, the dialogues, and the scenes are full of obviously false notes and emotions. Rekha looks bad. The ‘mala badal shaadi’ is another comic scene. The background score is a virtual horror story. Special musical treatment has been given to the ‘slap shots’. When they happen, the screen explodes, and your heart jumps to your mouth.

And then comes the final assault, the ‘Gadar and Lagaan’ combo scene when Saif uproots a whole water fountain and uses it as a ram to break the ‘Berlin Wall’ all by himself while his friends, mother, and the old family maid cheer him on from a distance as if urging the Patuadi Junior to hit one for a six. He does. He hits the whole film for a six, well beyond the boundaries of sanity in that scene. It demolishes everything, even the hype around the film and its makers. Amidst the abject ruins lies ‘Parinita, the classic’, the ‘Calcutta of the sixties’, and the reputation of ‘aaram kursi-purana palang-purani haveli’ Pradeep Sarkar, the director, and Vinod Chopra, the writer-producer.

The masses and the classes among the audience clap as the film ends with the fall of Sarkar’s ‘Berlin Wall’ and the coming together of Lolita, the Parinita, and Saif, the Sunny Deol and Aamir rolled into one. The audiences give a standing ovation to themselves for having survived the classic climax and come out laughing at this poignant, subtle, and sublime story of love and a lusty and sweaty nightmare.

This is the most surprising thing about our politicians, actors, filmmakers, planners and a whole lot of people at the helm of affairs. They have lost all sense of perspective. Yet they rule the roost somehow.  And we expect India to progress. The signs of progress are all around to be seen --  people buying  130 rupee tickets and watching a fake classic sitting in  the cosy and comfortable seats of a multiplex,  and filmmakers spending crores and fucking up the good old stories,  and the film reviewers doing personal favours to their favourites by distributing stars like ' jhal moorhi' .

RKS